Author's note: I am especially proud I managed to write this with the amount of work I'm currently handling. Yay, inspiration. And it's not just a filler!

In this chapter: Don't test Templars. Even those which are sort of kind of taking a break.

026.

"No! No, I told you to block from bellow. Do you want that shield ripped from your hands?"

Cullen was never inclined to teach the new recruits. It's not that he doesn't want to impart his knowledge or because he's rather bad at it. They are just so very green in the beginning, almost like they belong more in a soup pot than a battleground.

"From bellow! Are you listening to me?"

Of course not. Recruits are arrogant and deaf, the type of deafness he'd expect from someone about eight times their age.

Still, this isn't as bad as they thought to begin with. Leaving the Tower, his odd sort of oasis on a world gone mad had been almost painful. Especially since it was still on the path to recovery and the opening of the breach had done nothing to the increase of stability. To lose (albeit temporarily, according to the Seeker) its Knight-Commander and First Enchanter had generated quite the fear on the Tower's inhabitants. He understood that well.

"Diana, stop trying to kill your partner or I'm having you training with the Iron Bull."

He's not completely sure leaving Petra and Owain in charge was a good idea though. Petra is kind enough to offer stay to half the country's refugees. Owain is going to kill him with a kitchen knife eventually.

But there are things to do and people to lead until the Breach is closed.

"Do you promise?"

Hopefully, that'll happen while Diana isn't bored to death.

"No. Lower your right hand on the handle. You're fighting to protect yourself, not to chop off your own arm."

This is his terrain. It's nothing like the Tower with its messiness, its confusing and noisy (and often explosive) community. In this war camp, Cullen gets to play as he never did before, all of it straight corners and stable rules.

That, of course, is the norm and those never last in his existence. He's the element carved in stone while the earth is slashed around by hurricanes. It's his life and fate to never be calm. How can he think otherwise when the sky above himself is ripped apart and demons whisper constantly in the thick air?

The first explosion occurs a little before noon, taking the place of the bell which usually calls them for the first meal.

The second coincides with the look towards Diana and the little motion which asks her to follow.

The third announces his mad dash in the direction of the Chantry.

Haven is almost ridiculously peaceful as he passes by, most people apparently happily ignoring the breach and its ominous glow above their heads. More than that, they are all more than happily ignoring the screaming and fair amount of explosions coming from the Chantry.

What? Problems? Nah, that's what we have a Commander for. He can go take care of the children.

Cullen doesn't even try to disguise his sigh as he stops by Therin. How hard can it be? How hard to ignore the people you actively don't like, keep to the opposite side of the camp and not give him the reason to continue walking and find a nice solid wall to bash his head against?

Two warring groups stand in front of the stone building.

As Smites have been throw around, everyone has descended into backyard brawling which means hands, feet and nails are the weapons of choice. Not only have they bypassed the Divine's death as a cause for whatever this is, as they have now stumbled into how the mages are promiscuous animalistic murderers and how the Templars will hump everything with genitalia and let's not forget how all the individuals of both groups were oppressed by the Chantry, the Orlesians or Crown and Maker knows what else. Probably attacked by puppies and bloodsucking gnats too.

Cullen sighs once more. Unlike Diana, he truly believes in the Inquisition. It's their chance to come together and do something better. To save people. It is quite hard to do so when people are incredibly self-centered and the Commander needs far more quiet to think of one reason to save them.

"Stop this madness!"

No one seems to hear him.

"Are you listening?" He yells, walking until he's close to the largest mass of fighting. "I order you to stop this."

He might as well ask the Breach to politely close because demonic rains are out of fashion.

"Mages started all of this!"

"What are you talking about, Templar?"

There's no way to win this. The respect is lacking. The Templars dislike him because he's more of a Commander than a Knight-Commander these days and the mages hate him because he's still a Templar, deep down, and no amount of fur is going to change that. Those two details are bothersome and he has a migraine on the steady climb to unbearable.

Will the Herald be upset if he kicks them all out of Haven and into the breach, he wonders.

"Enough! I said, enough."

Now that Cullen thinks about that particular person, where is she? Her hand shines like all the pits of the Fade and that is something that tends to draw some attention to the capacity she has to kill people which, consequently, makes idiots shut up!

"I don't think we were ever that stupid," Diana comments blandly by his side.

"I think I was."

"I think you're right," she confirms without missing a beat. Maker, his married life is going to be amazingly difficult.

"You can try to defend my younger self."

"I didn't like your younger self. Bit of a whiner." Diana watches the arguing people who have now evolved into punches and spitting with a disgusted frown. Is that someone losing its clothes…? "You think we should try to stop them?"

He wishes he could try with a sword, something both Herald and Seeker might not like. So instead, Cullen forces himself to take yet another deep breath and find some other way to end this ridiculousness. None comes to mind.

"I think we should join them. And make noise. A whole bunch of noise."

The blonde woman gives him a long, half-confused look. That's fine. This isn't a plan. This is an excuse for them to force some order into these people.

Cullen presses his lips against her cheek lightly before walking forward. "Come and argue with me, Amell. Make sure to yell. And elbow people as you go."

Not only elbow. The Commander makes his way into the exact middle of the mess, shouting commands as he goes. It isn't easy. Every now and then an arm tries to lodge itself on his armor, someone will try to trip him or bite him, of all things. And all of these are good things because they justify the way he steps on assorted members, punches a particularly grabby woman without feeling terribly guilty and kicks a couple of knees belonging to those still ignoring him.

On the opposite side, he can see Diana just blasting away minds with the assurance of a non-Smited mage. They are just two against a good crowd but they have been in real battle, not the skirmishes depicted in books and romances. There is logic to their movements, intent and a clear goal instead of just wanting to rip out hair of the opposite side. And they know how to play dirty, he thinks as he sees her using her very armored feet in very sensible body parts.

The momentary distraction earns him a sharp elbow to the nose and what he would suppose to be a broken bone. Or he would suppose if he wasn't in a lot of pain and his attention wasn't otherwise engaged.

"Yes, it's all the mages' fault," the Commander screams out of the commotion. He's done. He's seriously done and in pain and Maker help him, why can't people be sane? The surprise of seeing the former (present) sort of Knight-Commander yelling like a madman while bleeding profusely stops a good quarter of the remaining scuffles. Apparently, he's the only one supposed to be sane and stay out of pointless fighting. Only he. "Of course! Right! Because the mere fact that the majority of the mages fell unconscious during that mess doesn't mean a thing."

Diana moves in front of the mage ranks, looking everything but a mage in her shining armor and odious odious sword, and stares them down never mind that she's barely taller than the average eighteen year old.

"It's all the Templars' fault! Don't you see? 'Cause they have armors and shifty shifty looks. Believe us because we know everything from being stuck in Towers since kids."

They can do all the stupid arguments. After all, they lived them.

"All in all," Cullen picks up. "Unless you were in the Temple and have the proof of who did what, when, how and for what reason, I want you to shut up about it. You don't know! We are here to learn the truth, not to be like every other idiot in this Makerforsaken country and war our way through this problem."

The way several people take a step back when he raises his voice make him feel slightly better. It doesn't work as well as stabbing anyone but he's forcing himself to go slowly.

"Start thinking for once! Start seeing the truth! Here, we're the same. We're all trying to find the guilty party and bring it to justice. We have enough enemies outside to lose time fighting against each other here!"

But Cullen knows exactly where this commotion came from. He might have stayed right outside of the mess, not meddled, not spoken after causing it. It doesn't matter. The Commander pushes through the throng onto to where he stands with his self-satisfied smug smile as if he's asking to have it punched out of his face. The former-Templar feels very inclined to do so.

His hand grips the front of the man's uniform and pulls him up to his eyelevel. "This is my city, Roderick."

The smile doesn't go anywhere.

"I thought it was the people's and not the Inquisition's." Every word sounds spat, every sound disgusting to his ears. "Freedom and choice and protection for all, isn't that how it goes? Apparently, you do not follow what you preach. That is bad form for a Templar."

"I am not a Templar right now."

"Of course not. In this day and age some people can slid off their vows like they are shedding yesterday's clothing. It speaks a lot of the people the Seeker finds acceptable."

Leliana, the Ambassador, the Herald, Diana.

The Commander snarls before he can stop himself, actually snarls like a hound pushed back by a fraying leash. His hand tightens on the priest's collar, just a slip of hand away from restricting an air supply.

"You don't get it," he whispers and the words carry because all the spectators have stopped to watch. There is no more fighting, no more arms raised in violence. Only his and only the Chancellor's. "It's mine. As far as I'm concerned, when the Seeker's out, this place is mine. I am keeping it safe. From anyone who would bring it harm, outside or inside."

Haven is his home for now. This is his family. His stupid, thoughtless, easily pushed to do senseless actions family who is the equivalent of drunkards on the streets at late nights but that is his. This idiot isn't going to ruin any of them. Not like the Gallows, not like Meredith. He isn't going to allow it.

His hand does tighten up to that point where it's almost, almost a threat. "You do this again." Finally, fear in Roderick's eyes. I am not a hound, Priest. I am a Templar and this is my Tower. "You do this again," he repeats slowly, like the bang of a bell in alarm. "And I will kick you into the wild. And believe me, the demons won't care how much you pray at them."

Silence finally falls in the Chantry, so heavy it practically leaves its mark on the stony ground. Cullen can almost hear the fear as it spreads through the assembly and slips into the huts bellow.

"That was fun. Anyone else want to get punched more? Haven's been too quiet since the sky exploded."

Makerdamnit, Amell!

Cullen breathes a little deeper, pushing back his anger to where it's productive. Against the breach, against the demons. He can do that.

"Everyone that has been wounded during this, please follow Amell. She will take care of you."

Diana smiles in a very non-soothing fashion.

The Commander sighs yet again. It's becoming a habit.

"She's a healer," he forces himself to correct when no one takes the plunge. "I doubt the Herald will like knowing you came to blows due to your own stupidity. I strongly suggest you do what I say."

Or I might punch you all and not have her heal you.

The crowd scrambles quickly to any other place where he isn't. On the plus side, the training might be a breeze from now on!

"The second this is over," Roderick murmurs for his ears alone, distracting him from the scene of Diana commandeering the less injured Templars to carry people. "You know where she'll end up, Commander. You should stop building up your life on sand."

Cullen doesn't do rage. He's the calm, calculative type of men. He holds onto that memory, grips it with tooth and nail until he feels his own flesh metaphorically bleed. It's all he can do to not throw his hands around the priest's neck instead of his collar.

Screw that.

The crunch underneath his hand when he moves sounds like pure melody, the soft song of spirits and the Maker itself, Andraste singing and the Chant when he was a child. His mother lulling him to sleep. Then again, the groan Roderick releases when he tries to talk and finds it's a rather complicated task when his jaw is properly cracked will feature prominently in his dreams.

"Don't meddle in my life, priest," Cullen advises, leaning over the prone man will all the certainty of someone who will finish the job if another word is uttered. "I'm done with your kind doing that."

No norm. There are no norms in his life. Only curved corners and hurricanes.

"Hrm. Commander?" The Herald calls out from where she has, apparently, been watching the whole performance. "I suppose something happened that explains this minor battlefield?

Freaking hurricanes.

xxxXXXxxx

The sun is setting when he finishes explaining what happened to the Seeker – they're idiots who do extremely idiotic things, I thought you already knew, next time leave the Herald behind – and finds his way to the healing hut.

Diana has exchanged her armor for the more subdued robes. In the same manner, her sword had been hidden away from sight – thankfully, it still makes his eyes burn – and replaced by a jeweled staff, injured man and the Tevinter adopted by the Herald.

What a zoo, they have.

"I'm pretty sure I met an Amell once," the black haired mage is saying as they work on the nearly unconscious man. "Same blond hair and everything. Pretty interesting person."

"Oh?" Diana's hands fly over the patient's body, slipping magic as if she's not even paying attention to what she's doing. "Did he slash she destroy things often? Or killed things? Cause that's a family trait. We're very proud of it."

Exceedingly proud of it.

"Not really." Cullen is sure the way Dorian is pressing on the injured arm is not an accident. Actually, it seems cautiously chosen in order to cause the greatest amount of harm. "But he had the strangest capability of being in the vicinity of just about any important accident and be, obviously, the most adequate person to take the injured party's functions permanently. Very not suspiciously."

Maker, he's going to give her ideas.

"Sounds like a relative."

Sounds like another of her long lost siblings. Someone should have told Revka that careful family planning is a good thing. He doesn't comment this though. Comments against the Amells, in any way, shape or form, have a way of finding their way back to him. Painfully.

Diana clearly has noticed his approach but does not move. Not until the wound is closed underneath her fingers and the ugly purple discoloration sweeps away into the paler tone of the man's skin. Even then, her eyes don't meet his.

"Cullen, this is Dorian. He's awesome. Dorian, this is Cullen. He's mine." The word is accompanied by the sort of look which is capable of reducing lesser women into disappearing clouds of dust and selected amounts of shrieked complaints. What's up with that? "This is one of the idiots who were badmouthing us."

Sure explains why he's in more pain after the healing than before.

"I need to talk to you. Can you take a break?"

If it involves leaving a Templar to suffer? Do you even have to ask? That's what Diana's smirk tells him. The Gallows have left her with more scars than the woman claims to own. Still, she adds a little nod, pats the other mage's shoulder as if telling him to take over and follows the Commander down the stairs. She looks honestly curious, a little crease between her eyebrows forming even as he pulls her next to the relative shelter of the inn's walls.

"Are you alright?"

Her curiosity fades into confusion.

"What? That little show back there?" The mage points towards the vague direction of the Chantry. "I lived in Kirkwall, Cullen. Remember? That's not even close to the worst things there."

But Cullen hadn't been in a position to feel bothered about it before.

He hates it. He hates the fact that she went through all of that; the years in Ferelden and the years in Kirkwall both. He can't do anything about it though. Without those years, they wouldn't have never been brought together. She wouldn't even be the Amell he knows. A Diana without magic would be the Lady Amell of Kirkwall (albeit an odd and eccentric one), probably married to a De Launcet (or widow of one since the women of her family seemed allergic to see them breathing around them) and someone who wouldn't spare him a single glance.

While he's on his pity show, he hates every idiot he had to beat up, Roderick and that his nose is apparently broken in three places and trying to make him cry like a little girl.

"You're blacking out on me. And you haven't noticed your nose is broken. Doesn't seem serious at all but still," she rambles quietly. "Are you paying attention to me? Cullen? Ah, eff that."

With that bright touch of poetry, Diana pulls on his nose quickly to get it into place. While grunting, he almost misses the soft touch of her fingers and her magic ripping the pain away as fast as it appeared. She's really good at this, he realizes. Hell, at most things she gets herself into.

"Can't you warn before doing that?"

Most things. Cullen smiles out of the blue because he remembers the one time she tried casting a nightmare in front of him and ended covered in charcoal and patting away very amorous animals.

"I did. You were off in la-la land instead of paying attention."

Her hands linger on the sides of his face even as she's done cleaning the blood away, a light touch that's sweeter and more subdued than she usually dishes out. Diana has been skittish lately, terribly uneasy up to a point that he can't help but notice. Most might not manage but he knows her. He knows her better than anyone else in this world and that is, strangely, a point of pride. To be away from home is scary for them both.

"When this is done, we're going back," he murmurs, drawing her close until she's tucked against his armor, her head snuggling against the fur without hesitation. "We're having one of the revered mothers finally marrying us and we're going to get started on those red-haired kids you said you wanted."

They might need to dye their hair at some point though. Amell hair sticks like glue.

"You really want that. A family with me?"

Who else would take him as he is? No one else will look at a disgraced Templar and think he has gone up in life. No one else will listen to his proposal of dropping lyrium taking and say 'what, you need permission? Get on with it' instead of 'are you insane?'. No one else says (kicking and screaming) that he's doing a good thing now.

"It's very likely they'll be mages," Diana steps back just enough to stare at his face. Green eyes are slightly narrowed in suspicion. "Mages like I am a mage."

Dangerous, light-hearted, murderous and lovable with a penchant for very large weapons?

"I don't care."

It'll keep boys away in case he only gets girls.

"What if they try to take them away from us?"

"I won't let them."

Her eyes relax and she finally smiles. A little arrogantly too.

"You've changed. You've changed a lot. And for the better."

"So did you," Cullen retorts, knowing that he's currently smiling like a besotted buffoon. "When we first met, you wouldn't have spared a breath for me except to fireball me half to death."

"You just stared at me. It was creepy!"

"You were pretty. I didn't know what to do."

"Talking," she reasons sensibly. "It involves moving your lips up and down and using your vocal cords. Pretty easy. Also. Were pretty? What do you mean with were?"

"You talk too much."

"I know another thing you can do with those lips of yours instead of wasting my time, Commander."

He has the grand total of a millisecond to realize she can finally use her nickname and be accurate before proceeding to do exactly what his mage (companion? Lover? Templar with benefits?) requested and kisses her. It is relaxed and tender; it feels sweet and his chest swells comfortably. And when he turns her gently against the wall and finds support against her body, it feels like this might go in an entirely less proper thing and he's totally on board with it. They have to get going on those children or he'll be teaching them how to fight while wearing diapers.

Might wait till they're married, Roderick's curse be damned. Make them legitimate or Gerard might drop by for a chat.

"I thought you were dealing with the confusion and being useful," an entirely unexpected and unwished voice booms out of the blue. "Can you try not to do this in public?"

Maker. Forsaken. Damnit.

"I thought about setting up a stage later in the evening," Diana declares, pulling back from him without an ounce of shame for the situation. "I'm pretty sure most Templars haven't seen it yet and teaching the birds and the bees has to be considered productive. Should we plan or improvise? We accept suggestions for positions."

The Seeker makes a gesture with her hands accompanied by two very pointed curses which would have had Mother Giselle washing her tongue with soap.

The mage grins and pushes him further away and out of her line of sight, giving just as good as she gets. It's when Cullen realizes he was suddenly exchanged by an opponent and a round of insults.

"Aren't cat fights usually for a guy?" Dorian asks from the top of the stairs. "Thought you weren't man enough for the Seeker. Though…"

"Dorian," Diana yells out. "That's my Templar. Go find your own."

"There we go. Now it's about a guy."

Curved corners and hurricanes. How about one straight road? Just once?

"Commander! There's a mass of mages at the Entrance of Haven! They say the Herald sent them here!"

Now you're just messing with me.