Of course the Herald chose to accept the Grand Enchanter's offer. In all fairness, even Cullen couldn't begrudge him that. While the templars were as yet an unknown faction, at least as far as the Inquisition was concerned, the mages had cleverly put their offer forward when Maxwell Trevelyan visited Val Royeaux. It would have been foolish not to accept when the Inquisition needed powerful allies.
Cullen had done his best to convince them otherwise, but ultimately he and Cassandra had been the only ones advocating for the templars and they were overruled. He wished that Cassandra had not gone with the Herald to Redcliffe, as he would have appreciated an ally when Leliana cornered him.
Leliana moved in complete silence despite her chainmail, and it was rather infuriating to find himself in that empty room with a knife at his throat. When he tried to push her off, she merely pressed the blade closer. "This is just a friendly reminder, Commander. This is not Kirkwall, and whatever mages join are not our prisoners."
"I never said they were," Cullen growled, finally shoving her away only when she allowed him to.
She stared at him, cold eyes unblinking. "I know you better than that."
Cullen scoffed, but said nothing at the unspoken threat. Leliana may not truly know him well, but she did have knowledge he had carefully tried to keep under wraps for years.
"The Maker gives us all second chances, Cullen," she said, her tone shifting close to kindness. "Don't waste yours."
And then she left him alone in the dark room, memories of Kinloch and Kirkwall swirling about his mind. He shook his head; Leliana probably meant well, but she was far too forgiving when it came to mages. She had never been brutally tortured by them for months on end. Despite the Divine's apparent concern over the state of Kirkwall, her Left Hand had not been there when everything went to shit. Meredith assassinated, mages in full and open rebellion, and the 'Champion' liberated from the Gallows only to blow up the Chantry. A memorial for Anders, Hawke had called the attack before Cullen cut him down.
As far as mages went, Trevelyan appeared fairly harmless, but Cullen knew better than to take any mage at face value. There wasn't a mage alive who could truly be trusted.
Cullen had thought to devise various ways to have him discretely removed, only for them to discover that the Herald was the only one who could seal the Fade rifts that were cropping up all over Ferelden. Suddenly it became part of the duty to protect the world from dangerous magic to support this particular mage.
He had resigned himself to the fact that he did have to work with mages now, as much as he despised it. The elven apostate had been helpful thus far, though again, Cullen kept an eye on him. The man seemed a little too knowledgeable about the Fade rifts in Cullen's opinion, but the others had taken that as a boon instead of a potential threat. When First Enchanter Vivienne joined up, Cullen had been wary as well, but she surprised him by coming to him and thanking him for how he was keeping up with the former templars' training. "Magic is dangerous, just as fire is dangerous. Anyone who forgets this truth gets burned. I'm glad the Inquisition has a Commander who understands that."
The idea of a large influx of mages in their ranks, though…there simply wouldn't be enough templars to keep them in line.
As it turned out, Trevelyan would not return with legions of dangerous rebel mages at his back. According to the report sent ahead to Leliana, it seemed they had encountered a major problem, one possibly worse than the idea of so many mages roaming free in their camp.
The mages had pledged themselves to a Tevinter Magister. The last thing they needed was the Tevinter Imperium using the current chaos to make a move to take over Thedas.
"We should go to Therinfal Redoubt at once. Get the Order's support and return to Redcliffe in full force," Cullen suggested to Leliana as soon as he heard the news.
"I'm not sure we have time for that, Commander. We already have an invitation from this Magister for the Herald. He's ready to make his move. And we are not."
Cullen swore under his breath as a runner handed Leliana another note. The woman's gaze hardened. "Butler," she breathed, managing to exude such intense hatred in the word that Cullen was very grateful not to be whoever this 'Butler' was. "They should be returning later today. We can discuss our options then."
Cullen headed down the hill to return to overseeing their troops' training, but it wasn't long before a few travelers caught his eye.
Maxwell had returned, along with his three companions — or wait. Four?
Cullen blinked, briefly shading his eyes from the sun as he counted again. Seeker Cassandra, Solas, Varric, and…someone else. He didn't recall anyone else joining the Herald, and it wasn't a woman so clearly it was not the Grand Enchanter who had made the initial offer.
He turned back toward the men when one cried out in pain. It was one of the newer recruits again, Jakob if memory served. His shield was held fairly uselessly as he tried to strike his sparring partner back, but the woman was easily able to deflect the blow and knock him to the ground.
"You have a shield in your hand," Cullen chided as he roughly hoisted the young man to his feet. "Use it!"
After watching for long enough to see that Jakob was at least trying to hold his shield high enough for it to be helpful, Cullen looked back toward the Herald. The group was at the steps, although the stranger had remained behind at the Chargers' tents. He bowed to Krem after their short discussion and started making his way in the direction of Haven's gates, where he waved his hand to open them.
Cullen's breath stuttered, one hand habitually going to his sword as the other clenched in a fist. None of the mages in the Inquisition had thus far flaunted such power so openly. It was simple instinct that led his body to call on lyrium, preparing a Silence entirely without conscious permission as he glared at the mage's back.
The mage apparently noticed. Most mages could tell when a strike was incoming, but instead of flinching or rushing away, this man simply paused, calmly turning around with an arched eyebrow as he sought the source of the power.
Seeing him head on made it extremely obvious that this man was not just any mage. His perfectly tailored ivory robes were delicately inlaid with the image of a serpent, his hands bore several gold and glittering rings, and his demeanor was that of a man who thought himself far superior to those surrounding him. If somehow his attire and unconcerned posture didn't give it away, his raven black hair, dark tanned skin, and the prominent and elegant staff on his back certainly did.
When the man locked onto Cullen, he had the nerve to grin at him, violet sparks briefly flickering at the tip of the staff like a dare before the mage turned away to continue deeper into Haven.
Cullen was momentarily too stunned to do anything but stare after him. The Herald had gone to seek the rebel mages, found that the rebel mages had defected to Tevinter, and then brought a Magister back with him?
He shook himself and quickly strode after the man.
It took a bit of time to catch up through the crowd, as it seemed Cullen was, at least, not the only one to notice that a fucking Tevinter had waltzed into their camp. Unfortunately, the looks from some of the mages seemed more like awe than any sense of concern or fear.
Once he entered the Chantry, he found that the Herald and the others must have already gathered in the back room. The Magister was nearby, idly leaning against one of the columns and looking about the mostly empty hall with an appearance of vague curiosity. He'd shed his outer robe, revealing the black leathers underneath, covered in silver buckles and serpentine decorations and absurdly leaving his left shoulder bared.
As soon as the doors shut behind Cullen, however, the mage immediately slid his gaze over to him and smiled again, though this time he showed a bit less teeth. "You must be Commander Cullen," he greeted as he pushed off the column. The man's grey eyes slowly drifted down and then back up over Cullen, an eyebrow twitching slightly as though he liked what he saw. "Maxwell's told me about you."
Cullen fought against the angry flush rising up his neck. "I cannot say the same of you, Magister."
The man's grin widened with approval, and he took a lazy step forward before just barely tilting his head. "Dorian Pavus," he said in introduction. "Most recently of Minrathous and, as you've duly noted, a Magister." He moved a bit closer as he spoke, subtly entering Cullen's space. "I must admit, I have never met one of your Order before." His gaze drifted downward again. "You are quite the specimen, aren't you?"
"You're surrounded by it," Cullen replied, fighting the instinct to back away as Dorian smoothly maneuvered closer, like the man was testing just how far he could push.
"The Templar Order, I mean," the mage clarified, though he seemed to know that was actually what Cullen meant anyway. "It was intense," Dorian purred, his voice lowered, "feeling the surge of your borrowed magic."
"It's not magic," Cullen countered automatically, ignoring the unsubtle hint of unchaste interest in the man's tone.
Dorian's eyes gleamed gleefully. "It most certainly is." He was standing far too close now, near enough for Cullen to catch a whiff of some sort of exotic spice on the air. Cullen unwittingly glanced away for a moment, noticing how the man had left his staff against the pillar instead of carrying it with him. When he looked back, Dorian's smile was all the brighter. "It may not be yours, but you still carry it within you. Just like I do."
Cullen tensed, recognizing the threat. "You would do well to keep it there during your stay," he warned. "There are certain parties who might react…badly."
Dorian arched an elegant eyebrow again. "Thank you for the advice, Commander," he said softly. He reached out a hand, lightly setting it on Cullen's shoulder and it was only the knowledge that he'd seen others in the Chantry that kept Cullen from cleaving the man in two. "But you'll find I can handle myself."
Cullen wasn't even sure Dorian was calling on any magic, but instinctively Cullen batted away his hand and shoved Dorian behind the column where he'd left his staff. The man lost his footing and would have fallen to the ground except for how forcefully Cullen held him against the wall. They were out of sight of any onlookers now, and Cullen was not gentle as he pressed his forearm into the man's throat, calling a Silence with trained precision with the vague hope the Herald would not feel the power of it. As an extra precaution, or more so simply because he wanted to, Cullen took a dagger from his belt and held it against the pectoral revealed by the man's stupidly designed outfit.
Magister Pavus struggled to breathe beneath the weight of Cullen's arm, his pupils wide and body struggling to support his own weight. He had obviously never encountered a true templar before, and Cullen was pleased to see how much it truly shook him.
"And you'll find," Cullen replied, leaning close to the man's ear to deliver the warning as privately as possible, "That I can handle you." Dorian exhaled sharply, his breath hot where it brushed Cullen's cheek. "Do not think to touch me again or I will break you in half, mage," Cullen growled as he backed away, nicking Dorian's chest as he did so.
Dorian slowly rose a hand to his chest, where a large bead of blood had formed from the wound. Cullen inhaled sharply, hand tightening around the dagger as he recognized the danger. The Magister idly rubbed the blood between his fingers, gazing at the blood as though intrigued. Though the man was still shaken, his breaths tremulous as he used the wall for support, a slow smile spread over Dorian's face before he looked from the blood back to Cullen.
"I believe I'll think whatever I please, Commander."
The moment lingered as Cullen was unwilling to blink lest the Magister use the fuel Cullen had thoughtlessly provided. Dorian chuckled quietly as he stepped away from the wall, brushing the blood onto his leathers. "Now, shall we join Maxwell and the others? I believe they are waiting for us."
Cullen prickled at the use of us pairing him with the mage, but any hope that this wasn't the case vanished when a door swung open and Maxwell came out of the back room. "Dorian? Magister Pavus? Commander?" It was probably a good thing Cullen wasn't close enough to punch the Herald, such was his annoyance at being an afterthought.
Dorian grinned, something the man truly managed to perfect into a beautiful mockery of the act. "We'll have to continue playing later, Commander," he murmured as he walked past, voice dripping with vulgar suggestion.
Cullen shoved his dagger back into his belt, taking a few deep breaths to calm the instincts to go in and outright murder the man.
He could always do that later.
A/N: Takes place in the same AU as "The Game", "Denial", "Seeing Red", and "The Pale Light".