Author's Note: Sorry that this took so long to update, for the life of me I couldn't think of where to go with the next chapter. But recently the story has been getting some love and attention from readers, so I finally sat down and got back to work. I'm pretty satisfied with the chapter, I think my only dilemma is whether to have Cullen and Astrid's POVS either split into separate chapters or do as I did here? Let me know what you guys think. My plan is to introduce Hawke in the next chapter, so hopefully that goes well and is a sooner update than this was. Enjoy!

OLD FRIENDS

She was yelling, but Astrid couldn't hear herself. Frigid, howling wind was deafening as she stood at the end of her world. Lake Calenhad was in turmoil beneath her feet as the dock swayed against the current, a strong hand all that was helping in keeping her balanced. "Go to Kirkwall—" she heard him say. Astrid stared at him surprised, she would not get far once the templars got their hands on her phylactery. The mage opened her mouth to protest, instead her savior pulled her into his chest and pressed his lips to hers. Astrid fell still and her mind blank, unable to remove herself from the templar's embrace. Then, as quickly as he had kissed her, the templar was pushing her off the dock. Astrid's breath left her as she sank into the black water, sinking into the darkness...

Astrid woke, fighting for breath and tangled in an unfamiliar blanket. The bed she had slept in was ornate and warm, tucked under a window that was streaming morning light. Her heart was still pounding from the dream and she could feel the sweat about her brow. A sigh passed through her dry lips. She should have never come to Kirkwall.

"You're awake." Movement following the voice surprised Astrid, who instinctively reached for the blade normally at her hip. However, the sword was missing and a further stretch down her leg revealed her dagger too was removed. She turned, prepared to use magic as a last resort, but instead was momentarily relieved to see a familiar face. In the doorway was the man from last night, the one with the shiny armor. His name had left her, but she recalled him being much friendlier than the elf.

The mage stretched and gave the man a pondering glare, "How did I get here?" Rubbing her temple, Astrid tried to remember the night prior. She had smuggled herself into Kirkwall, knocked skulls with Cullen, manipulated a templar, and punched Anders. Anything after that was a fog.

"Found you sleeping outside the Chantry," his foreign tongue rolled beautifully through his words, adding more allure to his handsome features. The man wandered closer to the bed and perched himself on the end. "I figured it might be warmer inside."

"Wait—" Astrid's head began to pound and her whole body grew fidgety. "Did you say the Chantry?" The man barely had a moment to nod in response before she had flung herself from the bed. She glanced desperately around the room, hoping to find her missing weapons before making a quiet exit from the building.

"Something wrong?" the helpful man inquired, watching her with intense interest.

The mage stilled and sunk back into the bed, touching the dry blood on her chin and careful not to break, "I should never have come to Kirkwall."

It was an hour later that Astrid found her way back to The Hanged Man. Sebastian—his name came back to her after they had a chat about where her weapons went—kindly led her the way, all the while determined to sway her averse opinion of the Chantry. His love and devotion for the cloth was almost intoxicating, almost. However, the mage felt herself involuntary cringe as the man went on and on. She had a few fond memories of the Chantry—some of which did not belong in a place of prayer—but there was one that stood above the rest and would forever be embedded in the scars that marked her body. Astrid had tried to go to the Chantry last night to seek comfort from the rain and dark thoughts following her about, instead she had left more irked than before and ended up punching Anders.

"I'm sure last night was a bit of a shock for you, running into so many familiar faces at once," Sebastian noticed the redhead's disinterest and chose to change the subject.

Astrid scoffed, "Isabela was a planned surprise. Anders—not so much." She followed him down the steps into Lowtown, careful not to trip on the loose stones.

"Ah yes," he laughed, surprising her when his accent was evident then too. "And your templar friend too."

They were at the door to The Hanged Man, her fingers curled around the handle. Astrid turned, trying to hide the surprise in her face. "He must have saw me bring you inside," Sebastian continued, "Although you were deep in sleep, he asked to see you safe inside. I hope you don't mind." He turned and saw her gaze lingered in the distance, fingers touching her chin again. "Astrid?" He waited, hoping for a response, but instead was met with the continued silence. So, he cleared his throat and politely excused himself, "I should return to the Chantry, Grand Cleric Elthina is expecting my help with a sermon later. Perhaps we can continue later on."

"Thank you," she barely whispered. Without meeting his gaze, she slipped into the tavern.

The Hanged Man wasn't as lively as the night before. The few patrons left were nursing hangovers and snoozing loudly at their tables. Astrid scanned the room again for her captain, taking note of everyone in the room. That is when she spotted the smooth talking dwarf, sitting alone and waving her his way. The redhead was naturally hesitant, taking careful strides towards him, keeping an eye on the exit. He was speaking with the bar-maiden when she reached his table, contemplating where to sit. "Sit wherever you like, my lady," the dwarf suddenly said, "I don't bite."

Astrid sat beside him, with a clear view of the exit. "Isabela is not here."

The dwarf chuckled and picked apart his bread, "Oh she's here." She turned to him, interest piqued, but arms now crossed tightly. "She's past out in my bed, wouldn't leave me alone about Hawke. And then, was going on and on about how she made a woman out of you." He was laughing again, although it was probably because Astrid's face had gone red. "Give her a couple minutes Red, she'll come stumbling out," he went on to wager. The waitress came back, putting a plate of food in front of Astrid. She eyed it cautiously, but the dwarf only smiled and continued to eat himself.

She couldn't remember the last time she had had a decent meal. Castillion liked to spoil her with lavish clothing and fancy foods, but as soon as she had set sail back to Kirkwall, she had to resort to piss poor stews and sea water. "Thank you—I never caught your name," she stumbled, savoring the tavern food more than she should of.

"Varric Tethras m'lady," he answered, toasting to his name. Astrid joined too, taking a long swig of the terrible ale. "So elves huh?"

Every drop of ale came sputtering from her mouth, drawing awake a fellow in the corner. Astrid wiped her mouth, listening to the dwarf laugh again.

"Isabela!"

The Siren's Call's captain was suddenly stumbling down stairs that lead to the back rooms, rubbing her eyes. She was without her usual thigh-high leather boots, hair her was wild and untamed, and somehow a gold earring had gone missing in the night. Isabela looked from Varric, who was choking from laughter, to the furious redhead. "Whatever it is, I had nothing to do with it," the pirate grumbled through a yawn, keeping out of reach from Astrid. She slinked into the bench and stole the mage's cup of ale. "Unless it was illegal and fun," she quickly added.

"How much did you tell him last night?" Astrid interrogated, dark cobalt eyes narrowed at her captain.

Isabela paused and turned to Varric, "Where did I stop last night?"

"Ah, I think it was right after the demon told you to crash your ship into the Wounded Coast," Varric answered nonchalantly. At some point he had pulled out a journal, pointing at the last page covered in scribbles. "Or was it because you were drunk—"

He probably knows now...

Astrid felt the length of her spine go cold and her mouth went dry.

"—so...everything," the pirate answered, mouth full of what was left of her companion's breakfast.

Isabela's voice was distant, almost a ghostly whisper compared to the throaty laugh in her head. She felt her fist shake and moved to still it with her other hand, hoping to be unnoticed. However, the dwarf was sharp and took note of the redhead's change in demeanor. He cleared his throat and smiled at the mage, "Don't worry Red, all your secrets are safe with me." Astrid couldn't remember the last time she heard a genuine voice, it was strangely comforting, and brought pause to speech in her head. Partially relieved, the mage relaxed and weakened her glare. "Just between you and me though, what was it like to punch Anders in the nose?"

She smiled.

The Knight-Captain was awake early, at the very moment of dawn, but could not bring himself to leave the warmth of his bed. He was expected to start investigating the disappearances of some of the recruits, but Cullen was rather distracted. He had spent the night tossing and turning through one sultry dream into another, some he wasn't even aware his imagination was capable of. Culled sighed loudly, hoping the baths were empty. He needed to drown himself in cold water, and soon. It all came back to her. Astrid. Seeing her again was an unusual feeling. Time had finally hardened him into the templar he was meant to be, the Commander had entrusted him to be her captain. He was well respected and admired, he finally understood what it meant to be a templar. But seeing her, living and breathing before him, Cullen was ready to risk it all just to hold her again. Even a handshake would suffice.

"The Order dictates..." he whispered sadly, hiding his face with his arm, angry at himself for attempting to drag her to the Gallows. Cullen didn't know why she was here, free of Kinloch Hold and wielding a sword, but what remained of the man that she once knew didn't care. She survived the Blight, she survived a voyage across the Waking Sea, and was now surviving Kirkwall.

He recalled mindlessly returning to the Chantry before his shift was over, hopeful he would come across her again. Cullen made an excuse to convince himself it was okay to re-walk this part of Hightown, to take the grand steps up to the Chantry and make his entrance. Warmth met him again, as well as silence. A part of him prayed to see her sitting there, waiting—but there was no one. The Chantry was empty. Cullen stopped himself from sighing with disappointment and turned to leave, he should not have been chasing ghosts anyways. But then a light caught his eye through an open door upstairs.

Cullen ascended the stairs, eyes kept on the flickering light. And there she was.

He carefully approached her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Astrid was deep asleep. Cullen gazed at her, both longingly and with guilt. The years had matured her, obvious through the deep cut in her robe, exposing tempting flesh and scars that went along the curve of her breast. She bared many new scars, too many new scars that had Cullen curling his fingers into fists—he didn't want to know how she came about them. She no longer looked the part of a mage—naive to the world—but that of a warrior. The templar carefully sat on the bed beside her and reached for her. His fingers traced a thick healing scar that ran the center of her chest. Mages don't carry battle wounds. Cullen gritted his teeth. He wanted to feel her skin again, to run his fingers through her hair, and touch those barely parted lips. For once, he was grateful for the dreadful gloves he wore.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry for leaving you."

The templar forced himself to stand, to walk away from the woman he he could never forget. Begrudgingly, he ripped his eyes from her and stepped quietly back into the hall—where he was immediately met with a Chantry Brother.

"Captain, what brings you here so late?" Cullen began stutter and stumble through his words, nothing audible coming out. The Brother looked at Astrid and back to him, "Do you know her ser?"

Cullen met his gaze and caught his nerves, "We are old friends."

Without another word, Cullen had left the Chantry and made a straight path to the barracks, and had a racing mind since then. A sigh left his lips, he was trying to forget the contours of her scar he still felt on his fingers and ache he'd been ignoring since returning last night. The Knight-Captain rolled from his mattress and stretched, moving his focus back to the day's tasks. Visit the Blooming Rose for answers...ask the other recruits about suspicious activity...cold bath.