Avery,
Denerim looks so much different than I remember, but I suppose that should be expected after how long it has been. The last time I was here I was a child, and it seemed so overwhelming to me then compared to our little Honnleath. It's no Kirkwall either, which you'd think should be a compliment. Except everything here is rather unorganized; you walk a few blocks and there's no telling what kind of people or businesses you'll find. I keep expecting more order to this place, but finding mostly chaos.
You might not be surprised to learn that I've spent most of my first day in this city visiting the taverns. Knowing how much time you spent in The Hanged Man makes me wonder if you'd seek a similar refuge here, and since this is where people go to just sit and kill time anyway it seems like the best place to start. I am guessing that you'd choose a tavern in the seedier part of town where people know how to keep their heads down and mouth shut. The Gnawed Noble was a little too full of uniforms, and the tavern closest to the eastern gates of the city was populated almost entirely by farmers and tradesmen. After dropping a few silvers I managed to get someone to give me the location of an unmarked tavern accessible only by a back alley. It's a dark, dirty place called the Copper Fence, and it certainly does not deserve the presence of someone as resplendent as yourself. I half expected when I walked through the door that you'd stick out like a beacon in the dark. Alas, the tavern is a labyrinthine construct, with a spacious front bar that distracts from the two narrow halls that wind into several other smaller, awkwardly shaped spaces. Nooks and corners are abundant, with rooms which are kept excessively dim, and the stairs to the second floor are not easy to find. I am told there is a third floor as well, but not have located the way to it yet. I dressed in the shabbiest attire that I could find, but I still feel like everyone is snickering at me. I imagine that it's immediately apparent that I don't belong here.
I've been nursing this ale for almost two hours and it's grown quite warm, but it's impossible to see the entire place from one location because of how narrow and windy everything is. I've gotten up and walked through it a few times, only to return to my seat in front. I am unsure of whether I should bother asking people if they'd seen anyone with your description. I have no doubt that everyone would lie to me if they did know you, but perhaps some of my coin might persuade someone to talk. Still, I have not attempted it yet. I might not even be in the right place. The longer I sit here the more I worry that I was completely off base in coming here in the first place. Is Denerim too obvious a place for you to be hiding out? The chances are slim that you are even in this city, much less this specific tavern. But I am running on pure instinct right now. I can't deny that it feels good to be doing something, even if what I am doing yields no results. I miss you. I am nervous about the possibility of seeing your face, and of seeing you looking happy with someone else. My hands are shaking and I feel like a fool. What if you have no interest in seeing me? What if you find my presence to be an unwelcome intrusion?
Maker guide me. I hope this isn't all wrong.
Cullen
Avery
The room I rented from this place is tiny. Entirely too tiny for my comfort. It was bad enough sitting in those stifling rooms downstairs all day, and then they give me quarters that are no more than a glorified closet. And what they are charging for this room! Maker's breath. It should be a crime to extort such a rate for such a paltry space!
Its one blessing is that it has a window with a view of the streets. I can see everyone walking below pretty clearly, so I am perched here at the window sill, watching the passersby, looking for a shock of black hair and pale skin. My thoughts are with you almost constantly. I confess I've had a bit of a fantasy running through my head for most of the day. I come upon you alone at a table and sit down without saying anything. You are surprised of course, but your eyes grow warm as you look at me. I take your hand and tell you everything. That I came to find you, that I'm not a Templar anymore, that I should have left with you like we planned, that I have never been able to get you out of my head, despite the fact that it's been three bloody years. That I miss you. That I need to know if there is anything left in your heart for me, and if there's not, just say the word and you'll never see me again. In my fantasy you cut me off with a kiss. I get to taste your lips again, and smell your hair, and feel the warmth of your body under my palms. And then we're together again, as though we've never been apart. It's silly, I know. It feels even sillier to write it down. Maker's breath, I should probably just burn this letter. If nothing comes of this trip, I might do just that. I might burn them all.
It's cold here, much colder than it ever got in Kirkwall. Hopefully tomorrow yields better luck. I want to believe that you're close. I almost feel that you are, that my heart is telling me that you are nearby. But I am afraid that might just be wishful thinking. I don't know.
Goodnight my love, wherever you are,
Cullen
Avery pulled the letter away from her face, unaware until that moment that her cheeks were warm and wet. She knew the Copper Fence. She'd stayed at the Copper Fence nearly every night she was in Denerim. Cullen's instincts had been right on the money. And they'd been there at the same time.
But how was that even bloody possible!? She'd mostly kept her head down, made a point not to meet anyone's eye. Her hooded cloak had become a bit of a uniform. The table she and Fenris usually took was toward the back, a small two seater in one of the dimmest corners, located at the end of one of those narrow, windy halls. It was well out of sight of the front door and the hallways with the highest traffic, which was precisely why she'd chosen it. Her heart was crashing against her chest as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
She couldn't help but picture the scene Cullen described in his fantasies. Would it have gone the way he'd imagined it? If he'd come across her sitting alone in the tavern, which happened regularly since Fenris was constantly darting about looking for supplies or jobs or anything that looked remotely like the work of slavers… If he had sat down beside her would she quiet his pleas with a kiss?
She closed her eyes and ignored the persistent ache of her heart as she put herself in the moment. Those dark rooms in the Copper Fence, the smell of sour sweat and old vomit. The people pointedly ignoring everyone else around them. She saw Cullen lowering himself into a rickety wooden seat, a flagon of warm ale in his hand, his face difficult to see in the dim light, but his brown eyes sparkling with a cautious hope. The words he'd written in the letter. I should have left with you like we planned. I miss you. If there is anything left in your heart for me…
It was impossible to imagine that it wouldn't have gone the way that he said. She would have taken his hand. Would have felt that old wound deep inside her rip back open, unleashing a torrent of emotions that had never allowed themselves to be buried as deeply as she wanted. She might be angry for a moment, but it would pass. Because the truth of the matter was clear even then, loathe as she was to admit it. That was the sad fact that if there was anything that three years on the road had taught her, it was that there was no other man in Thedas that compared to Cullen.
Yes. She would have grabbed a hold of him then, and never let go again. A warm sadness settled deep in Avery's gut. The lost opportunity they'd had, that extra year they could have been together, before Anon, before Corypheus, could never be retrieved. But it would be mourned. Mourned like the loss of a child, or a parent. It felt like a cut that went just as deep. She would likely mourn for as long as it took to get back home.
Avery quickly flipped through the letters. There weren't many left, but the next few pieces of parchment seemed to contain multiple letters crammed onto the same page. Cullen must have been short on paper while he was in Denerim. As she replaced the pages back into the portfolio, a yawn came on with unexpected foce, blurring her eyes even further and making the words on the page blend into softly wavering lines. As desperate as she was to know more about how they'd missed each other, she'd already been up for hours past when her companions had retired to their tents.
Not long ago, she was certain she'd heard tent flaps open and quiet footsteps going from one tent to the other. The quiet looks being passed between her two companions, Cassie and Kilborn, had been happening for sometime now. After being on the road together for so many weeks, Avery was on the verge of asking them why they didn't just give up the pretense and just share a tent already. It's not like she couldn't hear them together, and she certainly knew what it was like to be in their shoes. If they were afraid of her disapproval, they had no reason to be. She was actually quite glad the pretty redhead and the bulky warrior had developed such an affinity for each other. It took the pressure off Avery to entertain them with idle chit-chat. And it was better than traveling with two who were constantly fighting.
Before finally drawing her pack closed, she situated the Warden decree for entry into Weisshaupt at the top. They'd spent the last two days in the foothills of the Anderfels, and tomorrow was the day she was finally going to seek a guide to take them the rest of the way.
Despite her overwhelming exhaustion, sleep did not come easily. The darkness twisted into warped shadows, and though every cell in her body felt incapable of movement, her brain was racing. They'd left the northernmost Orlesian camp over two weeks ago. It was the last Inquisition camp they'd see until their return trip. Before departing on their last morning there, she'd stood before an Inquisition officer and asked him the same questions she'd been asking at every camp, and that she'd already asked a different officer the night before.
"Are you sure there are no letters for me? Nothing at all from the Commander? What about the Inquisitor? Is there any news?"
Like each camp they'd visited in the 84 days since she, Kilborn and Cassie had left Adamant, the officer just stood before her with an expression of dumbfounded helplessness. She was beyond tired of the constant shoulder shrugs and "I'm sorry Ser"s. The frustration pulsed through her like a raging tide. It was inconceivable that Cullen wouldn't write. Not after he'd spent four bloody years writing to her even when he had no where to send the letters. Avery stomped away with fists clenched, but inside her heart was dissolving into a puddle. She couldn't even fathom where she'd be if she didn't have the portfolio to give her some comfort.
There had only been one piece of news, delivered at the second to last camp by a stone faced elf.
"The Inquisitor and his advisors have taken quite a large battalion of soldiers to the Arbor wilds."
"The advisors?"
"That's right, Ser."
"So… that includes the Commander?" Avery asked. She'd been able to glean almost nothing in the way of details about Cullen's injury from the camp guards, and though no one had said Cullen was fine outright, at least none had spoken of him in the past tense. This elf looked at her as though she must have had the intellect of a child.
"That's right. He is an advisor, Ser."
The guide who accepted her scroll in a shabby hillside cabin was, to Avery's surprise, a dwarf. Russet haired and taciturn, he answered almost all questions with a grunt or a nod. She could only guess it was the heat and the distance from his people that soured his mood so. Avery shared an exhausted shrug with her companions and mounted her horse to follow the man through a brown mountain valley. As much as she loathed the knowledge that there were more high-altitude passes to traverse, at least the elevation would bring some relief from the increasingly oppressive heat. And unlike all 84 of the previous days of travel, she was no longer the one navigating. She let her horse trample along behind the dwarf guide and finally let her brain fuzz out of the present moment.
What reason would there be for Cullen not to write? Could he truly have been angry? Surely he'd gotten the full story from any of the others who were there with her. If Anon hadn't offered it, then Dorian would have explained. It made no sense at all that even though she had a handful of letters to hand off to the camp and town couriers at every stop they made, she'd yet to receive a single one in response.
There must have been some other problem. Somehow her letters were being delayed? Or maybe his were. Maybe the blade to the shoulder had been on his writing arm. Maybe he was physically unable to write. And of course there was no one in Skyhold he'd trust enough to dictate such a personal letter too. Perhaps Rylen, if he were there, but Rylen remained back at Griffin's Wing Keep. But Cullen had to have known how badly she needed a letter from him, even if it was cleaned up a bit due to the presence of an assistant writer.
Avery shook her head, her brows beginning to ache. He spent so much time at his desk, signing off on reports and composing orders to be delivered to distant camps. If he was incapable of writing, his ability to do his very job would be compromised. It seemed unlikely, but was the most promising excuse she'd come up with yet. Still, it remained a mystery. There had to have been some reason, but she had know why to know what it truly was.
The thought that she might be being punished by him made her stomach lurch with nausea. But the Cullen she knew would not do such a thing. Still, her insecurity grew with every day that no letter from him appeared.
The mountain passes were crossed with closed eyes, her fingers gripping tightly to the reins of her horse. It took effort not to clamp her hips down too hard as she shifted with each step of the mount below her. But slowly, progress was being made and the heat was fading. As they climbed higher and higher in elevation, the air grew dry, sapping any remaining moisture from her lips and her skin. Her eyes began to burn, and the new coolness in the air did little to soothe the sting.
When finally the first mountain camp was made, Avery left Kilborn and Cassie to tend to the fire and slipped over to a rock several paces away, pulling out the portfolio to make use of the last bit of evening light.
Avery,
Maker's breath, I got no sleep last night. I woke as I usually do, but the moonlight streaming through my window illuminated the walls of my room, and I went instantly into a panic at the tightness of the space. I jumped out of bed and found myself outside on the street in short order. Somehow I remembered to grab my boots, but that was all. I ended up walking the streets during the wee morning hours in only my nightclothes.
Denerim at night a different world. The characters lurking in the shadows seemed of a completely different breed than those out during the day. I grew a little nervous at the realization that I had no sword or any means of protection at all while wandering around in my tunic and breeches. It was the first time I found myself wishing for my Templar armor. Most street urchins knew better than to leer at a Templar, or at least they did in Kirkwall. Now that I am no longer the Knight-Commander, or a Templar at all, I am not quite sure how to relate to others, how to respond to all these suspicious and questioning looks. I am accustomed to a position of law enforcement, and of service. It has been my job for decades now not to mind my own business. Learning to do things differently has been a challenge to say the least, especially this late in my life. In the quiet darkness of the Denerim streets, I began to have doubts that I had made the right decision. But I know that is just fear talking. In the light of day, I mostly feel relief and gratitude. Still, the doubts trickled in with a disconcerting force last night. That was inevitable I suppose, and I did my best to stave them off. I know that what I need is to find a purpose again, something not tied to the hypocrites in the Order, to lyrium and the Chantry. For now, my purpose is you. It is us. I don't know how this search of mine will turn out, but if I leave here without you in several days time, I suppose I will devote all that I have to Cassandra's mission. Hers is a good one, one I agree with. Restoring sanity and a peace to a crazy, war torn world is possibly one of the most noble causes one could partake, if perhaps ostensibly foolish. Still, it is a service I could actually feel good about.
But I pray every night that we might embark upon that service together. That any moment I might round a corner and see your face. I lie in bed and dream of you. I dream of kissing you, of holding you in my arms, of feeling you caressing my face like you used to do. If I don't find you, I fear I might never feel such love again.
Cullen
Avery,
This morning I was on the street, just wandering, hoping to see or hear something useful, when I saw two Templars walking down a main avenue. One of them was a former subordinate, a man I'd transfered out of Kirkwall after several disturbing incidences. I may even have mentioned him in letters before. He was one who joined shortly after the Chantry explosion, one of many drawn to the Order out of a new vendetta against mages. A man such as him has probably enjoyed indulging in all sorts of abuses now that the mages have all begun fighting back and a war is officially on. I watched him for a while, and was absolutely certain that at one point I overheard him say "Champion of Kirkwall". Knowing this man's history, and trying not to be discovered myself, I managed to flank him and attempted to get close enough to overhear the discussion he was having with his partner. I heard him speak of you again, this time calling you by name. It was difficult to hear every word, but I was able to discern that he too thought you'd be at the Copper Fence. That he'd even had some kind of a tip that you were staying there. I was excited of course, though I wasn't confident that this tip was correct. I'd just spent a whole day and night there myself, and saw or heard nothing of you. Still, I followed him back to that tavern.
The moment the Templars walked into the front room with the bar, every head in the place went down. The men took a stool and ordered an ale, and I took the table just behind them, trying to listen. They were looking around, but couldn't see anyone's face. I am a bit shocked that the place hasn't been raided, as it seemed pretty clear that nearly every patron has something to hide. But it is an effective hideout, that is without question. The Templars seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the tavern reached deep into the bowels of the building, and consisted of numerous rooms and floors. One by one people started getting up and disappearing into the dark hallways, but I stayed behind. I was certain they'd hear my heart crashing in my chest, or that I'd cough or sneeze, or do something to draw their attention. I figured that if my former subordinate he saw and recognized me, I'd have to be the Knight-Commander again, or at least pretend long enough to turn him away. Had I been able to adorn my old armor, I would have done so straight away. He'd probably laugh at me, in these ratty clothes. But what choice would I have, really?
Maker, the things I overheard that man say. He is despicable. Depraved. I knew I had a bad feeling about him the moment he stepped into the Gallows training yard. I was not at liberty to reject him outright after all the men I'd just lost fighting the mages in the Gallows, but if I had the option he would have been sent packing immediately. It is abhorrent that this man is still bearing the Templar crest and wielding a sword. He is precisely the type of man that should never be given Templar powers. And he was after you. Maker's breath, I could have broken his neck on the spot. But the possibility existed that he might actually know something. So I sat quietly.
They'd singled out someone on the far side of the room, someone sitting with another man in the corner. He was wondering if it was you, but he was merely nodding toward a dark table with two hooded figures. I could see nothing of their faces, or anything even to indicate that either of them was a woman. The Templars' put down flagon after flagon of ale in less than an hour. He kept waxing poetic about all the things he was going to do to you before he finally ended your life. It took every ounce of strength in me not to run to my quarters on the second floor and grab my dagger. But I was loathe to let this snake out of my sight.
Eventually they gave up, and after a drunken lap around the room (by then he was two sheets two the wind, and I doubt he could see me clearly) they left. I followed them to The Pearl. I waited for hours for them to reemerge, but they did not. I am now back at the Fence, sitting in one of the upper rooms. If only this blighted tavern wasn't so large, and such a confusion of rooms and hallways. I suppose that's why these people like it. You could sit here all day and never have a clue who was sharing a room on the other side of the walls.
I am encouraged though, that these Templars received this tip. I have only asked a few around here about a person of your description, but their responses were rather hostile. Flashing coin at them only brought a moment's hesitation before they launched into insults and attacks, asking me who I was working for. It's clear that line of investigation isn't going to bring me results. So I will wait. I will sit here for a little while longer, and then I will try again to locate those Templar bastards. Perhaps if they truly do have information, they can lead me to you. One thing is certain, if you are nearby, it is imperative that I reach you before they do. I can only hope that if I fail, you hang them both up by their balls.
Stay safe my love,
Cullen
Avery,
I am devastated to report that I have failed. Miserably. Cassandra and I will be venturing to a place called Haven in the next day or two, without you. I'll recount the story of the past few weeks as best as I can. Hopefully that at least can help me work out my lingering rage over the matter.
It started with the Templars again. I sat in front of the The Pearl all day, my eyes drawn to every passing woman with dark hair and fair skin. As beautiful as so many of the citizens of Denerim are, none of them are you. Tnere were a few moments where my heart almost jumped out of my chest, but they were merely false alarms. So once again, I waited. Finally, after a morning of trying not to appear too much like a criminal awaiting his next victim, those two bastards stumbled out of the brothel. It was only noon, but they made a beeline for the Copper Fence and I followed again, and again managed to stay out of sight. I must say that I got pretty good at tailing them undetected. Perhaps in another life I too might have studied the arts of stealth.
But at the Fence, things went sour quickly. Despite the early hour, the men skipped the ale and went straight for hard liquor. The bar cleared out, save for a few people here and there, as well as a couple at the very back, in nearly the same location as the two the Templars had singled out the day before. It seemed they were simply eager for a target, and less concerned about who that target might be. I could still see little in the way of the remaining patron's faces, so I know they saw even less than I did in their increasingly inebriated state. The Templars spotted me this time, but said little. I am certain I look nothing like the man they'd known years before, dressed as I was in dirty plainclothes and sitting in the shadows. The man's eyes lingered on me for one long second, and I readied myself for discovery, but then he turned around and continued drinking.
This is where things get a little blurry. Several people streamed into the bar, either oblivious or unconcerned with the Templars. The now drunken Templar stood, hardly able to keep his balance, and began to yell at the new arrivals. He called your name, and spewed a bunch of foul threats until the new crowd dispersed. Then he spun and began addressing the people on the far side of the room. He yelled a few obscenities, including the line "there you are you bitch. I see you, Champion," and began stumbling toward the back of the tavern, clearly convinced you were back there. But the person turned and darted toward a back hallway. She had the curves of a woman, though she was also somehow painfully thin. There was no way he could know whether that was you, as even I couldn't tell. Those blighted hoods hide faces too well, especially when one clearly doesn't want to be seen. Regardless of who the poor girl was, they obviously did not deserve this drunkard's wrath. So I broke my flagon over the bastard's head. His companion came at me from behind, and there was a bit of a struggle. I relieved them of a few of their teeth, and managed to get the upper hand rather quickly thanks to the liquor in their system. But unfortunately, a few chairs were lost to the chaos, as well as at least two tables. Somehow, I managed to lay them both out on the floor and then tried to make my way through the wreckage to the hall toward the stairs. I am sure that I believed that the person they targeted couldn't possibly have been you, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought I saw a flash of jet black hair peaking out of the hood. The last thing I remember was making it halfway across the room, thinking that I needed to be certain it was someone else. At the very least I could make sure the poor girl wasn't too shaken.
The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor of a urine stained jail cell with a bloody gash on the back of my head. I instantly went into a panic of course, as small as the cell was. It also didn't help that I was forced to share it with three other men. The coin I had on me was gone. I still don't know if I was pickpocketed while I was laying incapacitated in the tavern, or if the Denerim guards helped themselves to my coinpurse. Either way, I was unable to pay my bail. Two of the three other men in the cell had been there for weeks. Also mysteriously lacking coin after their arrest, they were unable to pay their way out, even though they'd been brought in on ridiculously petty offenses. The charges against me included two counts of assault of an officer and destruction of property.
I'll spare you the gruesome details of my 18 days in the Denerim jail. But by the end I was in agony, having gone that entire time without a dose of lyrium. I could scarcely hold down a meal, and my cellmates were becoming increasing disturbed. But I managed to bribe an officer to let me send out a letter to Cassandra, by promising that she would pay him a ridiculous sum upon her arrival. She came and bailed me out, and I had to construct a story to explain the events leading up to my arrest, as it was clear that family I was supposed be visiting didn't live in Denerim.
We stayed in Denerim for two more days, but I was already convinced that continuing to search for you was pointless, especially with her and Varric in tow. I confessed to her then, and now to you, that since sending in my resignation to the Order I had been feeling as though I might attempt to wean myself off of lyrium completely. My dose is already low now, and that was enough of a struggle. But my time in the jail with no doses at all ended up a bit of a mixed blessing, if an excruciatingly painful one. It illuminated for me the fact that I am still not a free man. On the one hand, I really only experienced about three days of full withdrawal there, and that was enough to drive home the extent of the struggle I would be in for if I attempted to quit completely. That withdrawal was everything I'd experienced in attempting to lower my dose, but magnified to unimaginable levels. On the other hand, if I succeed, I would never be subject to such torture again. There would be costs, of course. But if I were to succeed, I would truly be free. As long as I remain on lyrium, I remain a slave to something other than myself.
In my discussion with Cassandra, she mentioned having once read in an ancient Seeker text about a potion called Dragon's Breath that allegedly eases lyrium withdrawal symptoms. She claimed it one of the many Seeker secrets withheld from the world by order of the Chantry. And of course the Chantry would not want that information out as they would risk losing legions of their men. So the two days we lingered in Denerim, a search of a sort continued, but changed. We visited several places trying to hunt down more information about this potion, including an historian, the Ferelden court archivist, the local college, and then Denerim's highest ranking healer. The healer pointed us toward a master herbalist in a hut just outside of the city, a man who is supposedly highly revered for his many decades of intensive study. After two days on a trail, we finally spoke to someone else who had heard of this potion. But he told us that it was a myth. He was certain of this fact, though Cassandra is skeptical. Still, there are few men in all of Ferelden with the experience and credentials that this herbalist has. It is deeply disappointing, but I feel no choice but to accept that this brief gleam of hope leads only to a dead end. Just as this whole trip has.
I still don't know if it was you that was in the tavern. I wonder why it is that Templar had gone there, of all the places in Thedas, if he hadn't actually received some kind of tip or piece of credible information. It seems some sort of accomplishment of its own that I found myself there without benefit of the same tip. Or perhaps he was bullshitting afterall, and had simply guessed, just as I did. But now my heart is telling me that if you were there, you are long gone. Surely you'd have heard about the Templars searching for you and the bar fight that resulted, and you would have left as quickly as you could. And I can't even begin to fathom where you would have gone from there. So this trail, as with the Dragon's Breath, is cold. And I am about to mount a horse to meet up with some Orlesian and an Antivan that Cassandra has recruited, where we will make our way to a small town that I hear is very icy and remote.
The search is over. None of this went the way I'd hoped. But I still pray to the Maker that our paths may cross again yet. Praying is the only thing I feel I have left to do.
Yours eternally,
Cullen
Avery felt her body collapse, her forehead banging against the ground once, then twice, then a third time. The groan coming from her throat sounded like it belonged to a wild creature, but there was nothing within her willing to stop it. The memory of that day in the tavern had been buried so deep, she hadn't thought of it a single time since then. That hadn't been her in the corner, but she was there, standing at the bottom of the stairwell with Fenris just behind her, listening to the slurred yelling of a drunken man. She and Fenris had been on their way to the main barroom to order lunch, before meeting up with mercenary in the market for a possible job. But the calling of her Kirkwall title from the room just around the corner stopped her in her tracks. She heard a scuffle, a surprised yell, the screeching of tables and chairs getting violently dragged across the room. And then a body was in front of her. Gilly, a young girl that reminded her so much of Merrill. She pulled her cloak hood off to reveal wild eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Get out of here, Hawke. There are Templars here for you," she breathed hurriedly.
"Fuck," Avery sighed. She'd gathered as much, but hearing it spoken made it real. More real than she knew how to handle. Her heart was instantly in her throat. She was caught completely off guard, and had left her staff up in her room like usual. She never brought it out any more since it marked her unmistakably as a mage. It was dangerous to be a mage in the world again.
"A man is fighting them, but it's two against one. There's no way he's going to be able to hold them off for long," Gilly continued, grabbing Hawke's arm and pushing her back up the stairs. "You have to go. Now!"
Avery had lingered anyway, staring down at the girl. Just feet away the sounds of fighting were increasing in volume, coming closer to where they stood. They needed only to round a corner, and she would see them.
"Who's the man?" Avery asked.
"I don't know. Some grubby looking guy. He's been around for a few days. Go!"
And they'd left. She and Fenris grabbed their belongings as quickly as they could and fled out the back door of the tavern. That was the day she left Denerim and traveled south as fast as their horses could carry them. She hadn't looked back. They hadn't been the first Templars who'd caught a whiff of their trail, and she didn't expect it would be the last. But she'd thought very little of that day. It had never ever occurred to her to think anything about it.
The sobs came on like an attack. The last sliver of light was slipping below the horizon, and Cassie had already called Avery numerous times from the campfire, trying to alert her that the rations had been warmed and were ready to eat. Avery ignored it, feeling her eyes grow puffy with the force of her tears. Her heart seemed to be wrenching itself apart in her chest. It was hardly any consolation that she and Cullen had found each other again, that they were man and wife. Especially when they were so far apart. Especially when it had been 84 days without a word from him, and knowing that at the time she was sent away, he was injured, and most likely suffering from horrific pain. The grief flattened her beneath it, an avalanche loneliness, confusion and anger. So much time had already been lost, and none of it could ever be taken back.
She'd expected Weisshaupt to be large, but large hardly did it justice. Weisshaupt was massive. Stone walls stretched the full perimeter of a broad mountain top, and the building that rose into the sky overhead seemed a completion of the sloping mound of earth beneath it. In the distant rear a tower loomed, the highest floors hazy from the dizzyingly high elevation. She could only guess that those had once been the home of the griffins. Large open windows dotted rings around the tower, the perfect launch pads for beasts of flight. The history contained within the ancient walls was palpable. The stones seemed to sing with long forgotten memories, and sure the Fade beyond this stretch of the Veil was swarming with scenes from centuries past. Avery and her companions approached with wide-eyed awe.
Their guide, however, remained completely nonplussed. He nodded at the six archers that had appeared on either side of a massive gate door and they lowered their bows. A smaller door off to the side opened, words were exchanged and the guide handed off the scroll. When the dwarf turned back to Avery, his expression of annoyance had grown more severe than usual.
"Only you," the dwarf said. He nodded quickly to Cassie and Kilborn. "They have to stay behind."
"What? Why?" Avery asked.
"Don't know. You'll have to take that up with the Wardens," he grumbled as he shifted his weight on his feet. Avery could read the situation clearly enough. The guide was not happy to have company for his return trip. Avery sighed and opened her pack, reaching for her coin purse. She didn't feel like arguing. She didn't feel like doing much of anything except sinking into a warm bath.
"Fine," she snapped, stuffing three sovereigns into the dwarf's leathery palm. "See that they make it to the closest town safely."
The dwarf raised an eyebrow at the amount in his hand, and she knew he'd do as she asked. She turned to Cassie. The girl had lost a bit of weight during their trip, and seemed almost the vision of a wisp ghost. Avery suddenly felt remorse for how impersonal a leader she'd been during their time together. How was it that she'd spent nearly that whole time completely wrapped up in herself, and so rarely stopped to get to know those risking their lives to travel with her? Avery struggled against the odd compulsion to pull the girl into a hug. Leaving them on an awkward note would only make joining them again later awkward too. Instead she handed a stack of coin to the girl, and another to Kilborn.
"Enjoy your break in town. Send a letter to let me know where you're staying, and I'll meet you as soon as my business here is through," Avery said, wincing at her own businesslike tone. There had been a time in her life when she was good at this sort of thing. At leading people but still being able to call them friends. She resolved to warm up to them on the return trip. They'd have several more months of travel together after all.
The next few hours dripped by like thick molasses. First she waited in a cold empty room, and then she was led to another cold room. There was little to see in the places she was kept, but in a long walk to a rear wing of the fortress she glimpsed a spacious alcove that seemed to hold a small museum of seemingly priceless artifacts. There were almost no other people around, though in a hall to a meeting room they passed a pair of Wardens that looked shockingly decrepit. She recognized that sort of deterioration from that prison in the Vimmarks. They'd had a guide there, a man who almost seemed equal parts man and equal parts dark spawn. That apparently happened to all the Wardens eventually, she remembered. Their lives were short, and the closer they got to their true calling, the more their bodies decayed around them. Avery kept her visceral reaction off her face as they passed, and managed to exchange a small nod with the men.
But once they'd passed, she shivered violently. The quiet stone hallway felt even colder than the frosty mountain air outside the walls. The eerie quiet of such old, giant rooms only exacerbated the discomfort. She rubbed her arms as she was finally led into a room with several men sitting at a long table. She sighed as she mentally prepared her story, her explanation of what she saw in the Vimmark prison, of the events at Adamant and the treachery of Erimond. It would be a challenge not to be too unforgiving about the Warden's side of things, but she would do her best to give them a fair shake.
The cold made it difficult to keep her voice steady as she began. She resolved to answer all their questions as efficiently as possible, and then find her way to wherever in this stone behemoth that the fires were burning.
Her quarters were modest, but a tub had been fetched, and she finally lowered herself into a steaming bath. Immediately her thoughts went to Cullen. So much of her focus remained in the events at Denerim. The fantasy that Cullen had confessed to had been playing on repeat in every empty corner of her mind. If somehow they'd been able to meet there at the Copper Fence, where would she be now? Would she be soaking in a tub tens of thousands of miles away from her beloved? Would they both be such integral parts of the Inquisition, or would they have taken a more passive role, putting a higher priority on staying together? Their relationship would have garnered more respect from Mahanon if they'd been married from the very beginning. Probably they wouldn't have to fight so much to stay in tact. Probably they wouldn't have to fight at all.
She closed her eyes and replayed the vision she'd had of his fantasy. Him approaching her in the dark room, his caramel eyes glistening pools of warmth. She heard again the words that would explain everything she'd come to know. His ardent desire to have her back, to know if she still loved him. Avery melted into the tub, letting her head sink fully under the water. She held her breath and allowed every inch of her skin be warmed by the water. It was easy to imagine the water as a caress, as a kiss across her body. It would not be as easy to immerse herself in him in the same way, even when the time came that they were reunited yet again. It wasn't possible to have every cell in her skin covered by his, to drown herself entirely in his touch. They would try, she would try. But there were always limitations. Bodies have boundaries. Lungs need air, cells need water, muscles need food. As much as it seemed he could satisfy every need within her, they would eventually still have to get out of bed. They would have to walk separately, with air and space between them. There would be work, trips to the market, the need to bathe. Doses of her husband would have to come in interrupted stretches, and even if it didn't, it would take the rest of her life to get as much of him as she desired.
The Wardens supplied a fresh pair of plainclothes, and they were blessedly thick and insulated. Still, she found herself longing for the heat of the lower Anderfels. She'd been desperate to get away from it, but now found herself desperate to get back. But in a distant wing a short walk from her assigned quarters, she finally came upon a network of rooms warmed by golden firelight. There was a kitchen, and what must have functioned as a cafeteria whenever the Wardens hosted a larger population. And in the furthest reaches sat a library that took her breath away. The room was circular, nearly as large as the market square Hightown. The floor in the center was littered with overcrowded shelves, and the walls boasted rows of books that stretched up at least four stories. Several ladders on wheels sat where they had last been used. While tiptoeing her way through the narrow paths between bookcases she passed cases that contained artifacts dating back to previous blights. One case held a suit of armor and another a broken battle axe. There were paintings and mountains of candlewax drippings on every unoccupied surface.
Avery felt a curious combination of exhilaration and disorientation as she let her eyes travel along the perimeter of the room. Spines of books so old the letters had faded away completely, or maybe they'd never existed. It smelled of dust and steel, and she quickly noticed that the further up the wall shelves reached, the newer the books appeared. But Avery was quickly pulled out of her reverie by a soft brushing against her leg. Two bright blue eyes gleamed up at her from a rather large ball of fluffy black hair on the floor. An insistent meow alerted her to the fact that paying attention to the creature was not an option, but was something much closer to a requirement. A laugh erupted from her throat, and echoed unexpectedly through the vast room. She knelt down and gave the cat a good scratch, and was rewarded with the powerful buzz of a loud purr.
Quietly, she made her way back to the kitchens, her stomach growing louder and more insistently than her new furry friend. The cat trotted along at her heels as she traveled out the library door and down the hall, but gave up half way to the kitchen and scurried into an adjacent room. Avery shrugged and continued on.
The kitchen was warm, and fully supplied, but unstaffed. She stood in the center of the room and looked around, trying again to get her bearing in this place. She hadn't been quite sure what to expect at Weisshaupt, but she certainly thought there'd be more people present. Those men that she had spoken to, including the younger man who'd led her from room to room, seemed to have little to say and little interest in visiting with her beyond her delivery of the news. They'd kept their reaction rather under the belt. It seemed to her that they were waiting for her to leave the room to begin discussing how they truly felt about the situation. Were Wardens always so blighted secretive? Or was this simply a common trait within the Anderfels?
It took only a moment before she knew what to do. She padded quietly around the kitchen, locating first a loaf of bread, and then a chunk of cheese. There was a clean pan already hanging beside the fire, and butter in a porcelain tub on the counter top. She was certain her own cheese sandwich would taste nothing like Cullen's, but she could closer her eyes and pretend. She'd already been doing so much of that, for months upon months. It barely required effort anymore to slip into an alternate world in her mind and indulge in the company of her distant loved ones.
She was back at Skyhold in the kitchens, enjoying a late night cheese sandwich when a voice came from behind her, one that was completely out of place in her fantasy. She opened her eyes and waited, unsure that she really heard what she heard. It was a voice she knew, but not one that belonged in her head.
"They said you were visiting. I didn't believe it could be true," it said again. Avery almost choked on the piece of sandwich in her mouth. She instinctively swallowed it without finishing chewing. Slowly, she turned toward the source of the voice, her eyes not prepared to see the ghost that they belonged to. But there he stood, in full flesh and blood. Like Fenris, he'd put a little weight on. But he'd also sprouted a few grey hairs at his temples. His eyes were luminous, golden moons.
"Anders?"