I started writing this a very long time ago and then abandoned it for whatever reason, but I had a few chapters written. After stumbling across and reading through them, I became inspried to polish them up and work on finishing out this story. Hopefully my second attempt is more successful than my first!


Three days. Solona had been at the Circle Tower for three days, and she had seen neither hide nor hair of Cullen amongst the Templars, though it was not for lack of searching. She had been most inquisitive about those people with whom she had been familiar at the tower before she left to join the Grey Wardens.

During these inquiries, Solona had learned of Jowan's fate. After Arl Eamon had given her former friend over to the Circle, he had been executed as maleficar for the crimes he had committed against the Arl. The First Enchanter told her that Wynne was settling in nicely in Denerim as Queen Anora's arcane advisor, and Dagna, the alarmingly cheerful dwarf they had met in Orzimmar, seemed to be quite at home aboveground with the mages. But there was no sign, no mention, not even whisperings of Cullen. It was almost as if he had never existed within Kinloch Hold at all.

Despite her disappointment over Cullen's absence, Solona was pleased to see that the process of rebuilding the Tower had been moving forward successfully. It appeared that both the Templars and mages had the task well in hand. Even Irving and Greagoir seemed to be working together more closely than before. Order had been all but restored, and, while she had been told she was welcome to remain as long as she wished, her assistance was clearly not required.

The morning of her fourth day at Kinloch Hold, Solona found herself perusing the dust-riddled stacks of the second floor library. She had not had much time with this particular collection of literature as she had left with Duncan shortly after her Harrowing, and part of her was curious about those things she might have studied if she had never left. As she browsed through brittle, yellowing scrolls and dust-covered leather bound tomes absently, the Knight-Commander strode in through the stone archway of the library entrance, his iron armor rattling and clanking with each step.

"You are looking well, Mage Amell," he offered conversationally, causing her to start with surprise. She had been so absorbed in her perusal that she hadn't heard his less than quiet approach. "I was relieved to see that you survived the Blight."

"As was I, Knight Commander," she replied with a small, tight smile. Despite the fact that she was no longer bound to the Tower, Solona found being addressed directly by the Knight-Commander a little unnerving, but she did her best to suppress her anxiety. "I am not sorry to see the end of the Blight."

He gave a short, rumbling chuckle before saying, "Yes, I imagine we all feel that way."

"It is strange to be back now. It almost feels as though this place is still my home, even if so much has changed between then and now. There's a small part of me that misses the simplicity of life in the Tower," she sighed wistfully. "Though I guess I should be grateful I left before the Libertarian rebellion. I probably would have tried to play the hero and done something foolish. Then I'd have perished alongside the others who did not survive the ordeal."

"Yes, you were always quite keen to prove yourself, as evidenced by your eagerness to join the Grey Wardens."

"I suppose some things never change." Solona heaved another sigh, heavier than the first. "And others do. The Circle is so different now. The damage Uldred and his followers wrought...I'm not certain I'll ever be able to forget. How have your Templars fared since the uprising?"

"They are managing as well as can be expected. While none of the Templars who have remained at the Tower witnessed the nightmares Uldred unleashed personally, there were many who lost brothers, comrades-in-arms that day. With Irving's assistance, much of the fear and distrust surrounding the surviving mages has been mitigated, though I'm not certain anything will ever be quite the same as before. It is likely the Circle will never be what it once was. Especially not after Cullen's raving lunacy."

Solona's heart leapt into her throat at the mention of the Templar's name. What lunacy was Greagoir talking about? Had something happened to Cullen?

"Yes, he did seem...unbalanced...after his ordeal, but you cannot fault him for that. He was subjected to torture most cannot even begin to fathom. Has his condition not improved?" Solona asked, trying not to sound desperately eager for an answer.

"I'm afraid that, last I saw of him, he has remained much the same as when you freed him from the abominations' torment. He has struggled with those things he experienced during the uprising. It has made him too suspicious of his charges, too hasty to make accusations against them. He began using his influence to poison the minds of his fellow Templars against the surviving mages and seeding fear amongst the recruits. This culminated into an incident, and I was forced to relieve him from duty indefinitely while he...recovers. He has returned home to Honnleath until he is deemed fit to return to duty," Greagoir told her, regret etched in the lines upon his face. The Knight-Commander shook his head, lank strands of his grey mane falling over his dark eyes as he breathed a heavy sigh. "Maker knows I should have sent him to Greenfell, but I pitied the lad. I do not believe any of us would have fared any better after surviving such an unspeakable nightmare."

"I am truly sorry to hear that. He was always very kind to the mages. It grieves me to hear that he has lost himself to Uldred's madness," she murmured, sincerity lacing her tone. She could feel the somber frown pulling at her lips. "How long ago was he dismissed?"

For a moment, the Knight-Commander watched her silently with an inscrutable expression on his weathered face before saying, "Nearly five months. It is strange that a mage would be so concerned over the fate of a Templar, but it would appear you are quite earnest."

"Yes, as I said, he was kind to the mages before the uprising," she replied, focusing on keeping herself from fidgeting uncomfortably beneath the man's steadfast gaze.

"I see," he murmured, his eyes still searching her face. Solona fought the overwhelming urge to turn away from Greagoir's scrutiny, and after a moment that seemed much longer than it actually was, the Knight-Commander's eyes found purchase on the bowed bookshelves in front of him. "Yes, well, I am afraid I must return to my duties. I wish you well in your endeavors with the Wardens."

"And you with your Templars," she replied politely. She waited until he was clear of the room before a triumphant grin spread across her features. Honnleath wasn't overly far away from the Circle Tower.

x.X.x

Solona set out for Honnleath early the next morning, having bid her farewells to those friends she was leaving behind at the Tower the evening before. She was glad to be leaving. The lingering effects of Uldred's madness had left the Circle feeling more unfamiliar than she'd ever imagined it would.

The trek to the village of Honnleath would take a few days from the Kinloch Hold, if she wasn't too concerned with traveling established roads. Alistair had probably been in Highever for nearly a week, and Solona guessed he would be there for another before he set off to rejoin her. She would be cutting it close to meeting him back at the Tower on time, but she was overcome with the need to assuage her curiosity.

The thought of seeing Cullen again sent nervous butterflies fluttering throughout her stomach. Solona wondered how he would tolerate seeing her again, considering that it was her image the demons used to torment him while he was trapped in the tower, but something in her felt as though she needed to see him, to know that he was alive and well. Convincing herself that she was merely repaying the kindness he had shown her during their days in the tower, she began her march southward.

The trek to Honnleath was largely uneventful, something Solona was not sure she'd ever get used to after the previous year. This was somewhat of a relief, as she had decided to forgo carrying her staff about, instead replacing it with a pair of wickedly sharp daggers that she strapped to either side of her hips. She was much less proficient with the daggers than she would have liked, but her staff was a dead giveaway of her magical abilities, a dangerous association when traveling alone, and Leliana had taught her enough that she could escape most conflicts with the aid of a well-timed spell, if necessary.

It was midday on the third day of her journey when Solona came upon a small hamlet of a somewhat run down quality. As she walked along a pebbled pathway that wound through the town, she noticed how neglected and desolate the village appeared. A small, rickety tavern was the only building that appeared to have any occupants, but the sounds of muffled, drunken laughter emanating from it were eerie in the surrounding quiet. There seemed to be no one outside. Merchant stalls had been left abandoned, a blood-spattered chanter's board stood lonely outside an empty Chantry, no zealous chanter proselytizing beside it, and many of the houses lay in ruins.

In the center of town, the pathway wrapped itself around a fenced-in, heather-covered knoll in which stood a strangely positioned statue that closely resembled a dwarven golem. She studied the figure for a moment, leaning against a splintering fencepost as overgrown grass swayed beneath a gentle breeze and was reminded forcefully of her time spent in the distant reaches of the Deep Roads.

Despite the summer heat, a shudder racked her petite form and a sudden wave of gooseflesh covered her pale skin as the memories overcame her. She could almost smell the musty stench of stagnant air as she stared at the thing, recollections of terrors beyond comprehension playing through her mind's eye. She tore her eyes away from the thing, blinking back the sunlight which now seemed entirely too bright and realized that she was being watched very intently.

x.X.x

A pair of calloused hands gripped the well-worn, wooden haft of a heavy axe, bringing it down in a graceful arc to sink into a dry log perched atop a larger log and splitting it with a resounding crack. Small splinters and chips of wood went flying in all directions, filling the sweltering, summer air with the earthy aroma of pine. Cullen bent to retrieve one of the halves of the split log, placing it upright upon his makeshift chopping block, and brought his axe down upon it once more.

He'd had the nightmares again last night. It had been nearly a year since Kinloch had been overrun with abominations, and he still couldn't shake the terrors that plagued his dreams. Daily draughts of lyrium did little to ease his fractured mind, and five months away from the Circle Tower and its mages had offered little respite from overwhelming paranoia. So he filled his days with menial labor, losing himself in the repetition of tasks such as chopping wood for a fire he would never need to build in the heat of summer.

Sweat trickled in rivulets down his forehead and over his brow, stinging his eyes. He swiped a forearm across his face, mopping his forehead with the greying sleeve of his linen tunic, while his other arm hung limply at his side, axe dangling so low that it brushed against the grass underfoot. He let it fall from his grasp and moved toward a nearby well to quench his thirst.

Honnleath was all but deserted since the darkspawn overran the town. Many of the townsfolk, including Cullen's own family, had decided against returning to the partially razed hamlet. This solitude was something Cullen truly appreciated. It was not a luxury he would have been afforded had Greagoir sent him to Greenfell as he ought to have done. Instead, the Knight-Commander had found it in Cullen's best interest to send him away from both mages and the Order for an extended leave of absence, but exactly how long he was to remain in Honnleath, Cullen couldn't say. After all he had seen in Kinloch, Cullen decided that the arrangement suited him just fine. He had taken up residence in his abandoned childhood home, relishing in the familiarity it offered.

After downing a few ladles of cool water from the well's bucket, a sudden prickling at the back of his neck seemed to urge Cullen to examine his surroundings. Placing both hands, one on either side, on the edge of the round, stone well, he looked out among the buildings that were still standing, amber eyes scanning the quiet village. There, standing there in the middle of town examining the odd statue that had been erected in the grassy area, was a person he had never expected to lay eyes on ever again.

He blinked a few times wondering if he was seeing things in the harsh glare of the sunlight. The all-too-familiar image was one of the many that haunted his nightmares and seeing her in the light of day sent icy tendrils of panic clawing through his chest. It was only a vision, not a demon, he told himself firmly. It could not be a demon. This was just his fractured mind playing more games with him.

Cullen took a deep breath, trying to still his frantic thoughts and the pounding beats of his racing heart. He was in Honnleath, had been in Honnleath for months now. This was not Kinloch Hold. There were no demons to toy with his mind here, no mages there to summon them. His vigilant gaze did not waver from the figure that had now started walking toward him almost hesitantly, swaying a little as she took slow but purposeful steps in his direction.

'Could it really be Amell?' he wondered silently as he eyed her hawkishly. If it truly was Amell, what in Thedas was she doing here of all places?

She strode toward him, seeming all nerves. He could hear her soft footfalls upon the pebble-strewn path and see the dust swirl around her travel worn, leather boots as she came nearer. He straightened at her approach, suspicion etched in every line of his sun-browned face.

While he grappled with the authenticity of her presence, the woman came to a halt before she had completely reached the well between them, standing on the far edge of the pathway a fair distance away from him, blinking in the brilliant sunlight. She was as beautiful as he remembered, flaxen tresses cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, framing her delicate features perfectly. He couldn't keep himself from staring, and she kept her pale green eyes fixed upon him in return.

"A...Amell?" he croaked a hint of disbelief in his tone. The worried expression she had been wearing diminished and some of the tension in her posture seemed to ease slightly. Her eyes softened with warmth as she gave him a small, apprehensive smile.

"I'm glad to see you looking well, Ser Cullen," she replied softly. Her dulcet voice set his skin prickling with goosebumps despite the oppressive heat. He had almost forgotten the melodious sound.

"I...uh...never thought I'd see you again," he grunted, unsure of what he ought to say next. Her smile evaporated, instantly, and she averted her gaze from his.

"I suppose not," she sighed quietly. Her eyes flickered back up to meet his, then returned to studying the ground intently. He kept his eyes trained upon her warily, observing silently as he searched the recesses of his mind for something to say.

"What brings you to Honnleath?" he asked abruptly, the question sounding more like a demanding interrogation than polite inquiry.

"I...well…I heard you were here, and... I...I just…" she stuttered, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink. She had come knowing he was here. Cullen wasn't sure how to feel about that.

He realized that she was clad in close fitting traveling clothes, simple cotton breeches and a fitted green tunic, instead of the customary robes worn by mages. She wasn't carrying a staff, not that it made her any less dangerous, though it did offer a certain degree of comfort. She had come to him devoid of the trappings indicative of a mage. He wondered if it was done intentionally in an attempt to put him at ease.

"You heard I was in Honnleath and came looking for me?" he queried, eyes wide with surprise, before narrowing in suspicion. "Why?"

"I just...wanted to see that you were alive for myself...make certain that you were all right. I always considered you somewhat of a friend and..."

"Mages and Templars cannot be friends!" he snarled, cutting her off, lip curled in disgust. There was an almost imperceptible flicker of hurt behind her almond shaped eyes, but she managed to school her features into an expression of neutrality.

"Well maybe not in the conventional sense of the word, but you have always been someone I respect deeply, Ser Cullen. I witnessed firsthand the horrors that you endured, and..." she babbled nervously, watching the muscles of his stubbled jaw tense and twitch. "I just...should have left you alone...Of course you wouldn't want to see me…I am so incredibly stupid."

An overwhelming sense of guilt assaulted Cullen's conscience. Standing before him was a woman who had saved his life and ended days of torment endured at the hands of demons and blood magic, a woman for whom he had harbored illicit feelings ever since laying eyes upon her. If there was ever a mage whose nature he could forgive, it was Solona.

"I...am sorry. I should remember that you're the one who...Well, you're not the same as other mages," he muttered grudgingly, feeling slightly abashed. "Are...are you planning on staying in Honnleath long?"

"I don't think so, no. I'll be renting a room at the tavern up the road. I suppose I'll stay for the night and leave in the morning."

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, the Warden's timorous gaze unable to meet the harsh scrutiny of the Templar's for more than a few seconds at a time. After a painfully awkward minute, she gave him a faint but genuine smile. There was an unspoken tenderness in her expression that awakened a reluctant longing within Cullen. It was a feeling he had not felt since before his ordeal in the Circle Tower.

"It is a relief to know that you are well. I will pray that you remain so. Goodbye, Ser Cullen," she murmured. He watched her go, his eyes following the sway of her hips as she walked away from him. He half expected her to spare him a final glance as she traipsed back up the sloping pathway, but she didn't. It was clear that she had every intention of leaving him be.