Chapter 28
"'Forgive me. I claimed belief once, swore with tears in my eyes that Our Lady was the Light, and through Her blessing, I knew the Maker. But I cannot brook the division between what I have tried to know, and what I cannot ignore.
Is the Maker less silent than the profane elven pantheon, or the Old Gods of Tevinter? And what of Archdemons that are not silent at all? We have real, ongoing strife—all of us, every people and creed—that we blame on the heretical actions of others. And yet if any one of our truths was Truth, that blame would be impossible. It is not just that these claims of divinity cannot coexist. It is that no other claims could be made, if any one of those worshipped were ever truly 'god.'
I am shamed my faith cannot withstand so pedestrian an argument. All I have learned in my time here is fear.'
—Initiate Micaela Chavais
'Go as you must, as must we all, but know that the only thing worse than a faith broken, is a faith untested.'"
—from The Correspondence and Teachings of Mother Hevara, Val Royeaux archive
Cullen
Cullen wasn't exactly sure when things had gone horribly wrong. He recognized that they had, but he couldn't pinpoint when. Not that it mattered, not in the larger scheme of things, but he still wished he'd seen the incomprehensible extent to which it would go. Had gone. But he hadn't, which had left him in the awkward position of a clandestine meeting with a Seeker of Truth in an attempt to free a wrongfully imprisoned mage and her children.
Certainly, the Chantry had a lawful claim for Ava to be in their custody, but the girl was Fereldan, and should have been sent to Ferelden's Circle. That was how it worked, though her rare ability did put to question that rule, given the lack of appropriate teachers within the Circles. That circumstance aside, Grey Wardens were certainly not to be kept veritable prisoners in Circles, nor were their non-mage children to be snatched up from the street and kept in the Circle or with the templars. It just wasn't done, and it especially wasn't done when the boy in question was one of the heirs to the throne of Ferelden, when the girl was the niece of the King of Ferelden, and the Grey Warden happened to be the wife of said King's brother.
Knight-Commander Meredith hadn't just stepped over the line, oh no. She'd flung herself over it with abandon, and now Cullen was quickly running out of options other than helplessly watching everything going wrong as they continued to do so at an alarming pace.
Along with it came a never-ending supply of paperwork. Paperwork always awaited him in his office, and today it was a stack of reports he'd never expected. Before today, Cullen had only received stellar progress reports about Ava, and now they suddenly read like they were about another child entirely. As he paged through them, he saw they were filled with incidents of loud disagreement, defiance, and even some fighting. Maker. Impressively, none of the fights had involved the use of magic on Ava's part. She'd opted for only angry fists. The Fereldan in him was strangely proud, while the rest of him despaired at her beginning to cause as many headaches as her brother. And he was certain that her brother was exactly why she'd finally broken and rebelled—Cáel had been taken from her a week ago, leaving her alone, without her mother or her brother, in a foreign Circle filled with strangers.
Cullen still hadn't worked up the courage to inform Líadan. He knew perfectly well that, if he did, she would abandon all presumptions of patience and most likely attempt immediate escape. That would lead to a very bad end, and with the help of Seeker Cassandra, it needn't be a path they go down. It would be a trial of endurance between his patience and his guilt, yet neither outcome could be called good, and there seemed less of a point than ever to completing his paperwork.
He left it and went out to observe the initiates, opting for youth instead of the hopelessness of adulthood.
Which meant one of the youths in question barreled straight into him, late for his swordsmanship training outside. And instead of being apologetic in any way whatsoever, the boy glared furiously up at him, his dark blue eyes challenging him to say a word.
Cullen stared down at the most rebellious initiate he'd ever encountered. He despaired inside because he knew this boy wasn't meant to be a templar, would never accept the beliefs and rules of the Order, and would do everything he could to subvert the Order. Yet, at first glance, he presented as a fine candidate. When it came to learning arms, he regularly trounced the other initiates in his age group. In the classroom, he exploited whatever doubts he could in his classmates, thus continuing to incite the same tiny rebellions as he had in the Circle.
Yet, his classwork was impeccable, and he knew it, and challenged the teachers to defeat him. If Cullen had believed the boy had any chance of staying within the Order, he'd have worked with him. He'd done it before, with boys and girls nearly as angry as the one currently glaring at him. But Cullen knew it was only a matter of time before the boy's family—an incredibly powerful family—discovered he was here, and forcibly removed him from Chantry custody. Cullen despaired, because it was his duty to work with his boy in the meantime, and he had no chance of turning him around.
Nor did he want to. Knight-Commander Meredith held him wrongly, and Cullen would welcome the moment when the boy's family took him back. Meanwhile, he engaged in his own tiny rebellions by leaving the boy to learn what he could, and not press the Chantry's agenda.
The Knight-Commander sending the boy to the templars as an initiate had shocked Cullen. He truly hadn't believed she'd do it, not after she'd told him that she didn't want to separate brother and sister, but then she'd inexplicably done so. It frightened him to think of what else she would now do that he'd previously thought she would never. Things had gone horribly wrong, and did not look to be improving.
Cullen despaired, because he couldn't tell the boy in front of him any of those things, not directly, and was left to deal with a spectacularly angry child, who displayed rather remarkable control where expressing his anger violently would be wrong. And he knew damn well the child would snap, because Cáel was a child, and it was only a matter of time before youth, confusion, frustration, and helplessness finally got to him. Cullen didn't want the boy hurt, nor did he want any of the other initiates hurt, but he did not want to insult Cáel or his family by trying to persuade the boy to the Chantry's side.
Cullen despaired, because as he kept staring down at Cáel, Cáel stared right back up at him, arms crossed over his chest, daring Cullen to assert any sort of authority over him.
He considered just telling him everything anyway.
But he didn't. He said not a word as he pointed toward the path to the yard.
The boy gave him a triumphant nod and marched outside.
And Cullen despaired.
He waited long enough so as not to appear to be following Cáel, not wanting to show any favoritism toward any single initiate. Then he headed to the yard himself to appraise the initiates and their progress, as he often did. As of late, he preferred this side of his duties over managing templar matters within the Circle. Here, his duties were clearer, especially when it came to the side of right, and it gave him a chance to breathe.
Ser Thrask nodded when Cullen stopped to stand next to him as they both observed the initiates.
Which meant of course Cáel was currently in the ring. As the two templars watched, Cáel caught a mistake from his opponent—too deep a lunge that over-extended the other boy. It rendered his recovery too slow and way off balance, leaving him vulnerable. Having already bound the other boy's blade with his own, Cáel quickly stepped to the side and knocked his opponent into the dirt. Then he held the wooden tip of his waster at the other boy's throat.
His opponent groaned. "Yield. I yield."
Thrask groaned along with him. "Out of the dozen of them," he said quietly to Cullen, "I haven't found another initiate who can even challenge him, much less defeat him. He's good, and he's a natural talent."
Cullen hummed his agreement, very careful to pitch is voice in a tone that could not be overheard. "Except he's got a rather large advantage with his prior training from Grey Wardens and on up to the King of Ferelden himself. Given the same training, I think a few of the others could match him, maybe even defeat him."
"I can see that. He's got a size advantage on most of them, though. That's hard to compensate for. Ser Carver's a good illustration of that size advantage all grown up. You build them all that way in Ferelden?"
"More his line, I would say, Ser Carver aside." Theirins ran tall, and were built for swinging swords through battles. From what Cullen remembered from meeting them years ago, the boy's male relatives all expressed those traits.
Another trait found in Theirins, Cullen had noted, was their remarkable charisma that made it hard to dislike them. But the other initiates hadn't really taken a shine to Cáel, which left him baffled on one part. The other part recognized a young boy filled with so much anger and resentment that it forced the other children away from him. Cullen assumed that if Cáel were not here involuntarily, cruelly separated from his family, then he would be a very different child.
Cullen couldn't blame him, headache though he caused.
Which meant that Cáel picked that moment to lose his temper and begin to goad the other initiates into more fighting.
"Anyone else?" asked Cáel. "Go ahead! You've been trying to get my ring from me for days. Come take it from me. Put me in the dirt and you can take it. Go ahead! Or are you going to let some Fereldan dog-lord show you Marchers up all day long?"
"Maker's balls," Thrask muttered as two initiates started forward to meet Cáel's challenge. Thrask moved into the ring and brought a quick end to the session by stepping in between the willing combatants. The other two initiates, a boy and two girls, backed off as Thrask put a restraining hand on Cáel's shoulder. Then Thrask shot an expectant look over at Cullen.
Cullen sighed. "Bring him to my office. I'll be up in a moment."
As Thrask led the boy away, a few of the other initiates started to taunt him over it.
"Shut it, all of you," said Cullen. "I know exactly what's been going on and neither side is innocent. You've been calling him dog-lord because he happens to be Fereldan. I'm Fereldan, as well, if it hasn't escaped your notice. Are you going to start calling me the same?"
"No, Knight-Captain," they chorused.
"Then stop calling him that. You're provoking him. Knock it off."
"He's provoking us, too," said the initiate Cáel had set to his backside.
"I know," said Cullen. "I'll put a stop to it from his end, you'll stop from your end, and then you will all learn from each other instead of being enemies, or Maker help you, you will all be restricted to barracks until you do."
After another chorus of assent from the initiates, he called over one of the Knight-Lieutenants to take over with them, and then headed inside. The other initiates would shape up, Cullen knew. They weren't a bad lot, and most initiate groups didn't face the challenge they had to face with one of their peers. Given the right guidance, they'd find their way. For Cullen, his immediate challenge waited for him in his office.
Thrask stood just outside the closed door. "Have fun with that one," he said as Cullen began to open it.
He didn't bother to reply. It only encouraged Thrask.
Inside, Cáel sat impossibly still in the chair in front of Cullen's desk. Cullen knew it wasn't a natural stillness for Cáel, because he'd seen him fidget and become generally restless when he thought no one was looking. It had relieved Cullen somewhat to see, to know that the boy wasn't preternaturally in control like no normal child, but was a little better at directing his restlessness instead.
"I haven't seen my sister for a week," Cáel said before Cullen had even sat down.
He shot a withering look at the boy as he took his seat. "Your sister hasn't seen your mother at all, and yet you have."
"Because I escaped and got up there."
"Do you really think you did that on your own?"
Cáel opened his mouth, and then shut it in favor of staring at Cullen. "What do you mean?"
"The templar on duty happened to look away just long enough for you to bolt. I knew exactly where you'd gone once I was informed that you'd run off, and yet I found myself delayed when I went to fetch you."
The boy took that in, his illusion of stillness fading away, and he began to ply at the frayed edges of the ratty gambeson he wore. He hadn't bothered to remove it as he was escorted away from the training area. "Why?"
An entire list's worth of reasons, Cullen thought, but he couldn't give the boy most of them because he didn't want him to let on to others, some of whom might inform the Knight-Commander if they knew. "Templar though I am, I remain a Fereldan."
"But you're in Kirkwall."
"I had noticed, but thank you for informing me."
Before Cullen had even finished his answer, Cáel had opened his mouth again to fire off another retort. On hearing Cullen's, Cáel closed his mouth and gave him a surprised look. Then the briefest flash of amusement showed in the boy's eyes.
If Cullen recalled correctly from what time he'd spent with Cáel's parents, along with his single meeting—the first one, in Kinloch Hold, they had all agreed did not count—of Ferelden's king, Cáel would have found that sort of humor quite familiar.
Then the amusement was gone, and instead of the defiant child who'd been sitting across from Cullen before, sat a frightened little boy.
The change astonished him. Cullen hadn't realized how well that curtain of anger had hidden Cáel's fear, and he wasn't sure how he felt now that he'd seen the curtain parted.
Cáel resumed his fidgeting. "Does my father know we're here?"
"No, I don't think he does. I believe he'd have been knocking at our gates already if he did." Cullen honestly dreaded that part of what would happen when the boy's father did find out that his family was being held by the Chantry. The man wasn't without very powerful allies and friends, and most would not hesitate to help him get them back. Which, Cullen was sure, was why the Knight-Commander had kept such a tight clamp on what and who got out of the Gallows.
"So no one's told him," said Cáel.
"I suspect not."
Cáel heard something in Cullen's voice that caused him to look up. "Not yet?"
"Not yet."
The boy gave him a small nod. He'd understood the unspoken message: people were trying to tell his father. Then Cáel shifted in his seat, as if it'd suddenly become uncomfortable. "My uncle was a templar."
"I'd heard your uncle didn't take his vows, so he wasn't a full templar."
"He said he got sent down to the scullery a lot."
Cullen nearly laughed out loud at the image of the King of Ferelden scrubbing pots and pans. He managed to keep a straight face, but only just.
"Am I going to get sent to the scullery?" asked Cáel.
Cullen raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
"I think I've been awful, and I'd send me down there, were I you. But I'm me, and I don't really want to go, so I should probably come up with something else."
"You do need to stop taunting the others."
"I suppose. But they aren't very good."
He sighed. "Consider, for a moment, that none of them may have had the training you have. How many seven-year-olds do you know who have been taught the basics of swordsmanship by Grey Wardens?"
Cáel sat back, properly abashed. "I hadn't thought of that."
"I didn't think you had. Most children your age wouldn't, and you're no exception. Now," Cullen said, somewhat relieved that their confrontation hadn't been quite as confrontational as he'd believed it would, "what would stop you from goading the others?"
"Not being here."
The boy was going to be the death of him. Cullen rubbed his forehead with his thumb, wondering if he'd have an imprint there by the time said death took him. "Other than that, or anything to do with any of your family members being held or not held in the Circle."
"Oh." Cáel plucked the small statue of Archon Hessarian from Cullen's desk and turned it over and over in his hands, all without bothering to provide an answer. Then he said, "They call me dog-lord."
"Has it occurred to you that you technically are? Your uncle is the King of Ferelden. Those other initiates might have a case."
His hands stilled and he frowned up at Cullen. "But they don't know who my uncle is. They don't know who I am or who my father is. They just know my first name and that I'm Fereldan and that I don't want to be here."
Cullen well knew that while the initiates did tease each other, including name-calling, a true bully hadn't popped up in the group. Not yet, and he planned on keeping it that way. He also knew that every other initiate either wanted to be here, or was a Chantry orphan without any better prospects in life. Cáel's general and badly hidden resentment caused the same feelings in the others, but they directed them back at Cáel. Not that Cáel didn't then return it in spades, but it wasn't a healthy arrangement either way.
"I want to go home," said Cáel.
Which, really, did not need to be said.
"I know," said Cullen.
Cáel practically launched out of his chair. "Then let me go home!"
The shout took Cullen by surprise. It was the first total loss of temper anyone had witnessed from the child, aside from what had been reported by the templars involved in his capture. He was honestly relieved to see Cáel act like a normal boy, given to fits of temper like any other. Considering how little they'd seen of his temper thus far, the boy's current reaction had been a long time in coming.
"That isn't my decision to make," he replied as evenly as possible. "That would be Knight-Commander Meredith."
"Then let me talk to her!"
He could allow the boy to petition to see the Knight-Commander, but he didn't see it going well for either party. "I don't think that would be a productive meeting." Just as none of her meetings with Líadan had been.
Cáel didn't shout at him, which Cullen believed might be some progress. Then again, the boy's grip on the statue hadn't loosened, and anyone who bothered to look could easily see he was wrestling with another looming outburst. He also did not sit down. Instead, he stood right in front of Cullen's desk and started tapping the statue on the top. "Are you going to let me see my mother or sister again?"
"I honestly don't know if I can. You live in initiate barracks now. It's one thing for a younger apprentice mage to manage a visit to the older apprentice dormitory, and quite another for a templar initiate to do the same."
Cáel's fingers tightened as he tapped the statue harder against the desk. "Why is my mother living with the apprentices? Grown-ups aren't apprentices."
"Technically, mages are considered apprentices until they pass their Harrowing. Typically, apprentices go through their Harrowing within the few years before reaching their majority." He really wanted to avoid the conversation the boy really wanted to have, but he couldn't see a way around it if Cáel persisted. And he well knew from prior interaction that Cáel persisted.
"But not every apprentice goes through a Harrowing."
"No." Cullen rubbed at his forehead again. "Some choose Tranquility instead, as is their right."
"And if they agree to neither?"
Cullen knew that Cáel already knew the answer; he just wanted Cullen to say it out loud. So he did. "Tranquility."
Cáel's hand stilled. "Let us go home. You have to let us go home. I can't—you can't do that to her!"
"She very well might choose to undergo a Harrowing."
Cáel laughed, but it was a harsh laugh, wildly out of place from a child. "I was wrong, then. You don't know us at all, for all a Fereldan you are. My mother will never agree to it. Never."
"Not even for you and your sister?"
"We're two of the reasons why she'll always refuse." Cáel paused, looking down at the desk before he looked up at Cullen again. "Will it be Knight-Commander Meredith who does it, or will it be you? If it's you, you should just…" He free hand tightened into a fist as his fingers strangled the statuette, and his entire body started to tremble. Cullen wasn't sure if it was energy from anger or fear or sadness or everything, but it all wanted to come out. And he knew exactly what Cáel had planned on saying—that Cullen might as well kill his mother over making her Tranquil—but no small child, no child, should have to say such a thing aloud.
Cáel turned and whipped the statue at the stone wall, shattering it. Cullen said nothing as the shards plinked onto the floor, one by one. The head of the statue rolled into a leg of the chair Cáel had upended as he spun.
There wasn't much of a point in scolding Cáel. To Cullen, it was a trinket. To the boy, it was probably some sort of victory, but not enough of one to pick a whole new fight over.
As if the wrecked statue and the overturned chair hadn't been enough, Cáel still trembled, and he lashed out with his leg to kick the chair. When that didn't seem to work, the statue of Andraste, the one that had once stood next to Hessarian, became Cáel's next victim, hastily picked up and hurled against the wall.
The trembling lessened. Then he slumped against the wall before sliding down to sit, his back braced against it.
For a long time, Cáel said nothing. Cullen let him have the silence. There wasn't much else he could allow, not with the absolute authority Knight-Commander Meredith seemed to be wielding like a club lately.
"She told me she'd rather die," Cáel said so quietly that Cullen had to strain to hear. "That she would rather die and so would every mage she knew."
"You've spoken about this?" He didn't think it something that would come up in regular conversation, given they'd lived in relative safety from the Circle prior to entering Kirkwall.
"On the day that Ava showed her magic, I saw a Tranquil at court. He… he was empty, and I asked my mother why. But she didn't tell me then, not about her. That came after. After we had to leave our home and leave behind Papa and Nan and my uncles and aunts and cousins—everyone—because we didn't want this to happen. And it happened anyway and if you're the one who has to… if it's you, you should…" Cáel squeezed his fingers into fists and pressed them hard against the floor. "You should kill her instead." The last pronouncement barely made it out of his throat, half-strangled and half-sob that it was. The trembling returned, yet somehow served its purpose and kept the boy from crying.
Cáel drew up his knees, folded his arms over them, and then hid his face in his arms.
Cullen had no idea what to do. Before Knight-Commander Meredith had locked everyone inside the Gallows, when things like this happened they'd called on Grand Cleric Elthina to speak with the troubled initiate. She had a way with children, and even when the children couldn't place their full trust in their templar instructors, somehow they always gave the Grand Cleric their trust.
So, he waited. He waited, like he'd been forced to do with nearly every other situation because Knight-Commander Meredith had practically castrated him for all he was free to do now. He waited because he owed this boy something—his freedom, obviously, and the freedom of his family—and he could do nothing substantial about it. Maybe that Seeker would get through, but he couldn't pin his hopes, their hopes, on just one person. More than once, he'd considered going to the Grand Cleric and sod the consequences, but he wasn't sure if even that would work. The Knight-Commander would know immediately, and Cullen feared for what she might do before anyone could intervene. If he remained here, he could protect them, from the Knight-Commander and from themselves. And so he waited.
Cáel raised his head and faced Cullen. "I won't goad the other initiates," he said, his voice rough, but steady.
Cullen nodded. "Good."
"And I'm almost sorry about your little statues."
"Almost?"
"Well, they were ugly." There was a mischievous glint in the boy's eye, which signaled the moment to be over.
Despite the dire situation looming over them, Cullen chuckled. "No one will argue that, lad. Except, perhaps, their sculptors. But maybe not even them." He pointed at the door. "Off to the barracks with you. You've got studying to do and fellow initiates not to goad."
Cáel nodded, and then quietly left.
He didn't bring up Tranquility again.
Cullen exited soon after, his office in shambles behind him, having decided it would be best dealt with on another day.
Thrask, who'd waited outside, raised an eyebrow at him. "What was that?"
"My statue of Archon Hessarian being rendered into a hundred pieces. Andraste's statue ended up about the same."
"Hope you weren't attached to them."
"Not really. They came with the office."
"So what was that all about?"
"Everything pertaining to his mother, and then some. Speaking of—" He checked to make sure the hallway was empty, and then nodded to himself before addressing Thrask. "I need you to show me exactly where your new exit is."
"You do? You've never wanted me to before. Plausible deniability, I believe it was you said."
"My mind changed. I need to see it. If this Seeker doesn't come through soon, it may be our only option."
Without saying anything more, Thrask started toward the part of the Gallows that held the Circle.
Their walk into the depths of the Gallows was silent aside from their footsteps on the stone stairs. The air became dank as they went lower, damp from the harbor nearby and they were surely below the water table this far down. The dungeons had never felt quite right to Cullen, as if he could hear a spirit whispering just faintly enough that he couldn't make out the words, or could see a faint spirit out of the corner of his eye, only to have it disappear when he looked. And it had begun to feel familiar, like a place he'd left in body a long time ago, and in mind had never entirely left. He'd dealt with the memories and locked them away, and the atmosphere of these dungeons had them banging at the lid of their box.
It felt like Kinloch Hold.
When Thrask finally showed him the pit connecting—supposedly—to the sewers, Cullen could barely keep himself from shivering, and every hair on the back of his neck stood upright. "There is a reason why no one ever used this," Cullen said to Thrask. "Can't you feel it? There's barely a Veil here at all." And one good cough would sunder it.
"The First Enchanter did mention it, yes."
"And he still believes it a good idea?" One would think a First Enchanter not have so much arrogance to be this short-sighted, but Orsino was young, as far as First Enchanters went. Perhaps that was why.
Thrask shrugged. "He didn't say anything otherwise."
Cullen gestured violently at the black pit. "There is nothing waiting in there but death. Do not let anyone use it. I don't care if you have to smite them and drag them back to their rooms, but don't let anyone in."
"You're that certain?"
"It feels like Kinloch Hold, when demons and abominations alike stalked the corridors, killing wantonly. That's what lies in wait down there. Our duty will be to determine if there's a Fade tear in the tunnel. If there isn't one, we close it up so one can't be opened unwittingly."
"And if there is?"
"Maker help us."
Thrask glanced back at the pit, clearly not as convinced as Cullen. "If there is one, it would have to be small."
"It would still be a tear in the Veil," Cullen said with force. "It cannot be allowed to happen or to worsen if it's already there. Tell the Underground to find another way, because I will not allow them to die. Especially not that way. I've seen it enough, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, not even a blood mage."
That statement finally gave Thrask pause, and he nodded at Cullen. "I'll see to it. The First Enchanter won't like it, though."
"Leave him and his ire to me."
When Cullen exited the dungeons, he could still feel the darkness clinging to his clothes as muck clung to boots. He preferred the muck—for it, at least, reminded him of home. Thrask headed further up into the Gallows while Cullen headed for the First Enchanter's office. No time need be wasted in warning him of the danger awaiting in that Maker-forsaken pit. Except Orsino wasn't there, which meant he was on the higher levels of the Gallows, and most likely surrounded by other mages and templars. Speaking with him there about such a sensitive subject would be phenomenally stupid, so Cullen contented himself with waiting until first thing the next day.
In the morning, he discovered that one of the Tranquil who cleaned the Gallows had already set his office to rights. Given what had ignited Cael's tantrum that'd wreaked the havoc on his office, it felt wrong, but done was done. The smashed remains of the statues had been left in a wastebasket, and there were two new chairs to replace ones Cullen assumed had been beyond salvage.
On Cullen's relatively untouched desk rested a stack of papers. More incident reports, he realized as he leafed through them, including one from First Enchanter Orsino. All but two had to do with Ava, who just so happened to be Cáel's sister.
Cullen realized he'd have to have a conversation with her.
Maker.
He jumped the tiniest bit from a knock on his doorjamb, and then saw Ser Ruvena standing in the doorway, looking the slightest bit apprehensive. "Yes?" asked Cullen.
"Ser Thrask said I'd be the one with you today."
Which was fine with Cullen, because Thrask had given him shit about his study during evening meal and after. A break was fine with him, and judging by the tiredness in Ruvena's eyes, she could use a break from her usual guard detail in the Circle. "That's fine."
Ruvena let out a huge sigh of relief, which only confirmed Cullen's suspicions. "Duty getting to you, is it?
"Maker, Knight-Captain, you've no idea. I could've hugged Ser Thrask when he said I'd be your adjutant today. Only templars and initiates and possibly the Knight-Commander, which means no guarding an irate Dalish mage who has every reason to be irate, or guarding any mages at all."
Cullen almost felt bad. Almost. "Then I've got good news and bad news. Good is that you won't be around your customary charge. Bad is that I've got to go speak with her daughter sometime today, and since you're my adjutant, that means you're coming with me."
Though Ruvena paled, she did remain stalwart. "It's about her behavior, isn't it? Went downhill fast after the Knight-Commander moved her brother."
"Precisely." Cullen stood. "First, I've a visit to pay to the First Enchanter. You get to stay outside for that one."
Ruvena was quiet as they strode to Orsino's office. Once they arrived, she silently took up a relaxed watch while Cullen rapped on the door. He went straight in the moment Orsino bade for him to enter.
"No," Cullen said to Orsino as soon as he had closed the door.
Orsino slowly looked up from the open book on his desk. "Excuse me?"
"Whatever plot you and the Underground have hatched, you will not go through with it."
"I thought you wanted her out?" Orsino did sound truly puzzled, Cullen had to give him that. Though it concerned him that a First Enchanter didn't recognize the incredible danger waiting in that pit. It should've been closed off ages ago.
"Not by way of death. How could you have not felt the thin Veil down there? I've seen strands of hair thicker than that."
"I did, but I decided it was worth the risk."
"It isn't."
Orsino traced a finger around one of the bosses on the book cover before he asked, "You have that much faith in that Seeker messenger of yours?"
"No. It's a hope, like any other. I would go to the Grand Cleric, but the Knight-Commander would know what I was up to as soon as she noticed my absence. Her paranoia would allow nothing else."
"I can't disagree, yet it leaves us at an impasse. Do we cool our heels and pray the Seeker comes through? Or do we take control of our own fates?"
Cullen knew Orsino spoke of the mages and not the templars, though in the Gallows, with some, he wasn't so sure of them being as separate as they'd once been. "Find another way, First Enchanter. Death is the only escape you'll find in that pit."
"Very well." He shut his book and leaned back. "Now, speaking of that confounding family and their imprisonment here, have you given thought to speaking with Ava? Because if you have, a good time would be when the apprentices are finishing their evening meal. She's also got far less energy by that point in the day."
He shrugged. "Might as well, for all the good it will do."
"Yes, Meredith's little choice stole the fervor the child had once given her studies and focused it on causing the same problems her brother did."
Cullen slid a look toward the door, ostensibly toward the Knight-Commander's office across the hall, and then turned back to Orsino. "You could request she be sent to Kinloch Hold, considering she's Fereldan." Very Fereldan, member of the ruling family and all, Cullen thought, but Orsino knew and so he didn't bother to say it.
"What makes you think I haven't?" To Cullen's surprise, Orsino sounded more than a little bitter. "I requested all three of them sent there. Meredith rejected every request, so now my job revolves around keeping that infuriating Dalish woman from getting herself put through the Rite. Were it not so important she not be, I would have given up by now."
Cullen studied him for a moment, because during all his time at the Gallows, he'd never once witnessed Orsino give up on a single mage. Whatever else he might have thought about the Circles of Magi and the Chantry, he truly did care about the mages within his own Circle. "No, you wouldn't," he said.
Orsino narrowed his eyes at him, and then sighed. "No, I wouldn't. I hate seeing anyone put through the Rite, especially one of mine."
"She's one of yours now?" Cullen nearly laughed at realizing the source of Orsino's frustration. He'd taken responsibility for Líadan, and she was a person for whom she believed no one responsible except herself. And she made that opinion of hers very clear, and even clearer when someone in supposed authority insisted.
As Orsino had clearly been doing, as First Enchanter.
He nearly laughed out loud.
Orsino raised his arms as if he were giving in. "She's here in this Circle, isn't she? Whether any of us likes it or not—me, you, her especially—she's one of ours until she goes home. Not to say that I don't look forward to her doing so, because I do."
He pursed his lips, dreading the answer to the question he had to ask, but he needed to know. "Does she know about Cáel?"
"That Meredith put him with the templar initiates? I suspect not, considering she hasn't literally gone for Meredith's head." He cocked his head to the side. "Let me guess, Meredith told you she'd do it herself?"
"It's her game, whatever it is."
"I'm honestly not certain she knows, not anymore." The look Orsino shot in the direction of Meredith's office was almost concerned. "She has always been harsh, but she's never been stupid, and she's never crossed lines. Tip-toed along them, yes, but never crossed. But with this—doing what amounts to abducting three members of Ferelden's royal family, keeping many of you templars as much prisoners as us mages, even moving the Theirin boy to the templars—it isn't the Meredith I've known for years. She never would have mercilessly separated siblings like that, and we both know why."
Cullen nodded. The death of Meredith's sister long ago, while a large reason why Meredith had become a templar, also had always made Meredith sympathetic to the occasional sibling pair brought into the Gallows. Not once had she separated siblings, not until she'd ordered Cáel to the templars and kept Ava in the Circle. The boy was only seven. If Meredith truly believed he needed to become a templar, there was plenty of time. Meanwhile, in the Circle, even if the lessons on magic were useless to him, the apprentices had plenty of other classes on the same topics as any educated child in Thedas. Most importantly, he was a point of stability for his sister, and one for his mother. Moving him threatened to break the very precarious grip that his mother kept on her tolerance at being held prisoner. "Whatever game she plays," Cullen said out loud, "it is a very dangerous one."
"I'm not certain she knows what game she plays. Not any longer."
"Neither am I." He glanced over at the clock sitting on one of the bookshelves behind Orsino. "I've other matters to attend to, so I shall take my leave. Find another way to get Líadan out." After he made eye contact with Orsino and caught his nod, he nodded back. "Have a good day, First Enchanter."
"Likewise."
Cullen left the First Enchanter in favor of checking in on the templar initiates, verifying that Cáel had stopped antagonizing his peers, and that they in turn had stopped calling him dog-lord.
The rest of the day passed quickly, and soon enough, Cullen and Ruvena waited outside the dining hall used for the younger apprentices. A pack of young mages burst out of the room, then others left in dribs and drabs. When Ava had still not appeared, Cullen wondered if she had somehow gotten away. Then he caught sight of the small human child with light auburn hair, an expression of determination in her light green eyes, and the same determination in her every step as she walked through the dining hall doors. She was vastly different from the angry and frightened child brought in weeks ago with her mother and brother, crying at her mother's injuries and capture, crying over the mabari who'd given her life to keep the templars from capturing her. And she was startlingly different from the tiny infant who'd come into Thedas and drew not a single breath until an impossibly old Dalish mage had brought it forth that he wondered if she was the same child. Then he didn't wonder, because he could see traits from both her parents written in her features and how she held herself.
Cullen was struck by the realization that if the Dalish mage who'd saved her—who also happened to be her easily irritated great-grandfather—ever found out that Cullen had been complicit in the child's capture, that the powerful Keeper would tear him limb from limb. And that was only if the girl's father didn't get to him first. The only thing that would save them and himself would be seeing them freed. It was a harder task than anyone would have thought, including Cullen.
He stepped in front of Ava, who drew up short and peered up at him. While she didn't lose her determined look, she was not openly hostile like her mother or brother. Cullen honestly wasn't sure which was the more frightening. "I need to speak with you," he said evenly to her.
Ava's eyes widened. Then she bolted past him and down the corridor.
Maker's breath was she fast.
Ruvena frowned. "She trying to escape, you think?"
Cullen sighed. "Probably trying to escape justice, given the reports on her behavior lately."
"I didn't mean to!" came Ava's protest from around the next corner.
Cullen held in another sigh as he trudged forward. "Which is why we need to have a chat, and why you aren't being punished. Not yet. But if you keep running, you will be."
"What… what would you do?"
He really didn't like the true dread in her voice. She wasn't supposed to fear him. He was protecting her, as templars were supposed to do for mages, and as subjects were supposed to for their rulers. Not that Ava was his ruler, but it was incredibly hard to forget her uncle was the king of his home country. "I'd pull you from your classes and have you scrubbing pots in the kitchens until you agreed to behave."
She gasped. "That's horrible!"
It seemed he and Ava's instructors had been right on one account: she truly was a student who loved to learn. "I know. The best punishments are the ones that suit the one being punished. Now," he said as he rounded the corner and saw Ava, who thankfully did not bolt again, "may we have our chat?"
"I suppose." She frowned a little. "Didn't we just have it?"
"Almost." He motioned toward the door to small classroom nearby. "Come on."
Once inside, Ava immediately sat at a table, put her elbows on it, and propped her chin in her hands. "What else is there to talk about?"
While Ruvena stayed just inside the door, Cullen leaned against the room's front wall, doing his best to appear non-threatening. With children like Ava, especially at her age, looking the slightest bit intimidating only encouraged them to remain silent. It rarely helped get to the bottom of problem behavior, much less solve it. "Well, for instance, I didn't hear you agree to behave better," he said to her.
"I'll behave better."
"Much better."
"Much better. I don't want to learn about scrubbing pots. I'd rather learn about magic."
"That makes two of us."
Her brows furrowed, and her mood lightened a little, presenting as curious rather than defensive. It was a start, Cullen figured. "You don't seem so bad," she said. "Stern, but nice. Why?"
"Because it's right."
She sat back in her chair and traced the woodgrain on the table. "Did you know I was born in Kirkwall?"
"I did, yes."
"You were?" came Ruvena's surprised question.
She offered her a smile. "I was! And there was a templar around when I was born. He had the same name as the Knight-Captain."
"Oh?" asked Cullen, feigning ignorance.
Which meant she caught right on. "Cullen isn't a very common name."
He couldn't help the rueful smile. "I don't imagine it is, but I've never conducted a poll."
"You sound like my uncle." She punctuated her statement with a glare.
"Considering who your uncles are, I stand in good company."
Her look turned exasperated, and she shoved her hair out of her face. "Was it you?"
"Yes."
"Why haven't you said anything?"
"Would you have believed me?" He wouldn't have, were he her. He scarcely believed it himself, and he'd been old enough to retain his memories of the event.
The girl thought for a moment, and then said, "No."
He nodded. "Which is why I didn't tell you. There wasn't a point. If anything, it would have made you even more suspicious."
Ava considered it for a while, changing her position in her chair several times as she did. Andraste's mercy, it seemed to Cullen like the entire family was incapable of sitting still.
Then she said, "Cáel told me that Mamae said you were all right, but you never said anything at all."
"Yes, but your brother told you that, and your mother told your brother. If I'd done the telling, you'd not have believed it, and no one would've blamed you."
She looked away, toward the young apprentices' dormitory, where the other children laughed and shouted away their energy before bed. "I miss my family."
The guilt hit Cullen hard in the gut, and he wished he could get them out quicker. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Will you let me see Cáel?"
"I'll tell you the truth: I'm not certain that I could arrange it. If I can, I will, but please don't count on it."
The hopeful glint disappeared from her eyes, and Cullen felt another twinge of guilt for being the one responsible for its disappearance. "What about my mother?" she asked. "Can I see her like Cáel did?"
"I doubt it would work for a second time. The Knight-Commander assigned a few more templars to guard the staircase between the two dormitories."
"Then why…" She halted and reconsidered her words, the wistfulness taken over by curiosity and concern. "Why's my mother with the older apprentices? She's a grown up. Shouldn't she be with other grown-ups?"
He really, truly wished these children didn't ask such tough questions, especially knowing the answers would hurt. "She hasn't agreed to be Harrowed. Unharrowed mages are considered apprentices, and so she lives with the apprentices."
"Is the Harrowing the thing with the demon?"
Because of course a six-year-old would know one of the supposedly secret parts of the ritual. He didn't bother holding in his sigh this time. "Yes."
"Mamae called it a stupid, barbaric shemlen practice and that no one should ever be put through it."
"Believe it or not, she has told me the same."
"And me," said Ruvena. "A lot, and loudly, in case either of you wondered."
Ava looked for one templar to another before lighting on Cullen. "Then why are you keeping her with the apprentices? She won't do it. She never would. If you think she would, then you don't know my mother."
It really didn't bode well for the future if Líadan's children were this damn certain she'd reject the ritual. Cullen would have to pray even more that Cassandra's message had gotten to the right people in enough time for them to send their own people to set this family free. Otherwise, he didn't like where things were headed. He just had to keep everyone clinging to patience. "I'm trying to convince her to do it, because if she doesn't do it, the Knight-Commander might make her Tranquil."
Ava shot to her feet, rigid with anger. "You can't let her do that! You can't!"
"Ava, if it's within my power to stop it, I will." If he had to risk getting between the brand and Líadan, he would. He'd rather the brand himself over the alternative.
"Promise," she whispered.
"I swear in the sight of Andraste and by the judgement of the Maker that I will do whatever it takes to stop it, should it come to pass."
Her eyes searched his for honesty. Once she found it, she gave him a serious nod, entirely convinced.
Cullen wished he could feel the same conviction. When he said his prayers that night before bed, he asked the Maker and Andraste for the same conviction.
Silence was their answer.
