The Way to a Templar's Heart
Though on the outside, Cullen had returned to Kirkwall ever the Knight-Captain he had been before his trip to the Coast, inside everything had changed. His mind had not a single reprieve of her, thoughts filled to the brim. Her eyes, voice, lips, hair, breasts, thighs, that smile, the laughter, the looks she liked to give him, the power at her fingertips. All of it was her. Night and day. Enaara. Enaara.
What was Knight-Lieutenant Brenna even saying? He didn't know. He found himself having to focus really hard to hear anything anymore, to understand anything happening around him. It had only been a few days—just a few, and she had promised he would see her again. Did she not want to? Did she go to Hawke, tell her he had been cold to her? Had she cried? Was she angry? Did she believe him a waste of effort and simply leave? He would have to check the shipping manifests later.
What plagued him the most was how consumed he was by her. He had never felt that way in Ferelden. He remembered loving her more than anything, feeling elation one should only feel in the presence of the Maker whenever he saw her. But still, he could do his duty to the Order and the Chantry without steeling his mind to focus. She was not in his every cell, tormenting him—not then, not like now. Why? Was it some kind of magic? No—he would know. That was ridiculous. It made no sense. The problem had to lie with him.
So what was it?
Brenna continued talking. What was she talking about? He mentally sighed and tried to focus again. Suddenly there was a stir of quiet commotion—no doubt some lost noble had wandered into the Gallows, some aristocrat come to make a fuss over things they didn't understand, a league of donators making their way to the Viscount's Keep vying for more control over the situation with the Qunari.
Cullen looked up and his mental processes momentarily shut down. She was here. She had come. He felt his heart thud inside his chest, something hot rising beneath the skin of his face. Enaara's long, black hair was loosely tight to one side, soft and stray strands gently caressing the sides of her face. She wore a gorgeous dress that hugged her curves, wrapping her in deep purple and light blue. He had never seen her this way before. The chain ensemble had been striking enough—but this…
She was beautiful.
Cullen didn't hear Brenna's comments. He just moved, leaving her to stand there and talk all she wanted. He moved straight to Enaara, straight to the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He convinced himself he was motivated by duty but knew deep in his heart that he just wanted to be near her.
...
Enaara smiled brightly when she saw him, wider when he made eye contact and his jaw practically dropped. Her cousin and Varric had been right: she would command his attention in this. She couldn't help but also notice the woman—Brenna—gape angrily as he walked away from her. She turned her eyes toward Enaara and glared, but there was nothing that could disturb this moment.
Once, a templar staring angrily at her would've terrified her. Now, she did not see a templar; she saw a woman. And a sense of triumph settled at her core. Even after Cullen had denied her, he still dropped everything to come to her. Enaara felt a little guilty at the idea of prevailing over Brenna, but mostly she was pleased.
Then Cullen was in front of her and she saw nothing else.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" he stammered bashfully like the man she had first fallen in love with. "Someone could discover you."
"What? Like this?" she asked, tugging at her dress. "You don't like my disguise?"
"I-I do," he replied breathily, glancing around. "W-we should walk."
He gently pushed at the small of her back, guiding her toward Hightown. When they were safely away from the Gallows and the Chantry, he motioned to a small garden and they lost themselves inside it.
"Do you come here often?" she asked, smiling at the hanging plants and greenery sprouting up around her. There were flowers of all colors reaching beautifully toward the sun.
"To think," he replied quietly.
"Does someone think with you?" she asked, peering over her shoulder at him with one brow raised. He shook his head.
"Enaara, you look," he swallowed, "nothing like a mage but… that does not mean someone will not figure out what you are."
"I thought mages belonged in the Gallows," she said, twirling to face him. He frowned.
"They do," he agreed. "It is what is best for everyone—for the people, the mages."
"But you didn't turn me in."
"I should have!" he said. "I don't know why I didn't, why I can't now. Apostates are dangerous." He looked at her with that familiar tormented expression; it suddenly occurred to her that he was having a hard time concentrating. "Maker, you're beautiful."
Enaara tried to hide her smile but she couldn't stop herself from blushing. There was so much conflict in him. She wanted to ask him out right, wanting to demand to know what had happened to him when she was gone. But she didn't. In the long nights of planning, she decided what was really gone was his trust in her—be it because of the Chantry or some sort of magical event—and she had to earn his trust once more. In this moment, she decided it wasn't that he didn't want to trust her, only something seemed to be preventing him from doing so.
"Cullen, I'm not an apostate," she told him sincerely. "After the archdemon was killed and the Blight averted, I was pardoned by our King."
"Pardoned?" he echoed in disbelief. She nodded.
"Yes. For services to Ferelden and honorable behavior as a mage, I was pardoned. I went on a service mission with the Chantry and we traveled together for one year, helping to heal the land and its people from the destruction wrought by the darkspawn. I even visited the Circle." She smiled. "I have never run away from my duty. I promise you."
Cullen ran his hand through his hair, clearly overwhelmed by the news.
"I… I can't believe it."
"You can write to First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir if you wish. Write to the Crown if you must, they will all confirm it. I would not lie to you."
"I know, I… I'm sorry for assuming… well," he cleared his throat, eyeing her hesitantly. She watched his eyes rove over her body, saw him swallow unsure.
...
Cullen was fighting touching her with all of his might. She was gorgeous, breath-taking. Quite literally, he found it was hard for him to breathe. He wasn't fighting lust, however—he was fighting something else. A desire to hold her, to hug and kiss her, to walk her on his arm through the town so everyone would know she was his, to carry her in his arms if she felt tired, to lift her by the waist over puddles in the street, to serve her with all of his being.
He almost smiled at her, but the visions came again. She was kneeling on the bed, fingertips brushing his face, telling him he was home—their home. That they had fled their duty and started a life on their own. A different vision rushed him. She was cooking and he embraced her from behind; she laughed—he loved her laugh—and she held the spoon to his lips for him to taste. Another vision—her brushing her hair in front of a vanity mirror while he watched lovingly. The horns spiraled out of the back of her head.
He put his hands to his face and demanded the visions stop. Go away. Vanish. Stop tainting her! he demanded of them. Exhausted by this, his arms dropped limply to his sides, and he looked over at her, expecting a reproachful stare, but her expression was gentle and patient.
"You don't have to tell me," she said softly. "I wish you would, but I won't force you. It seems painful. I'm sorry for that." She reached out and touched his face. He held her hand against his cheek, held it so tightly he thought he might've crushed her fingers but she showed no sign of pain.
Perhaps he had never healed, only thought he had. Perhaps, it was a false sense of security that had made him able to move on. Perhaps… it was all pretend, an illusion, and he was still sick.
He held her hand even tighter then kissed her palm. Her presence was soothing, but with it came the horrific nightmares that had tormented endlessly for weeks under Uldred's dark magic. How could he need something and repel it so fiercely at the same time?
"I'm… not well," he confessed. She frowned.
"Lyrium addiction?" she asked, but he shook his head.
"No. Oddly, no. I've been spared as few others have." He managed a small smile. "It doesn't affect all templars, just many of them." He closed his eyes as her thumb stroked his cheek. He tugged her closer, let their bodies press together, but kept her hand tightly in his. "It's… something else…" But he just couldn't tell her.
"It's okay," she said. "I will wait for you."
"You shouldn't," he warned her half-heartedly and then kissed her palm again.
/
"Anders!" Aras called from the door to the clinic in Darktown. "Someone's here to see you!"
Enaara peeked in as her cousin slipped inside the building. Anders had a bright smile on his face at the sight of her, opening his arms to embrace her. Enaara smiled, watching them hug, watching as he swayed from side to side with her in his arms. They looked good together. They looked happy—happier than she had ever seen him.
"I missed you today," he said quietly, but she could hear. Aras smiled, touched his chest, and tilted her head toward the door.
"I brought a friend." Aras beamed back at Enaara. "My cousin, Enaara Amell. I believe you're acquainted."
Anders looked up, his smile dropping as he recognized the name and face. She knew why: another apostate mage showing up in a templar-infested city. It was danger at his door.
"Enaara," he said apprehensively. "I… remember."
"It's nice to see you again, too," she mumbled, walking inside and closing the door. "Don't have such a face. I'm not a runaway. Not like you."
He swallowed, still trying to understand the situation, and then looked down at Aras for an explanation. She held his hand and took a seat on one of the cots.
"Enaara is staying with me for awhile."
"How did you escape the Circle?"
"I didn't," Enaara replied.
"They just let you out?" He was skeptical.
"Enaara is a pardoned mage," Aras explained. "She helped defeat the Blight. The King and Queen pardoned her."
"You?" Anders asked, flabbergasted. "King Alistair and the Warden-Commander?"
"Jayda mentioned you a few times in her letters," she mentioned, thinking back to the amusing passages. "We became quite close in that year."
"I can't believe they pardoned a mage…" he muttered, near insulted. "For what?"
"Services to the Crown—officially," she explained. "But, good behavior had something to do with it. And… other circumstances that Jayda found… touching."
He narrowed his gaze on her, and rightly so. It did sound suspicious.
"There are no pardoned mages in Kirkwall," he warned her sincerely. "You had best be on guard."
Enaara nodded as she leaned against his work table and waited for someone to say something. Finally, Aras broke the ice, wanting to know about how they met. Anders recounted most of the tale and Enaara filled in some blanks. Overall, they hadn't been very close, only well-acquainted.
Eventually, the party was moved back to the Hawke mansion where they had a delicious dinner and potent wine. More and more laughter began mingling with the conversation and they moved to the sitting room where a warm fire blazed.
"How long will you be staying?" Anders asked out of the blue, enjoying the evening. Aras bit her bottom lip for a moment and Enaara noticed she touched his knee, her way of warming him up to the coming topic.
"That isn't exactly set in stone," Aras told him. "She has business in Kirkwall and it is a matter of completing it before she returns to Ferelden. Or," she glanced at her cousin, "wherever the wind may take her."
"What business could you possibly have here?"
Aras looked to Enaara to explain. She nodded that she would and adjusted her position in the chair, stalling to find the right words.
"I came to find someone and when I did, I discovered they need my help."
"Your help?"
"Yes."
"With what?"
"Uh…" she hesitated, not sure how to answer his question. "With… getting back to… a place he… once was," she stammered, trying to understand it herself. He frowned, catching on in spite of the wine in his blood.
"That didn't make any sense," he told her. "Who exactly is this person?"
"His name is Cullen—"
"The Knight-Captain?" he blurted, getting to his feet. "A templar? You're here for a templar?" Anders suddenly remembered. "He was at Calenhad before. You came chasing after him." And then it clicked. "You're in love with a templar!"
"And if I am?"
"Are you crazy? Mage executioners! Wardens of our pitiful prisons!" he exclaimed. "You're insane!"
"We love each other," she insisted calmly. "It started in Ferelden. We nearly fled the Circle together, but duty bound us—"
"Yes, duty! His duty to hold your leash!"
"Anders, please," Aras said.
"It isn't like that," she defended Cullen. "He was never like that."
"No? Then what happened, hm? What's the problem that you have to save him from?"
Enaara sighed and explained what had happened, from Ostagar to their fight in the rain, and Anders sat down and listened quietly. His expression remained displeased.
"He didn't turn me in," she iterated.
"He didn't turn you in because he knows the Circle is that bad!" he blurted. "And by remaining a templar, he's advocating it. Hiding you does not redeem him."
"I don't really care what you think," Enaara said, much to his surprise. "Nor do I need your opinion. I will help him. He still loves me, and we can have a life together. I will fight for that."
"You're putting your energy into the wrong battle," he insisted. "Fight for the freedom of mages—that's something real, something handed to you on a golden platter! No, you fight for a mage-hunter instead." He got to his feet, a look on his face like there was a bad taste in his mouth. "It's disgusting."
"Anders!" Aras exclaimed but he shook his head and left. The front door slammed a moment later. She sighed, rubbing the stress out of her forehead. "Sorry…"
"It's all right. I understand why he's angry. Anders… believes strongly that the Circle is a prison. I don't think so. To him, I'm a stupid, selfish girl who has been handed a great freedom without any effort to earn it and now I care more about a templar than I do about the plight of mages as a whole." She nodded. "I get that."
"You did earn your freedom!" Aras said and Enaara agreed.
"I did. But not to him. Anders won't see mages liberated without a fight."
"I don't know that that's true…"
"I do," Enaara said. "I do…" And then she sighed. "Of course there needs to be reform. But I don't think mages running amok is the answer. Yes, I'm conflicted. Cullen and I wanted so badly to be together, to have the right to make a home together. But I think mages need the Circle. Would I have ever learned the control I have without it? No. Bethany was lucky. She had Uncle Mal to teach her. My parents were not mages. Who would have taught me? A hireling? Even if it's just for the first half of their life, mages need the Circle to understand who they are, how to control their power, and what they are up against every night they go to dream."
Aras nodded, understanding but conflicted as well. Enaara knew why: Anders had been in her ear for a long time, and his manifesto had no doubt mingled in with the sweet nothings. Then there was Bethany and her father—both mages who fought hard to stay away from the Circle.
"Tell me what happened with Cullen," Aras said, changing the subject. Enaara sensed the tension and was glad for the reprieve. She recounted every detail as she remembered it. "Progress, do you think?"
"I'll assume its progress until he turns me over to the Knight-Commander."
"I don't want to see you get locked in the Gallows…"
"I don't either, believe me," Enaara sighed. "But I won't leave the Free Marches without him. I won't let anything the world throws at us get in the way this time. I promised him… and I will keep it." She bit her lip to keep her emotions from fluttering to the surface. "I will…"
