Author's Note: To avoid confusion, I want to clarify that this is the full flashback Cullen was remembering from the previous chapter (in chapter 8). It was originally written in 3rd person, and despite the fact the snippet from the previous chapter was converted to 1st person to better suit the flow, I decided (after much debate) to leave it in it's original 3rd person perspective for this chapter. Man I hope that makes sense. Anyway, this was an actual event that took place just shortly after Cullen was conscripted to the Tower, and actually takes place just shortly before the Prologue of this fanfiction.
"You mean you ain't nevah 'eard it?"
"I don't believe in ghost stories!"
"Well ye betta start believin' mate, this one's as real as it gets!"
More spook stories. More reason to try and frighten the new blood in the tower, no doubt. He might be new himself-only a week broken into his station-but not as young and susceptible as the handful of other awkward, gangly boys he'd arrived with at the tower after meeting up with them on the road from Denerim. Tread carefully the Revered Mother had warned. He knew well his duties, as well as his necessary restraint. He would keep it, as well as his promises to the commander to stay out of social business.
As he moved to shoulder past the two babbling boys, one of them reached out an invasive armored hand and clamped him on the shoulder. He jumped, and resisted the urge to grab the boy's hand and snap it around his back just to teach him a lesson. He hated to be touched, even on his armor.
"Oy, ain't you one of them new boys?" he nodded in a airy tone. Marvelous, the whelp was arrogant as well as ignorant. His lip winced in aggravation, willing himself to calm down as he turned to face the two insolent boys at least a decade younger than he.
"Yes?" was his reply, but not as an answer. An inquiry, demanding reason for stopping him. The younger, more foolish boy recoiled a bit at the sight of his accusing gaze, but didn't seem to affect the other too much. Samuel, was his name if he recalled correctly. Impudent little ass of a b-
"He's new," Samuel jeered to his younger companion with a sneer and light elbow. "Was just tellin' Ronald 'ere a ghost story," he returned his attention to Cullen, offering a curt nod. "Wanna join in, Cully? Or are you too much of a tightwad like ole Commander Bones to 'ave a bit o' fun?"
He didn't want to know how Samuel knew his name. The boy was an idiot, and far too high on himself for Cullen. He offered a disinterested snort, and without even giving a word of reply, turned and continued his brisk walk towards the staircase.
"I told you he wouldn't buy it," the timid one muttered. He could just imagine the smug look on the older one's face. How he would have loved to knock some Maker-given sense into the youth, but he'd sworn to the Commander, he had sworn not to lose his temper with the reckless little bas-
"I imagine it'd interest you t'know it involves that li'l elf witch you follow around all hours of the day?"
The words slapped him in the face like a bucket of ice cold water, forcing him to stop at the top of the staircase and slowly turn back around. His gaze contemplated the boy's bluff from some ten feet away, then decided it was a topic he could not ignore. He took quick, bold strides back to where the two boys stood, and loomed over the older one Samuel.
"What exactly are you talking about?" he ordered. He might be new to the tower, but he outranked this sniveling little bastard by many years, and he refused to let him forget it. There were a few rare, choice templars who knew anything about Isthalla, and he doubted Samuel knew anything of all people.
Samuel seemed satisfied that he had finally caught Cullen's interest, and settled back against the wall with a faint grin.
"You 'eard me right. That pretty little witch you like to follow around like a lost puppy. Don't think I don't know, mate. She's as wicked as a snake, that one, though quite easy on the eyes," Samuel grinned. "Quite a tasteful too, if you know what I mean," he added.
It took everything in his willpower not to grab the bastard by the throat then and there. He wanted to hurt him, mangle him bone by bone for what he'd just spat out of an unworthy mouth. How dare he.
"She'd sooner hex your smallclothes before you got a chance to touch her!" the nervous one piped up. The smile vanished from Samuel's face.
"'Course she would," he snapped back, attempting to regain his dignity. "Nearly took my head off last week.." he muttered while hunkering back down into his armor and crossing his arms with a frown. Cullen resisted the urge to burst into an uproar of laughter. He didn't need to ask exactly what head Samuel had spoken of-perhaps he didn't need to break his neck after all.
"And anyway," he steered the subject hastily away, "back to my point, Cullen." His dark eyes held no effect on Cullen. He was as intimidating as an angry rabbit at this point, if rabbits could get angry. The idea only made him look all the more foolish. Perhaps Samuel could put him in a good mood after all.
"Yes, do go on," he said while trying to hold down a chuckle. Samuel's ears were beginning to turn a shade of bright red the more he flustered up in his armor. The younger boy, influenced by Cullen, was beginning to hide back a snort as well. Samuel turned his viperous gaze instead to his companion, who shrunk back in an instant and fell quiet.
"I'm sure you 'eard of the Orphanage incident that happened 'bout twelve years ago?" Samuel pressed on. Suddenly the situation was not funny anymore. All remnants of laughter or good-nature left Cullen's conscious as he stood straight up in his armor and frowned deeply down at Samuel.
"How do you know about that?" he asked in a grave and serious tone. Samuel perked and looked at him briefly before offering an unaffected shrug.
"Most everyone's 'eard the tale from ole' batty Marty, course," he said. "But anyway-"
"How does Marty know about it, then?" Cullen bellowed, taking Samuel by the shoulders and shaking him. He saw fear and shock briefly flicker in the young boy's eyes before he shoved his hands away and sneered.
"Shove off, mate! If you let me tell the damn story you'll know!" he snapped before rolling his shoulder around to get the sensation of Cullen's grip off of him. Cullen retreated a step back and frowned deeper, but said nothing more, simply listened. Best if he knew just how much knowledge passed between young templars like this about such an event…
If anything, no one should have to know about it.
"I've never heard of it," the younger one piped up again.
"Well of course you haven't. You're from some middle-of-nowhere chantry in the countryside! That's why I'm educatin' ya, Ronald!" Samuel boasted while pulling Ronald into a headlock to ruff up his hair. The other boy didn't like this very much, and grunted before jerking himself free and frowning deeply as he fixed his hair. Samuel smirked in satisfaction.
"Twelve years ago the tower received an urgent notice from Denerim that demanded they send out a party of seven templars and enchanters to the city immediately," Samuel began.
"But that's an unheard amount of templars for a search and capture request!" Ronald barked. Samuel's eyes flashed to Cullen.
"I know, that's why they knew immediately just how serious the problem must be," he spoke. "Even the First Enchanter was skeptical of the notice, and did not take well to the idea of sending out so many of the tower's own."
"Instead, Irving chose to go and act in the stead of the mages, while Knight-Commander Greagoir led a group of seven templars just as the decree had asked to march to Denerim," Samuel explained.
"Perhaps it was a raid?" Ronald asked. Cullen almost felt sorry for the young boy. How foolish and naïve he was. Each new sentence was sickening him by the minute, he could hardly stand to listen. To relive the nightmare.
"Halfway to Denerim a messenger from the west came on horseback and claimed something had happened at the tower, and he needed to turn his men around and head back immediately," he recounted in a grave and serious voice. Cullen blinked in surprise. This he had not known about..
"Did they?" Ronald asked, tentative. Samuel shook his head.
"Greagoir was determined to press on, the stubborn bastard. Instead Irving turned around with three of the other templars, allowing Greagoir to continue on with only four in his stead," he said. "Probably the smart decision."
"What happened back at the tower?" Ronald asked.
"Apparently some young mages went into revolt since their First Enchanter and Knight-Commander had left. Thought they could take over the tower, the idiots. Wasn't even really a fight; had 'em all reprimanded within a day and sentenced to their choice of death or the Rite of Tranquility," Samuel shrugged. Cullen felt disgusted by his indifference, talking of mages as if they were cattle. He decided he didn't like the boy at all.
"Did they reach the Alienage?" he cut in, attempting to steer the boy back on subject. His patience was thinning, and the longer he stood in the presence of this insolent whelp the more he wanted to imagine ways of knocking him in the face.
"They did, and not a second too soon," he fell back into the line of his story effortlessly, relinquishing his conversational tone for a more sinister, impacting voice. Ronald's eyes were as wide as saucers.
"What happened?" he asked, urging him on. Samuel's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, and he frowned.
"Terrible things, mate. Much worse than what anyone thought," he muttered. "The day they arrived in the city, Greagoir and his men entered the Marketplace to an uproar of people screaming and running from the Alienage gates. They could sense at once something evil was inside them walls."
"What do you mean evil? Like darkspawn, maybe?" Ronald dared ask. Cullen swallowed the dryness in his throat and backed up another step. Everything was all too familiar to him now. Now that he remembered. He shut his eyes, remembering the screams, remembering the running.
"Cullen, CULLEN inside now! You must not be outside of the Chantry, boy!" Mother Hannah called after him. A great mass of elves and humans alike were streaming out of the lowering gates, clawing to get past the guards and away from whatever was contained within those walls. The guards were shoving and forcing them back behind the gates as they lowered down, trapping everyone inside along with whatever evil he could not see.
"CULLEN! Inside now! The Commander will handle this!" one of the older templars shouted at him from the Chantry steps. He felt a burning fire churning in his chest, an aching anxiety that tore at him and made his limbs shake and hands sweat. He was terrified, but alive. Brave. He felt ambitious, he wanted to show the Commander he could do it. He would have his chance to prove now he could be as good a templar as any of them. He had to.
The shouts from his mentor faded into the collective screams of the crowd as he sprinted across the Marketplace and straight towards the closing gate where a group of fully-armed templars marched towards the Alienage. They had arrived from the Circle, and at the head of the fleet stood their Commander, the fabled Knight-Commander Greagoir. Cullen stared at him with wondrous, admiring eyes. He saw the tactful fearlessness in the leader's gaze as he ordered the guards to allow himself and his men past. He saw the fear in a few of his men's eyes. One of them at the back of the line was already taking steps away. He could heard their murmuring.
"I'm not goin' in there… do you hear those voices? God the screams, the screams!"
"I hear a woman in my head; viperous, treacherous-she's goin' to kill us, mate! She'll murder us all and bleed us dry!"
"SILENCE!" the Commander shouted, but their fear was absolute.
"I ain't gonna die!" one screamed and bolted off in one direction.
"Ser, we can't hold back the residents for long! Are you going in or not?!" the guard shouted. The other templar in the back was shifting from foot to foot, trying to decide.
"She's in my head, Commander. I can't..I c-can't-" he began, then broke off into a gargled scream and fell to his knees, clutching his head. Cullen stared in horror down at the man, then back to his Commander who paid him no heed.
"We march forward, now men! Precision and restraint! You must be steadfast!" he shouted over the wailing crowd.
"SER!" Cullen cried out before they could slip under the continually lowering gate. Greagoir turned his cold gray eyes down at the inexperienced youth.
"We have no time to talk, boy, can you not see?" he snapped.
"But I can help! I'm training to be a templar!" Cullen pleaded. Greagoir gave him a single, calculating glance and nodded without a second to spare. It was now or never, and he had to take the chance. He had to try.
One of the templars took the shield and sword from their screaming comrade and shoved it into his feeble hands.
"Hope you know what you're doin' boy," one of the masked followers bellowed down at him. Cullen nodded through the oversized helmet they'd dunked onto his head and climbed under the gate after the others, turning back around just as the gate completely shut and locked them inside.
"I ain't opening' this gate 'til you come out with the head of whatever's in there, Commander," the other soldier said. That was the last of him that Cullen saw that day.
"No mate…" Samuel replied with a piteous laugh, "no, not darkspawn... Somethin' much worse." A cold stone dropped in Cullen's stomach. He knew, he knew far better than this boy what horrors were inside of those walls. Far too well.
"Two of the templars stayed behind," Cullen recounted. Samuel, who had been halfway through conjuring his next sentence, stopped and turned to him.
"No, no mate, y'got it all wrong-they all went in. All of 'em," he said too defensively. Cullen raised an unamused brow.
"Do you know that for a fact?"
Shut your mouth, you're saying too much.
"Well y-no. Just what Marty told me! But they all went in, I know that much, mate," he snapped. Cullen held up his hands in surrender and decided not to press the issue. He shut his mouth.
"What you're prolly thinkin' is the fact they all went in, but only two came out," he said as-a-matter-of-factly. Ronald's eyes were about the size of the moon now as he gasped and leaned back.
"Impossible," he breathed.
"Swear on me Uncle's grave, mate… All four went in with the Commander, but only two came out with 'im," he said gravely. Another rock to Cullen's stomach, and he felt he would be sick. He hadn't had to relive this nightmare for years… much less through the ghost stories of two teenage boys.
"Whatever happened in there, even the Commander don't talk about, but whatever did happen was…" Samuel paused, his eyes clouding over with something Cullen couldn't quite place. Fear, anger? Confusion? Samuel shook his head. "Something bad happened inside them walls, mate. Something I don't think even Marty can talk about he's so frightened."
Cullen's stomach lurched into his chest as he tried to pretend it didn't affect him, that he wasn't reliving every second of agonizing detail from inside the walls of that horrifying orphanage twelve years ago. The screams, and the blood, Maker the blood…. It covered the walls, streamed across the roof. Mangled, disemboweled bodies scattered across the floor in every room. A sickening, deadly stench that could make you heave with one small breath. And the sounds, Maker he could never forget the sounds of the children… their screams of pain and agony.
"You all right?" Ronald turned to Cullen, who had one hand braced against the wall and eyes shut tight. "You look like you're about to get sick, mate," he said. Cullen shook his head and held out an apologetic hand.
"I'm fine," he mumbled. "Go on," he added while turning his head away to bury into the sleeve of his arm and calm his thrashing heart. Samuel and Ronald paused a moment more to study him before turning back to their story.
"Well anyway, we don't know exactly what happened other than a massacre," Samuel shrugged. "The only thing I do know is that four templars went into them gates, and only two came out with Greagoir carrying a little girl." Cullen's heart stopped. "An elf girl," he spat the words, turning to Cullen.
"No-" Ronald breathed.
"Oh yeah," Samuel smirked at Cullen, "Even Greagoir denies it, but I know that elf witch had something to do with what happened in the Alienage that day. Try to cover it up, they will, but I know she had something to do with it."
"How do you know about this?" Cullen murmured in a drained, weary voice. Samuel, who had turned his attention back to the other boy, raised a brow and crossed his arms to face Cullen.
"Marty, of course. Batty as a fruitcake, but he's the only other one 'sides Greagoir that's actually still alive to tell the story," he shrugged.
"What about the other one?" Ronald cut in.
"What?"
"The other templar, you said two came out with Greagoir," Ronald persisted. Cullen withheld a groan and buried his face back into his arm. Here he had hoped Ronald was the stupid one.
"You mean the other templar?" Samuel stood a little straighter. "Heard he went loony right after the incident, tried attackin' some of the guards as it were. I think he died in Aeonar a couple years ago or something," he recalled. Cullen felt another stab through his chest. He struggled to breath, to push the memories back down to cage them where they belonged.
"So do you think it's true..?" his younger friend asked, eyes widened by the extravagant and terrifying tale. Samuel straightened back up from off the wall and shook out his half-asleep arms.
"I dunno," the older boy shrugged. "Can't really trust some old man addled out on lyrium, can you? If your stupid I suppose. It's just a story," he laughed, dropping the façade of stone-hard exterior for a more mocking tone. "You didn't really believe it, did you?" he chortled. Ronald squinched up his face in embarrassment.
"Don't mess with me like that! I'm going to have nightmares now, you idiot!" Ronald complained while shoving Samuel in the shoulder, who simply laughed it off as they completely ignored Cullen and turned towards the stairs to head to the first floor for supper.
Cullen remained leaned against the wall, heaving for breath as he tried to quiet his shaking body and cold sweat. A hand grasped him around his shoulder. He shouted and jumped, swinging out his sword in retaliation.
"Not a great method to start off your duties, Cullen," a deep and intimidating voice boomed from the shadows. Cullen recoiled in horror as the cold, gray eyes of his Commander materialized from the darkness against the opposite wall and loomed over him.
"C-Commander I-I, forgive me," he stuttered out, immediately sheathing his sword and standing up straight against the wall. His eyes were still wild with terror and mistrust, but he refused to let his Commander see his weakness, if he hadn't already. Greagoir raised a tentative brow and stepped to the side, peering after the boys as they disappeared down the staircase, their voices echoing up after them.
"I trust you will remember the terms agreed upon for your reinstated authority and duty to this tower, Cullen," he warned. His voice felt like glass against his skin, chilled in ice and cutting down everything within his path with the mere tone of his words. Cullen tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and nodded.
"I-I've been following her, ser-" he continued.
"You do not only follow her, you watch her, templar. You follow her every move, you make sure not a thread is out of line, not a single hair on her head is misplaced," Greagoir cut in with a snarl as he turned on Cullen and backed him against the wall. "Because if she should fail, if she should fall down the same path as her mother, she will be not only a danger to this tower but a threat to the entirety of Ferelden."
"Your only duty is that should she show even a single sign of losing control over her powers, you will do as I have asked you and destroy her, without question. That is your task, that is your duty," he finished with a seething growl.
Cullen nodded while tightening his jaw and trying to calm his pounding heart. He tried to swallow the dryness in his throat again, but only winced when it clenched up against him and stung.
"Remember that I can just as easily send you back to Aeonar. I do not wish for that to happen with your talents, however. You are of no use to me wasting away in that black pit." Greagoir spat while turning disdainful eyes away to head towards the first floor.
"Ser-?" Cullen blurted out after his Commander. He turned on his heel in a second's notice, leering at him with his piercing eyes. Cullen searched for words.
"Isthalla…I mean-does she..know? What happened to her?" he tried to sound tactful, but the words came out as more of a jumbled stutter than anything coherent. He cursed himself for his nervous stutter. Greagoir seemed entirely unaffected by Cullen's attempt.
"No," he said simply. "And it is our intention to keep it that way." Cullen felt incredibly confused now.
"But, how?" He couldn't help himself. How is it she wouldn't… remember something like that? Something so traumatic? Greagoir's interest slightly rose as his face mirrored an expression other than solid stone for once and he appeared mildly surprised.
"Isthalla's mind is protected to keep her from repeating the mistakes of her mother," he said plainly. "It also acts in her stead as a protection against needless trauma which I'm sure you do not wish upon the girl, as fond as you are for her. She is not a threat as long as she does not remember. You would do well to keep that in mind, templar."
With that, Greagoir turned and strode down the stairs and out of sight.