Chapter Twenty
There is a particular passage in a specific scroll that she has the worst time trying to decipher. She works late into the night, hunched over the text with candles burning to help her read. The light doesn't help. The breaks she takes, when she paces the library floors and thinks about her lessons the next day, don't help either.
She's stuck on a word that will either blow open the ideas that the Chantry has on lyrium trade or will support their view completely and she can't settle on a translation.
The use of lyrium is one of the worst and most effective forms of magical manipulation known to mankind. The Maker gives us the substance with which to manipulate our power. Only through the continued –
This is where she is stopped. The next words either mean controlled dispersal or they mean that lyrium must be made available, freely.
This text is almost one thousand years old and are the words of a very well known Chantry chronicler, written in Arcanum of all things. She doesn't know, doesn't care, how it came to be in the library of Kinloch Hold.
The ramifications are unthinkable. With a dated scroll calling for the free dispersal of lyrium the Chantry would have no way to control not only their templars but their hold on the mages within their Circles would also be free to do as they would.
This translation could bring down the whole order of her world and she is giddy with the possibility.
But these words, the double negative of the phrasing is impossible. Her Arcanum is good. But not this good. She needs an expert.
She needs Finn (no longer Flora). Or maybe-
Yes, he'll know. He has to.
She's out the door, scroll clutched tightly, yet carefully, in her hand. It trails behind her gently as she rushes down to the main entrance, and towards the kitchen. She'll fetch some food for him later, but right now she's had a break through and she thinks Anders is the perfect person to tell. He'll understand what the scroll means. He'll be over the moon.
She's grinning widely when she enters his cell area but stops dead in her tracks at the sight before her.
Two templars are laid out. There's no blood; she can still see the steady rise and fall of both chests. This is what she realizes first. Her eyes track to the empty cell. The door stands open and unharmed. There are manacles on the floor, where Anders usually sits and waits for her. He has escaped! Anders! Gone, and without her.
Four other templars are in the room.
One of them is Etic. Scratch that; two of them are Etic and one must be Emic then. She hasn't seen much of her guardian angel's twin brother (no surprise at that discovery). Here and now however two graying blond heads are bent in discussion. The other templars still have their helms on and are trying to revive their fallen brethren.
Her next thought is that she hasn't been spotted yet. She is quick to back up and almost makes it to the door, silent and so stealthy.
She runs her back squarely into an armored chest that blocks her escape and she can't help the groan of dismay that pops out.
"Enchanter Solona." She groans again, recognizing Greagoir's voice at her ear. Of all the people to accidentally back in to while trying to sneak away from the scene of an escape in the Circle-
The four conscious templars turn and look at her. Etic, at least, looks fairly relieved to see her. "Solona! Thank goodness you're here. We've had a bit of trouble and need some healing. Could you help?" He asks this of her as though she was expected. As though she is welcome. Two sets of eyes stare out at her from helms. Greagoir nudges her forward. Emic has murder in his glare.
She steps towards the two men on the ground. Every ounce of her body is screaming TRAP RUN TRAP ESCAPE and she'd make a run for it if Etic didn't look so hopeful. She has come to love this man as though he were the father she never knew. As though he were the world she is forced to live within. She will do anything he asks.
She kneels next to the two fallen templars. She's right in her initial guess that they haven't been harmed physically. She doesn't know how Anders managed to subdue them but she reaches out to the first one and the cool wash of her healing magic enters the man's body. She's brushed up on her healing abilities in the days following her recovery. She's got diagnosis down to an art and she's still working on repair.
The body tells her that these two are merely asleep. A simple sleep spell, of course.
But how had Anders managed it? He'd been shackled. And this room-
Her thoughts go wild. This room was supposed to dampen any magical ability and yet she'd been able to easily draw upon the Fade. The wards in here are down. But how?
The men around her come to some sort of strange answer and they snatch her up. The two with helmets on each grab and arm and she's protesting as they turn her towards Greagoir. She hasn't seen him this angry since he'd stumbled upon her and Cullen.
"Enchanter Amell." Oh shit. Greagoir only breaks out the last name in ridiculously serious and grave situations. "You are under arrest for assisting the apostate Anders in his latest escape attempt." He looks beyond her, at the men restraining her. "Take her up to the fourth floor and throw her in an observation chamber."
She remembers bars and heavy doors and Under Observation means no light and a padded room. Solona struggles for all she's worth. "What are you talking about! I didn't help him escape. I would never-"
"Be quiet, mage." The man to her right tightens his grip and the voice is so very cold that she almost doesn't recognize it. But there's something in the way he draws out his a, the slight tonal pitch that she's learned to recognize in accents. It's a Denerim accent.
She's staring in horror at the man. The templar. It is Cullen and he doesn't look down as they make their way out of the room. She doesn't have the foresight to look back at Etic, to plead with the man to make them see reason. She forgets to struggle.
Her feet drag up every stair step between the dungeons and the observation rooms by the templar quarters. She sees the familiar door up ahead and glances up at Cullen just once more. "Please, don't do this. I had no idea."
His voice is cold, still, when he responds. "Your words are useless. You are useless. Cease your pleas."
She is too stunned to cry when they lock the door of her cage. She's too broken to lie down and she spends long hours staring through the bars of the door, watching the stone wall outside and wondering what in the Fade has happened.
icenter~!~/center/i
"Where is the apostate Anders?" The fist that is slammed down on the table she sits at shakes the wood and creates a terrible racket but Solona is cool in her dismissal at this display of anger. Above her, Emic looms. Etic stands in the corner of this small room and she can see how uncomfortable he is with what's happening.
"I have no idea." Her gaze never wavers from Emic's face. She is not frightened by the overbearing templar.
If anything, she is slightly annoyed and still very confused. Mostly about Cullen and that dead tone to his voice he'd had the night before.
Emic grabs the collar of her robes and pulls her halfway up. "We know you helped him. The best thing you can do is tell us where he is." His breath smells awful and she has to break eye contact if only to lean her face away from his. He yanks her back around, still in this uncomfortable half standing position. "It's going to end badly for the both of you if you don't start talking."
Surprisingly she's still not intimidated. It could be that she's got the truth on her side, or the fact that Etic stands off to the side. Emic can't do a thing to her. "Where's your proof? I've done nothing and I know less than that."
"You knew the wards were down in the dungeon when you used your magic. That is guilt, right there."
Solona scoffs. "I wasn't thinking about it. I was shocked to discover that there was a roomful of templars instead of one sassy mage when I entered. Distracted, I believe the proper term is."
"Why were you there at all? That area is off limits to mages."
She opens her mouth to shoot back a scathing retort but stops herself. She had needed a second opinion. On a very controversial piece of information. That could destroy this man's entire existence.
"I-" she swallows and takes a deep breath, hoping her lie will be sufficient. "I was hoping he could explain a translation on a healing spell. I found a scroll he had doodled on years ago but I didn't really understand it."
For the first time she notices the scroll Emic had tucked into his waistband. He pulls the paper free and brandishes in her face as though it was the terribly incriminating piece of evidence he needs. "This scroll? Right here? The one that has nothing to do with healing?"
She's wondering who blew her secret and explained the scroll's contents when the door behind Emic opens. Her eyes round. Cullen, with Greagoir hot on his heels, enters the room. Emic lets go of her robe and she stumbles backwards into the chair. Her rear impacts with a thump and a skitter. She fights to keep her balance.
Despite the smallness of the room she is unable to hear what is whispered between all four templars when Greagoir motions Etic and Emic to him. They glance at her a few times and at the end of the Knight Commander's instruction it is Etic who looks angry and Emic who looks smug.
Etic gives her a look. Hold on. No matter what.
Come back! she thinks. Don't abandon me!
She is left alone in the room with Cullen. Her heart seizes in her chest when he comes to sit on the other side of the table from her. He is without his helmet and his hands fold neatly on the wood as he looks her over. She's probably a sad sight. Her robe is in disarray from the rough handling of Emic and her hair is a mess; she hadn't slept the night before and knows there are sure to be bags under her eyes. Confinement does this to people, she knows. Creates hollow and smudged versions of normally well put together individuals.
For a brief moment she wonders what other changes Cullen might find on her face over the months they've been away from each other. Does he see the horrors of Ostagar in the way she frowns all the time, ever so slightly? Or perhaps he's seen the scratches on her palms; her long healed war wounds will never fade completely.
She is unnerved by his silence and breaks it if only to break his stern overview. "How are you feeling?"
She gets no response. In truth she's not sure she wants one. Whatever the templars, whatever Greagoir, has done to Cullen in the months since she's seen him it has apparently destroyed any emotion he might have held. Not once does his face shift from anything other than impartial.
Even when he begins the questions.
It lasts for hours she imagines. Why was she in the dungeons? Why was she in contact with Anders in the first place? Why was she carrying a scroll that should have been in the First Enchanter's personal library? Why did she need to ask Anders about that scroll?
And above all, where was the apostate Anders?
She finds herself answering everything truthfully; Cullen does this to her even as he is slowly becoming a stranger right in front of her. She spills the truth about the scroll and admits that she's been sneaking Anders food for his entire stay in the cell. She even mentions that the scroll had bested her and she needed to ask for help.
At this point his face screws up in disbelief. "You had to ask for help? You are, Enchanter Amell, one of the smartest mages in the Tower. Why would you need another's help, especially for something as benign as a translation?"
She explains the nature of the scroll again and her desire to decipher it perfectly. While she talks his face falls back to blank and she thinks about his words. He calls her smart. He still thinks of her. Maybe the man that she is still, pretty much, head over heels in love with is inside this shell of a templar. Somewhere.
He is not satisfied with her answers. Where is Anders?
He repeats his question. And again.
Where?
"I DON'T know! I swear Cullen. I had nothing to do with his disappearance. I brought him food and talked with him but he never mentioned anything about an escape." She grabs at his hand, hoping to make her point.
He recoils. Half from her touch and, she realizes with dismay, from the use of his name. He stands so quickly the chair falls away behind him. "WHERE. IS. ANDERS?"
This is the moment that she understands what's happened to Cullen. This is where she sees that any small shred of affection or hope that he's harbored since his entrapment at Uldred's hands has been wiped clean.
He sneers down at her.
The face of the man that she loves looks at her as though she is the worst scum on the face of Thedas. And she cries. She can't stop the tears. She can't be strong and resist this. Not anymore. All hope. All hope is true and well lost. "Oh, Cullen. I am so sorry." For both of us. Hiccups swallow anything else she might hope to say.
The templar sets the chair upright and turns. He bangs on the door three times, in quick succession. When the metal creaks open he slips through and she watches her heart walk away.