The skin under her bandage itches and Evelyn cannot wait to change it, tapping her foot in her impatience for everyone to be dismissed from the War Room.
"There is one more thing we should discuss," says the Commander as he reaches into the inner folds of his cloak and Evelyn feels every muscle in her body tense when he places the vial on the war table. She doesn't need to see the name carved along the side to know whose it is.
"What is it?" asks Josephine, her head tilting to get a better look.
"A phylactery," answers Cassandra.
"My phylactery," corrects Evelyn, her eyes narrowing as she tears her gaze away to level it on the Templar across the table. "Why in the Fade do you have my phylactery?"
The man has the nerve to look guilty before clearing his throat. "The Templars from Ostwick brought it with them when they heard you were the sole survivor."
"And you're just telling me this now," Evelyn snaps.
"At the time, I did not know what role you played in the death of the Divine and keeping it until we were certain of your innocence seemed to be the most prudent course."
"Or a foolproof way to kill me at the first sign of my guilt, you mean."
"They did not know. The Templars would only speak to me and I did not share the information. The fault lies with me and me alone. I intended to discuss it with you all back in Haven but we were attacked before the opportunity arose."
Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose, willing herself to calm down. Demons were drawn to the anchor from the Fade and constantly looked for any foothold in her consciousness and she has not come this far to fall now.
"Fine, what's done is done," she says and reaches out over the table, "We can destroy it now."
But the Templar raises his hand, palm out over the vial though he does not touch it. "Herald, I used the phylactery to find you in the Frostbacks. Without it, there is no question you would be dead and our cause would be lost. It could be useful again."
That was you?
She shakes the thought away. He is overlooking the obvious.
"Enemy templars could use it to track me down. Blood mages could use it to bind me or taint my connection to the Fade. It is a liability."
"Not if it is kept safe and secure," intones Cassandra. "I agree with Cullen. It could be invaluable if we are separated from you again."
"How do you intend to keep it safe?" asks Josie and Evelyn feels dread gather in her gut.
They will keep it. It will be in the hands of a Knight Commander, regardless of whatever they call him now.
She will never truly leave the Circle.
"Same as we already have," replies Leliana as if it were obvious. "No one else can know so it has to be someone in this room. Cassandra cannot take it as, Andraste forbid, whatever fate befalls the Herald would likely involve her as well. And Josie, while you would not be suspected to carry such a thing, you would have little means to defend it if discovered. And though I could keep it safe, we still run into our final issue. The Commander is the only one among us who has the ability to use it."
Cassandra and the Commander share a look but say nothing else and in the resulting silence, Evelyn knows they are waiting for her to speak.
"If I'm going to agree to this," she begins, pushing herself up from where she had hunched over the table, "the Commander has to agree to something himself."
The Templar's brow raises, waiting.
"He has to let me enchant it."
His posture shifts, his head already moving in a slow shake. Emboldened by his discomfort, Evelyn keeps talking. "I have to magick it such that no one but myself can remove it from his person, not even him. Any attempt to dispel the enchantment will cause the vial's destruction. That is my condition."
"No."
Evelyn raised her brow. "What's the matter, Commander? Suddenly the price not worth it?"
His face morphs into something hard and distant and she feels cold satisfaction.
Ah, there you are, Knight-Commander.
He picks the vial up and tucks it back into his pocket. "Fine. I'll have it with me in my office when you're ready."
The door echoes behind his retreating form and Evelyn finds herself under the sharp gaze of the spymaster. "Did your Grand Enchanter ever tell you what became of the circle at Kinloch?"
Racking her memory for any discussion about the events that occurred nearly a decade ago, she shrugs.
"We were a very insular Circle. The Templars did not allow free communication to our sisters and brothers. All we were told was that there was an abomination and the Hero of Fereldan prevented the need for a full annulment."
The spymaster's lips pursed. "I was there. So was the Commander. The horrors I saw that day still invade my nightmares. Cullen endured days of such tortures and has somehow kept his sanity. I'm not saying he was a perfect Templar but he left the Order before the disruption of the Circles because he felt the organization had lost its way."
She reaches out, her hand resting on Evelyn's shoulder. "Give him a chance. He wishes to do good, I assure you. Regardless, we must reach some sort of peace between you both if we have any hope of success."
It is hours later that she bursts into his office without preamble, the winds that follow her scattering the papers on his desk before she shuts the door. And though he looks slightly pained, he otherwise appears unsurprised to see her and rises from his seat.
"Another condition, I presume?" he asks, folding his arms over his chest.
"Tell me about Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall."
He lets out a short breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.
"I don't care what Leiliana or Cassandra say," Evelyn continues, marching up to rest her fists against the wood between them. "If you are going to keep my phylactery, I have to know. I will not put my freedom in the hands of a monster."
Cullen gave a short, humorless laugh before withdrawing her phylactery to set it on the desk. "You should take that now then."
But she doesn't grab it and he sits in his chair, one hand dragging down his face. "What do you know already?"
Evelyn huffs out a breath of air leftover from her lingering frustration. "Leliana said you were trapped with abominations for days and Varric was infuriatingly vague, except to say you had 'seen and done some shit but in the end, made the right choices'."
He nods then flicks his eyes to the seat next to her.
"Sit."
Hesitating, she glances back at the well-worn chair and decides the information is worth this concession.
"Kinoch Hold was my first position in the Templar Order. After about a year of being stationed there, a mage by the name of Uldred and some younger practitioners took up blood magic, allowing the entire circle to be overrun with abominations. I and my brothers were taken and imprisoned. One by one they disappeared until only I remained. The demons had given me hope so many times before, taking the form of my friends, of reinforcements, such that when the Wardens and the others arrived, I thought it was just another illusion."
"I wanted her to kill them all, but Solona Amell was a mage herself from that very circle and she was able to bring who she could from the brink, preventing the necessity of Annulment. For a long time I felt angry and betrayed that retribution for the Templar lives lost was never taken. So, when the opportunity came to change Circles and move to Kirkwall, I took it. Knight Commander Meredith specifically asked for me and I thought I had found a Circle that viewed mages and their risk to the World as I did. "
"But this time, the unrest started within our own ranks. A recruit named Wilrod turned into an abomination, and the Knight Commander tainted herself with red lyrium before the grand Enchanter embraced blood magic... So when the Kirkwall Circle fell, this time due to the corruption of the Templars and mages alike, I realized both sides were broken, stuck in a perpetual cycle of paranoia and rebellion. In the end, I sided with Hawke to bring down Meredith and protect the innocent as best I could. Afterward, Cassandra offered me this position and I accepted."
"The apostate mage, Marian Hawke? The one who sparked the rebellions?"
"Yes. Oddly enough, her cousin was Solona, the Hero of Fereldan," he says and frowns at her. "Please tell me you're not related to them as well."
Evelyn lets out a sharp laugh before she realizes he is quite serious. "Um, no. I was the first mage for generations in my family, if I recall correctly."
He seems mildly relieved. "Is that answer sufficient, then?"
She hesitates for a moment, considering before she picks up the phylactery. Part of her desperately wants to dash it against the stones on the floor, but it is true it is the reason she is not currently carrion for Leliana's crows.
"You swear it, that you will keep it safe?"
"I will."
She circles the desk to stand before him and he slowly rises from his seat. They are silent the long moments it takes him to remove his armor and set his cuirass aside.
He looks strange to her, half-armored but still so much larger than herself, and she has to stand on her tiptoes to slide the leather strap that holds the phylactery about his neck to tuck it within his tunic.
"Ready?"
His jaw rolls for a second before he closes his eyes and gives one short nod, and Evelyn rests her palm over the covered vial suffusing her will to enchant it to him and her alone. There is something oddly intimate about the moment, him in partial undress while she binds her blood to his body, but she refuses to dwell on it, keeping her focus on the task at hand. In a moment, it is finished and he is turning away from her, quickly donning his armor before he exits to the battlements.
It is weeks before she sees him anywhere but the War Room again.
Lyrium withdrawal. Maker's breath... No wonder.
The Commander looks terrible. The light brown leather strap that holds her phylactery is a contrast to the rest of his palid skin which is a frightening shade too close to the loose white tunic he wears. Perspiration dots his brow despite the cold air and the lack of his usually present cloak.
"How long?" she asks.
He shrugs, "Several months. Ever since Kirkwall. It has only recently gotten this bad."
She glances at the bright blue liquid on his desk. "Were you about to take it when I came in?"
"I... I don't know."
"Do you want to take it?"
"Maker's breath, no! I want to be free of the Order, once and for all. "
"It shouldn't be in here, then," she says, moving to stand between him and the box that houses that vile blue liquid. She fully intends to push him back and destroy that thing but he rushes at her, his hand stilling hers where it reaches for the box.
Evelyn can't breathe for how close he is, his body curled over hers and his breathing ragged.
He speaks in her ear, as he's done before, but this time it is rough and strained, like the string of a bow about to let loose.
"I need to know I can resist the temptation."
She can feel his words drip down her spine, desperate and wild, causing her heart to skitter in her chest like a frightened hare.
No, not frightened.
She is surprised she feels none of the panic she thought she would, the last time she was this close to a man, he too had been a templar.
But different, so different.
That had been rough with metal slats that pinched her skin, alcohol and lyrium on his breath, and tears in her eyes.
And she felt nothing like the warmth she feels now in her belly under Cullen's amber gaze and gentle, but firm grip.
She shifts to face him more fully before placing her other palm on the desk to push herself up and she slides back, sitting and waiting. She is uncertain of what exactly she is hoping for and the moment feels fragile enough that just a word could break it.
His adam's apple bobs as he swallows and he leans into her, lowering his forehead to press against her shoulder.
For several long seconds, that is all that happens, all she thinks will happen, until she feels it, the brush of lips against her collarbone. Her breath stilts as he repeats the motion, featherweight touches over her skin and his hand leaves hers to tug at her collar, opening the neck of her blouse wider. Warmth blooms in the wake of his attentions and she sighs, content to lose herself to the sensation. Her eyes have slid closed so she feels rather than sees him step more fully into the space between her knees, and she has to remind herself that this isn't real, she is just a distraction from the craving in his blood. Templars, even former ones, do not hold soft feelings for mages.
Her thoughts are cut off with the scrape of his teeth against her earlobe as his arm wraps around her back to press them closer, and her legs spread to accomodate his demand. He radiates heat and his breathing is deep and ragged in her ear, and she swears he is shaking, a vibrating tremor in the muscles under her fingertips.
The hand that had been at her back lifts to twine into the hair near her scalp, and with a force just shy of painful, he pulls it to the side, exposing the path from her ear to her shoulder more fully. What had started as a gentle exploration was now bordering on hedonistic, the commander sucking and biting before soothing the ravaged skin with his tongue.
She had seen couples do such things in hidden alcoves and dark corners of the circle and wondered at the appeal. But now she thinks she understands, an invisible tether attached from her neck to her core that felt molten and empty all at once making her want so much more.
Her magic bubbles under the surface of her skin, sparks of electric energy that she forces to remain underneath.
She will not hurt him with her magic. Maker, she doesn't want him to stop.
The grip in her hair and the tug on her neck lessens as he pulls away, his forehead going to rest against her body once more. This time he is lower, his breath ghosting against the swells of her breasts before he plants several opened mouthed kisses to the softness there.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmurs over her skin and flattens his palms against her back, tipping her to more easily accomplish his goal.
"Commander Cullen? Sir? I have a report. Sister Leliana said to apologize for the late hour, but it is urgent."
They both freeze, cold clarity and awareness washing over them as they hear the soldier outside his door. There is a second that they hold each others gaze before it breaks.
"A moment, soldier."
And then Evelyn is scrambling away from him to nearly fall off his desk in her haste before darting through the only other door. She doesn't look back to see if he is watching.
She is the first to the War Room. Unfortunately, he is the second. There is a long, uncomfortable silence as they both stare down at the table, and he rubs one of the military pieces absently in his hand.
"Forgive me," he says, voice pitched low enough to barely make it to her ears. "I acted abominably last night. I do not deserve your forgiveness but I do humbly ask for it. It will not happen again."
The despair that wells up has her gripping the table such that her knuckles blanch white. She could die any day and Maker she just wants to feel the way she did perched on the ledge of his desk again, at least once more.
It is the only reason she can think of that she responds as she does, her voice, firm and clear, the one she uses to command when out in the field.
"I didn't tell you to stop."
It is stupid and foolish but she looks up anyway and steadily holds his shocked expression.
Blessedly, the door to the War Room bangs open just then, and Leiliana is already pulling out missives and Josie's heels are clicking against the stone floor when she looks away.