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A Templar Unbound

Chapter Three
Strange Magics

Compared with the day-to-day noise and bustle of the Circle's mage and apprentice quarters, the solitary isolation cells seemed eerily silent.

Cullen knew why. To begin with, they were hardly ever used, which he supposed was a blessing for many reasons. But to follow, and possibly part of the reason that he could feel the hairs at the back of his neck start to tingle, it was because the old and otherwise forbidden magic that was laced into the stonework meant that those held in their individual cells had no awareness of the world beyond.

He couldn't deny his fascination at the complexity of the isolation quarters. The magic prevented anyone beyond the threshold from seeing or hearing what went on outside their , it was seemingly unaffected by the templars' attempts to dispel it, as Greagoir had once demonstrated to an astounded Cullen. To the occupant of the cells, they were completely and totally alone. This allowed the templars to keep a steady watch over their charges without risk of being disturbed, and to monitor the mages with absolute concentration. And, for the mage, it reminded them of the purpose of their exclusion.

On Cullen's first assignment down here, the Knight-Commander had made him stand in one of the cells alone for a few minutes. He had been surprised to find it moderately comfortable. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, a small bookshelf, and a number of candles lining the walls. They cast a soft, ember glow, chasing the shadows away. On one of the walls was a banner with Andraste's heraldry, an excerpt from the Chant of Light, and the mark of the templars – Cullen had supposed this was so the mages in captivity would not forget their reason for being there.

At first, it hadn't been so bad. The cell, while starkly decorated, was at least comfortable, comparatively warm, and seemed to offer a place of peace and tranquillity. But the more time he spent in there, the more the moments seemed to blend into each other. As soon as he had stepped over the threshold of the door, it was like the world outside simply... ceased to exist. He could see the corridor, and the templars standing there, but their presence no longer registered any meaning to him. It was like looking at a painting he couldn't quite recognise.

There was a stillness, a silence, that had come over everything in an unnatural combination. He had been quite grateful when the Knight-Commander had opened the door and allowed him back out into the corridor. It was the first time he had really considered how the Circle could be viewed as a prison, rather than a place of safety or education.

The sound of Cullen's footsteps were dulled by the faded rug underfoot, but he was grateful for it: even a cough or a whisper seemed as loud and obnoxious as a shout down in these quarters.

He walked beside Gillian, the pretty, blonde templar who had also been called back after the emergency midnight meeting. It was her first experience keeping watch in the isolation cells, but Cullen suspected she wouldn't get quite the introduction he did.

They passed a pair of templars keeping guard outside a cell that was occupied. It was well lit by candles from behind the cast iron bars separating the room from the rest of the world. From behind the privacy of his helm, Cullen spied the young man inside, and was quite surprised: the golden robes showed him to be a fully fledged mage, one who had passed his Harrowing, and he was lying casually on the bed while scratching the ears of an attentive cat, humming. It was hardly how he would have expected the reaction for such punishment.

Still, he hadn't the time or interest to waste thinking on it. Their own charge awaited them only a few cells away.

She had already been placed in her cell by the time they reached her. A Markham templar stood waiting for them, the bronze-sheen of his armour the only sign that he was from a distant land and not part of the Ferelden Circle.

"Good, I was hoping someone would arrive soon," he said as they approached, his voice muffled from behind his helm. "We don't have such a place in Markham. It gives me the willies."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Your mage will be in good hands," Cullen informed him, ignoring the soft laughter from his comrade. "We'll take it from here."

"May the Maker watch over you," the templar returned politely, moving past them. Cullen watched as he stalked off down the hallway, before he turned to Gillian at his side.

"Do you need any further briefing?"

She seemed to glance around the place, then shook her head. "No, Ser. Although..."

When she didn't finish her sentence, Cullen tried to temper his annoyance by reminding himself that he, too, didn't much care for the feeling this place instilled in him. The sheer amount of magic that was laced into the walls was sending his senses into overdrive, making it more difficult to concentrate than up in the rest of the Tower. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

"Yes?"

"Well, Ser, we were... we were called away so suddenly in the middle of the night... I didn't have time to..." She began to pick at her skirt, distracted, and Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Any dealings you had before our shift started should have been dealt with before coming down here," he said, his strict and stringent training brooking no room for debate. "There must be two of us to watch the mage at all times. If she uses blood magic, one of us may not be enough."

All he knew of blood mages was what he had learned from his studies or heard from others – and, while he admitted he was curious, he would rather it stayed that way. Everything he had read made clear the evil that came with such a magic.

The templar glanced to the cell, then back to him. "Can't she hear us?"

"No – have the cells not been explained to you?"

When she shook her head, Cullen blew out an irritated breath through his nose. It wasn't her fault. These were unusual circumstances. He just wished he didn't have to share his first shift with someone who acted so junior, when he knew, he could see on her arms, that she was more senior than him. Sometimes he questioned the ranking system in this Tower.

So he explained, as best he could, how the cells worked, and then suggested that whatever business she needed to see to, be done after their six hours shared together.

She turned silent after that, a fact that Cullen was grateful for, and she took up her post at one side of the cell.

As Cullen crossed the floor towards the other side, he allowed himself a glance behind the bars, and promptly forgot how to walk.

He couldn't explain it. He had never sensed such power, or noticed such subtleties, from anyone. It was like he'd been winded, only instead of air from his lungs she'd drawn all his thoughts from his mind. The feeling of immense power was so strong it was as if she had reached through the bars and grabbed him with her own two hands.

She was sat the desk, with her back to him, a mass of curls falling past her shoulders, and her blue robes dull in the candle light. She was as still and silent as if she had been carved from stone. But she had such... presence, it was as though he could actually feel the life emanating from her. He became immediately attuned to everything about her: the curve of her neck, the fall of her hair, the line of her back, the sound of her breath.

Was this what the presence of blood magic felt like?

He was grateful for the helm he was wearing, as it concealed the uncomfortable heat that rose to his cheeks, or how fast his breath was coming. The urge to dispel the area of magic and cleanse the space between them was almost overwhelming; he had to clench his fist to ground himself.

Willing himself to move, he finally managed to take up post on the order side of the cell, the illusion of his confidence shattered.

If Gillian had noticed anything, she remained silent. Cullen let out a cool, silent breath, and kept his gaze fixed on the wall before him. This mage, whoever she was, possessed astounding power. Why had his Knight-Commander not mentioned this? He sucked in another breath, forcing himself to relax.

It was going to be a long six hours.

-x-

Cullen splashed his face with water, relishing the feel of fresh air and coolness on his skin. Six hours. Six hours he had been standing outside that cell, in silence. Six hours of an aching back and tired feet and willing his eyes not to slip closed, thanks to his interrupted sleep. He had kept himself occupied by running the Transfigurations through his mind, while at the same time looking out for any signs of blood magic from their captive mage.

Upon their relief, Gillian had gone straight back to her quarters for some much needed rest. Cullen, however, had come straight to the chapel. Maker forgive him, he needed to pray.

Drying his face with a wayward cloth, Cullen turned and knelt in front of the statue of Andraste at the head of the small chapel. He always liked coming here. He was always certain to find peace, space, and a quieting to the din of the world around him.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," he murmured, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against his clasped hands. "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Almost immediately he felt the tension that had been building between his shoulder blades abandon him, and he didn't bother holding back his smile.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blo— "

"Well, well, well."

His prayers were broken by the mocking tones of one of his fellow templars, and Cullen opened his eyes. Immediately the ache in his shoulders returned and he paused before getting to his feet. He was not at all surprised to see Darrin casually slouched against the doorway, his arms and ankles crossed.

Cullen fixed him with a stony glare. "I trust you have good reason to disturb me, brother?"

"Of course. I've come here to pray, same as you."

Cullen highly doubted that. In all of the sermons he had been to as delivered by sister Ailven, he had never once seen Darrin amongst the devoted. While it certainly wasn't mandatory to attend the religious sermons, Cullen found it helped to focus his mind and keep him grounded in what was important. It helped him distance himself if things at the Circle ever became too much, which had happened on occasion. Their space they had to keep from the mages, the hostility that sometimes settled in the air between them, the feeling of being part of an invisible force holding powerful magic back — it was a lot to handle, even with several years of training.

"Shouldn't you be down in the — " Cullen glanced around to make sure they were alone, " — isolation cells?"

"My shift doesn't start for another twelve hours yet." Darrin came into the room, then stopped.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. It was not like this man to be so unsure of himself.

"I was wondering whether you and I could… talk," Darrin said after a long pause.

"You want to talk? With me?"

"Yes."

Cullen straightened, keeping his face impassive. He and Darrin barely had two words to say to each other, and that was after having shared quarters with the man for the last few months. "What about?"

"The mage. She's… I don't think the Knight-Commander is handling this appropriately. I hoped you might talk to him."

"Me?" Cullen let out a bark of laughter. "What in the name of the Maker do you think I would say to him? And why?"

Darrin's eyes grew hard, dark, and when he took a step forward, Cullen instinctively took a step back. "Look, I don't expect someone like you to understand," he said, his hand slicing through the air, "but she's dangerous. I know she's dangerous. If there's any chance of blood magic, any at all, then it's just not worth the risk. You have to convince the Knight Commander to make her Tranquil."

"I understand your fears, Ser Darrin, but — "

"No, Cullen, you don't."

He was taken aback by the informal use of his name, and the word stung at him as though he'd been bitten by a wild animal. Cullen folded his arms over his chest, fixing his superior with a long gaze.

"Ser, if you insist on harassing me in this manner, I will have to talk to the Knight-Commander — but not about the mage."

"You blasted fool." Darrin strode forward with a fierce look in his eye, and for a second Cullen thought he meant to strike him; but the older man moved past him, to a book placed on a pedestal in front of the statue of Andraste. Spreading his hands he placed his palm face down across the pages, and looked Cullen right in the eye. "By the blood of the Maker I swear what I am telling you is true. That woman is a blood mage, with a knack for enthralling templars. Why do you think they sent her here? She's already infiltrated the Circle at Markham."

"There's no way to know that for certain." Cullen couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice. "I had thought you above such notions, Darrin."

"I do know." Darrin dropped his hand from the sacred book, and turned away from the room, towards the statue of their beloved prophet. "My brother is a templar at Markham," he said quietly. "He writes me letters. I've heard all about Selena bloody Vallon."

Ah. "And what have you heard, exactly?"

"There's … I don't know, just something about her. You've been down with her, you must have sensed it." Darrin looked back over his shoulder, and there was something pleading in his eyes.

Cullen was about to rebuke him, when he remembered that feeling that had overcome him when he'd lain eyes on her; that helplessness, that force. His mouth dried a little as the words died on his tongue.

Darrin's eyes grew wide. "You've felt it, haven't you?" he said, approaching the templar. "You've felt her thrall."

Cullen looked away, his mouth forming a thin, hard line. He wasn't sure what he had felt. It had been fleeting, whatever it was, although he hadn't looked at her again in those whole six hours.

"You must tell the Knight-Commander," Darrin insisted.

"Why would he even listen to me? You're the senior templar here, I'm just… another brother in arms."

There was a short pause before Darrin offered him the first smile he could ever recall seeing on the man. "I thought you knew. You're pegged for the next promotion, Cullen."

"…Are you certain?"

"If what I've heard is anything to go by. Take from that what you will. But regardless." The urgency had returned to his voice. "The Knight-Commander does listen to you. You're one of his favourites. If you tell him this mage must be made Tranquil, that you've sensed blood magic in her, that you've seen her do it, then — "

"No." Cullen cut him off more forcefully than even he was expecting, and Darrin looked taken aback. "I am not going to lie to the Knight-Commander. Making a mage Tranquil isn't something that should be done lightly, and certainly not because of… " A feeling, he couldn't say. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We have to wait for something more," he urged. "If you're right, and she is, indeed, a blood mage, then we'll know soon enough. Blood mages succumb to demonic forces and use that to empower themselves. Any kind of power she shouldn't wield, any attempt to break out of her cell or call on the spirits of the Fade, and we can go from there. But I'm not going to sentence her to a soulless life just because of what you have heard."

He drove his finger into the breastplate of his peer to mark his point, fixing him with a gaze as earnest as he could manage.

In truth, he wasn't quite sure he believed his own words, but he wouldn't give Darrin the satisfaction of manipulating him. The allegations against Selena were just that: allegations. And while he couldn't dent that something had happened when he looked at her, it wasn't like any spell he had ever read about or encountered, and despite its power, it didn't feel sinister.

For a long moment, the two men regarded each other with a mass of unsaid words. Then, Darrin sighed, breaking the eye contact and moving towards the door of the chapel.

"Ser Darrin," Cullen called sternly and waited for the other man to pause. "I don't want to hear of this again. If I hear you've been saying such things to the other recruits watching over Selena, Maker preserve me I will report you to the Knight-Commander. Persecution is not what being a templar is about."

Darrin's eyes were cold. "You'll regret this. When she's outsmarted you all, and she's running this Tower like we're her playthings, you'll regret it."

"Good day, Knight-Templar," Cullen said forcefully. It was a rude dismissal, but after that conversation, it was the best he could manage.

After a few moments of standing alone with nothing but the rumble of his stomach to keep him company, Cullen let his gaze fall to the marble carving of Andraste. He envied that statue sometimes; the wondrous look of peace on her face, the ease with which she bestowed forgiveness, and love.

"Magic is made to serve man," he mumbled thoughtfully.

Then, shaking his head, he collected his helm and made his way towards the Knight-Commander's office.

A/N: Thank you once again for those who have taken the time to review or follow my work! I appreciate this is quite slow to start, but hopefully it will be worth it. This chapter was much more difficult to write than I intended, because at least initially it was going to be from Selena's point of view, before I realise that the magic that Cullen (the real Cullen, with Morrigan) is using would only show him himself, or events, rather than showing him others' minds. Also I realise we haven't really met Selena yet, but all that will change soon.

Anyway, it's been a great boost to my confidence to see those notifications file into my inbox, and they really make writing this so incredibly rewarding. Thank you for reading :)