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3rd Kingsway


Cullen could feel the beginning of a headache tightening his temples. The Gull and Lantern was hot and noisy. Redcliffe village was thriving, now peace and security had been restored to the Hinterlands, and with the usual evening crowd supplemented by the Chargers, the inn's common room was full.

Mia had excused herself early, saying she wanted to write some letters. Cullen knew he should do the same — but he had sent word of their safe arrival back to Skyhold as soon as they reached the Inquisition camp on the outskirts of the village, and any letter he wrote to Killeen would have little chance of overtaking her on the road.

He could attempt to sleep, but the past few nights had shown him the folly of trying to do so until the inn's evening customers made their unsteady way home.

Glancing around to assure himself that Stanton was still safely tucked between Krem and Dorian, and that Krem at least seemed sober enough to make sure the lad came to no harm, Cullen slipped out the door into the welcome cool and relative quiet of the evening air.

The Gull and Lantern was hardly ideal for an extended stay, but when Cullen had decided against using the Inquisition's influence with Arl Teagan to secure lodging in Redcliffe Castle, he had not expected they would be breaking their journey for more than a day. He'd had vague ideas of returning Fel to her parents' care, placating the child with a promise of a future visit to Skyhold and extracting a promise from her mother that Ser Calenhad would be given a chance to heal.

From Fel's mention in her letter that her mother had gotten fat, Cullen had guessed that Fel would soon have a younger brother or sister — but he had been startled to see, when Anandra opened the door to his knock, that she was evidently well-advanced in pregnancy. It has only been a few months since she left Skyhold, surely … He had little experience to draw on, but even that little had suggested to him that Anandra was closer to full-term than those few months could account for.

She had met his surprised gaze, and said flatly, "No, it isn't my husband's. Yes, I'm an ungrateful whore. No, he didn't have to keep me once he found out. Yes, I'm very grateful. Does that cover it?"

"Mistress Anandra, I thought no such —" Cullen had started to say, then had realised Anandra wasn't listening, instead looking past him to where Fel stood, slightly lopsided to keep her weight off her injured foot, clutching Ser Calenhad tightly.

"Felandaris, where in the Void have you been? Half the militia's been looking for you! When your father gets home, young lady, he'll have a few things to say to you, mark my word."

"She's quite safe," Cullen had said unnecessarily.

"Thank you for returning her." Anandra had put her hands on her hips and glared at her daughter. "Put that filthy animal down and get inside, Fel. This instant!"

"I won't!" Fel cried.

"The kitten is getting better —" Cullen had tried to explain.

And, thank the Maker, Mia had taken charge. She had swept past him as if he wasn't there, taken Anandra by the arm, and steered her into the house, saying, "You shouldn't be on your feet, Mistress Anandra. Let's all sit down, and I'll make some tea." A glance backward. "Fel and everyone will be just fine out here."

The house had been less than spotless, although the dust and dirt tracked over the floor were relatively recent. Confirming it, Fel's mother had muttered an apology as she sank into a chair in the kitchen — an apology Mia promptly dismissed as unnecessary. Making tea for them all with brisk efficiency, Mia had chattered brightly about how hard she'd found it to keep things clean and tidy when she was expecting, and how tired one got, and how impossible it was to bend.

And Anandra had certainly looked tired as she sat sipping her tea while Mia whisked around the kitchen setting it to rights — had looked, to Cullen, exhausted. Mia's gentle questions elicited the information that Anandra had no family nearby, nor women friends. In between her sentences, Cullen had heard other, unspoken words: the isolation of a women whose body betrayed to any observer that she had not been faithful to the husband risking his life to protect the very people she now found herself living among; the difficult relationship between a mother with no-one else to turn to and a daughter resenting the upheaval of her life; a marriage strained to breaking point and a home always on the uneasy edge of argument.

It had taken all Cullen's efforts to persuade Anandra to allow Fel to bring Ser Calenhad into the house, and then only on the condition he stay in the cellar. Fel, limping into the kitchen with the kitten in her arms, had insisted that in that case, she would sleep in the cellar as well. With the air of a woman who could not summon the energy for one more argument, Anandra had agreed.

Leaving the house, Cullen had thought it worth a day's break in their journey to have the chance to speak to Fel's father, although to what useful end he was not entirely sure. At least, he'd thought, directing their little company toward the inn, at least I'll have the chance to take the measure of the man. He had never met Recruit Rennett, one of Corporal Vale's men, although he knew the man had acquitted himself well in the defence of the refugees at the Crossroads. Perhaps he can be persuaded to promise Fel a visit to Skyhold, and perhaps that will keep the peace between her and her mother for a little.

However, he had learned the next day that, informed of his daughter's safe return, Rennett had immediately returned to his usual duties, and would be on patrol for several days. Such devotion to duty was commendable, Cullen was sure — indeed, back in Kirkwall he would have disapproved of any man who'd scanted his professional responsibilities for personal considerations.

And it was that thought that gave him pause. Back in Kirkwall …

Killeen has her feet on his desk, her boots adding new scars to the polished wood to join the others she has left there over the years. He should protest but there have been times when the sight of those scuffs and scratches and their reminder of unflappable, insubordinate, utterly dependable Kill Hanmount have been the only thing that allows him to hold on. The only thing that keeps him waiting until the shift-change bell to take his dose, instead of ten minutes early, thirty, an hour … the only thing that keeps him from draining the bottle and striding down to the quartermaster to requisition more.

"You can't be serious," Kill says flatly.

"I am," Cullen tells her. "These allegations are serious, and demand action."

"They're ridiculous!" Killeen retorts. "Captain Aveline wouldn't know how to coddle anyone if she wanted to! And the Guard is in better shape than ever, at least, since I've been here."

"Nonetheless." He sighs, sinks into his own chair. "Trust your judgement as I do, I can't ignore these complaints based only on your word. I have no choice."

"There must be someone they'll listen to," Killeen says. She stretches her legs, and Cullen hears a new gouge joining the others. Maker's breath, it's a liberty he'd allow no-one else, not even the Champion of Kirkwall herself —

"There is," he says, pulls paper and quill toward him, and begins to write. Champion Hawke, as a courtesy for your past service, be aware that I have received complaints about your frequent companion, Guard-Captain Aveline. She is accused of coddling her men and weakening law enforcement … He finishes the letter, seals it, and holds it out to Killeen. "Deliver this to the Champion on your way back to the Keep."

"Yes, ser," she says, her mocking emphasis reminder that he in no way has the authority to command her — but she is smiling as she takes the letter, and for the first time in weeks Cullen feels as if he may have done something right.

The thought is a nonsense, of course. He does his duty each and every day, keeping order in the Gallows and bringing in those apostates who survive their arrests. It is a heavy responsibility, protecting Kirkwall from the threats posed by those cursed with magic, but there have been no Abominations within the Kirkwall Circle. The mages complain at the restrictions on their freedom, of course, but mages always do, always weep and wail and make up false allegations against their Templar guards ...

And that is all they are, false allegations, no matter how pitiable the man or woman making them. Although …

Outside, the bell rings for change of shift. Cullen reaches for his desk drawer, the thought skittering away, find the little blue bottle waiting. His hands shake as he flicks out the cork and then —

And then the mages, and their complaints, were forgotten.

Back in Kirkwall he had not allowed himself to see that devotion to duty could be just as secure a hiding place from truths that should be faced, conversations that should be had, as the bottom of a bottle or the back rooms at the Blooming Rose.

Cullen had called the Iron Bull over, told him they'd be staying on several more days.

Which had meant a few more nights at the Gull and Lantern than he'd planned, or than he liked.

Still, the rest will be good for Mia. She didn't complain on the way here, but we travelled faster than can have been comfortable for her, and it's many days further to South Reach.

And Stanton had been making good use of his time, watching the Chargers practice and, Cullen had been pleased to see, working diligently at the exercises the Iron Bull had set him. No sword until you prove you can bear it, the Qunari had declared. Cullen remembered well the frustration of being set to improving his strength and wind when all he wanted was to learn to fight. The requirement was as much to weed out those without the necessary discipline and determination as to prepare the body for the rigours of military training — and Stanton, so far, had showed no signs of giving up.

He spent time with Dorian, too, asking endless questions about mages and magic, about Tevinter and the other places Dorian had seen in his travels. In fact, he spent almost more time with the mage than with the Chargers, Dorian spinning elaborate stories of the Imperium and the Fade and all places in between and Stanton hanging breathlessly on every word. Dorian's quick wit and exotic airs had the boy enthralled —

Cullen frowned up at the night sky. That is all it is, surely? The lad's too young …