Thank you all for reading! Particular thanks to suilven for her thoughtful and speedy betaing!
He paused outside the training ring. Fresh snow was falling, and most were inside the tavern, drinking, or in their tents, amusing themselves in other ways. Thule had had a few invitations to do both, but had surprised himself by not being particularly interested. He had been invited to come pray in the Chantry, as well, but Thule generally found prayer more satisfying when he could do it alone. He didn't like the Maker to be too distracted when Thule talked to him.
And so now, just as he had planned, here he was on the training grounds with Cassandra, all but alone. Cullen was there, practicing, as he so often was, over-heated and shirtless with the exertion. There was a man who ought to be in someone's tent, Thule thought, but Cullen seemed uninterested in such things.
Unless, Thule thought with a flash of jealousy, the shirtlessness and the sweat were for Cassandra's benefit. He watched them both with narrowed eyes, but each had eyes only for their own blade.
He leaned against a post behind Cassandra and watched her work. She executed a whirl and a slash and then a deft reverse strike that sank the blade neatly where the training dummy's jugular would have been. On a human, at least.
Thule cleared his throat, and Cassandra turned to look at him. Did her cheeks turn pink at the sight of him, or was that the exercise?
"You're like a force of nature." He tried not to think of what she might be like if she turned that focus and passion to more pleasurable tasks.
She raised an eyebrow. "When I must be."
"It's impressive." He meant it, too. She was a superb fighter, amongst her other gifts.
Cassandra frowned. "You flatter me."
"I'm trying." He grinned, but she turned away, her eyes studying the green slash in the sky.
"Did I do the right thing?" Leaving the sword stuck in the dummy, she walked across the grounds. Cullen glanced up, apparently decided to leave them alone, and returned to his forms. As Thule followed her, Cassandra went on, "I could be destroying everything I have ever believed in, for nothing. One day, my name might appear in the history books as a traitor, a madwoman. A fool. And they might be right." Her grey eyes were full on Thule's now, searching his face for condemnation.
"And your faith? What does it say?"
"That you are innocent," she responded unhesitatingly. "And that there is more going on here than we can understand, much more than the Chantry is willing to admit—or deal with. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot." Shaking her head, she added, "I believe this was the only way. And I know that you are the only one who can close the Breach. Those things together meant that there was no time to wait for the Chantry."
"They didn't leave you much of a choice."
"Or did they?" She looked away again, her grey eyes distant, seeing things from the past that made her doubt herself. "My trainers always told me I was too hasty. Too brash. Too little disposed to thinking before I acted."
They had? Thule found that hard to believe. The woman in front of him thought too much, if anything. Privately, he decided her trainers had been idiots.
She must have sensed his thoughts, because the corner of her mouth turned up and she looked down at him with humor lurking in the back of her eyes. "You don't agree; but you of all people ought to. I misjudged you in the beginning—I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. But … there is nothing clear about y—about this situation. There is more to it, much more, than meets the eye." She frowned, then, studying him if anything more carefully. "Do you believe in the Maker?"
He nodded.
"Then perhaps we were both put on this path for a reason."
Thule smiled. "I look forward to seeing where it leads us."
As he trudged along, Thule reflected that Harding had been right—the Western Approach may well be the worst place in the world. Between the heat, the sun, and the sand, he found himself almost missing Haven.
Of course, if Cassandra were willing to take her shirt off, he thought speculatively … but this was hardly the time, and sweaty and covered with sand—and no doubt sunburnt—was no way to see that sight for the first time. Not to mention, he hardly wanted to share such a marvel. Although with Alistair and Hawke alternately avoiding one another and shooting longing glances at each other, his own distraction with Cassandra, and the Iron Bull and Vivienne battling for dominance over one another, the whole group's concentration of unsatisfied lust was nearly enough to be a weapon in and of itself.
He grinned to himself at the idea, of bowling over their enemies with a steady stream of lustful thoughts. He must actually have chuckled, because Cassandra looked at him with concern.
"Inquisitor? Are you all right?"
Clearly he wasn't, because he actually considered sharing his thoughts with her. No doubt she'd think he was suffering from heatstroke. Maybe he was—a sobering thought. "I'm fine," he assured her.
She nodded, looking up and shading her eyes with her hand. "It should not be much farther now, if Harding's directions are to be believed."
"Little redhead never got anything wrong before," grunted the Iron Bull. "Redhead. Wonder if it's all red." He chuckled.
"Please, my dear," Vivienne said icily. "There is no need to be crude."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
Thule wondered again if the Qunari was merely shining the mage on or if he truly was frightened enough of her to be willing to kowtow, at least verbally. He had to admit that if he were going to be afraid of a mage, Vivienne would be pretty high on his list.
"There," Cassandra said, pointing to a structure that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Sun and sand probably made it look closer than it was, but still, Thule could have sworn it wasn't there a moment ago.
With a steely, determined look, Alistair sped up, sand flying up behind him with each step.
"Alistair, wait!" Hawke hurried after him.
Cassandra grumbled about the unnecessary exertion of haste, but she, too, quickened her pace. It wasn't long before they had all outstripped Thule. It was rare that he felt inadequate as a dwarf, but he did now.
The Iron Bull turned and walked backward facing him. "Want a ride?" He gestured to his broad shoulders.
Thule frowned. "Which is less dignified, riding a Qunari or arriving late to the party?"
"You're asking me? Not exactly an expert on dignity, boss."
"You talk a good game, but you're a lot more than you pretend to be," Thule told him.
The Iron Bull grinned, but didn't disagree.
"You go on ahead, but thanks for the offer."
"Whatever you say, boss." In no time, the Qunari was off in the distance with the others. Thule tried to run, but the sand stuck under his boots and he nearly tripped and fell flat on his face.
When he arrived, the others were embroiled in an argument with an elegant man who spoke with a strong Tevinter accent. He looked up at Thule's approach. "Inquisitor. You join us at last." He bowed. "Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service."
"You're a long way from home."
"Yeah, we told him that, boss." The Iron Bull was visibly tense; whatever was going on here, it was bad if the Qunari was letting his emotions show.
"You all seem remarkably concerned about my welfare. Most courteous of you."
Thule glanced around, seeing a pile of lifeless bodies in Warden uniforms, and a cadre of other Wardens standing in a corner, with demons at their sides. Demons? No wonder the Iron Bull was freaking out.
Alistair was standing in front of them, looking equal parts anguished and enraged. "Can't you see that he is lying to you? There is no Calling! This man and the ancient magister he serves are trying to unleash a Blight!"
Hawke put her hand on his arm, the first time Thule had seen her willingly touch him, and said softly, "They can't hear you."
"No, they most certainly cannot," Erimond said, his face lighting with amusement. He raised an arm, and so did all the Wardens, in a jerky, mechanical movement.
"You son of a bitch," Alistair said bitterly.
"How easy it was to frighten them into giving over their entire beings." Erimond studied Alistair with interest. "I wonder why it didn't work on you? Perhaps you are more intelligent than you have been given credit for." He shrugged. "No matter, really. We shall just kill you now."
"I can't believe the Wardens went along with this," Cassandra said.
"Went along with it? They think it was their idea! Such a simple plan—raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill all the Old Gods before they can be awakened."
Alistair looked thoughtful for a moment, and the Iron Bull snapped, "Which part of 'demon army' did you miss?"
Thule nodded. "I was wondering when we were going to get to the demon army bit."
"You knew about this?" Hawke asked him.
"I'd heard … things." He didn't like to think about his time in the Fade at Therinfal Redoubt. He devoutly hoped never to see the unnatural place again.
"This was the ritual Bethany meant," Hawke whispered sadly. She shivered, clearly seeing her sister amongst these enslaved creatures in her mind's eye.
"Ah, let's just kill this asshole already," growled the Iron Bull.
"My sentiments exactly." Thule drew his daggers, and battle was joined. It was surprisingly satisfying to sink his daggers into demons … but it was clear Alistair was having a hard time fighting his fellow Wardens, under Corypheus's thumb or not. Eventually, Cassandra and the Iron Bull shoved him toward the demons and did what needed to be done themselves.
Thule joined the King of Ferelden when it was all over and he was looking over the bodies. "Friends of yours?"
"No. These must all be Orlesian Wardens; I don't recognize any of them." He gave Thule a stricken look. "I don't know if that's a relief or not. What if—I don't even want to think about what's happening to the rest of them."
"Why weren't you affected?"
"I wish I knew. Farther away? More cares of state to keep my mind occupied? More experience with a Blight and what an Archdemon's song truly sounds like?" He sighed heavily. "I don't know whether to wish I was with them or be glad I'm not. Almost like—" He caught himself, a sorrowful expression crossing his face, and turned away.
Hawke watched him go with troubled eyes, but didn't follow him.
Thule went to help with the clean-up. Erimond had made his escape at some point during the battle. They would have to track him down, him and the rest of the Wardens, and put an end to this.
Cullen strode up and down the line of soldiers, studying each of them. They weren't ready, his head told him. They needed more training—much more. But his heart whispered to him of their heroism, their stalwart stand, at Haven. If they had done it then, they could do it now.
But how much longer? The Inquisitor's raven from the Western Approach had sent Leliana's people into a scramble, hunting for the rest of the Wardens. There could be no battle until she found them.
Over the heads of his soldiers, he watched Bethany Hawke move through the courtyard, her head down, making little dashes here and there trying not to be noticed. A raven with a broken wing, he thought, sore at heart when he remembered the innocent young girl he had met in Kirkwall. There was something in Bethany now that was chillingly reminiscent to him of what Leyden had looked like, the last time he saw her in the Tower. Painfully thin, her eyes burning in her gaunt face. At least Leyden had had Leliana then, he thought, and with the thought his eyes lifted to the balcony by the rookery, finding the slender hooded figure there, her gaze unmistakably turned toward the shadowy figure of Bethany.
For a heartbeat, he envied her, finding someone to fill her heart again, to warm the cold place left in Leyden's wake. But then he looked at Bethany again, and he pitied Leliana for the pain that lay before her if she pursued this, and blessed his own good fortune that another woman hadn't crossed his path to tempt his heart. It was too damaged to give away again, anyway.
He let the troops go and turned toward the gardens, where he was meeting Dagna for a game of chess, not even noticing the way his steps—and his heart—lightened as he went.