So...why am I here?
It was a good question, Merrill thought, even more so as she realised she'd poked something foul with her spear, releasing a rank odour in the narrow hall the group was filtering through. "Eww, I think I stepped in something..." She whimpered, a few chuckles escaping those ahead, even Garrett sending a smile back along the line, though one of sympathy, rather than the patronising one several of the others offered her.
Merrill didn't much like Dark Town, there were so many sad people there, and those that weren't...well Merrill liked to think the best of people, but some had clearly been ruined by living in such a cruel place as the underground areas of Kirkwall. Like blighted animals...though wonder if these could be cured? All wilting flowers need is a little sunlight and some water, after all, and I don't think anyone wants to be as brutal as some people here are.
Merrill was in no position to help though, and felt rather vulnerable as they quietly slipped through some of the older passageways within the ancient city, like the mice crawling through Merrill's walls at home, furtive and making as little noise as possible. Would have been better if Garrett had brought all those big soldiers he has... Merrill knew why the human hadn't though. Anders had asked for help with a frightened mage, and that meant none but the group could come...again...Garrett had muttered quite a bit about that fact, much to Merrill's amusement.
Nice of him to help Anders though, didn't think he would have, but I guess after Fenris' killing that mage, Garrett feels he owes Anders...or maybe he just worries the mage would go alone if Garrett didn't come? Or to see for himself how mages in the circle have it, as Anders keeps saying he should? Merrill cocked her head to the side, glancing past the line of people before her to eye the back of the heavily armoured human. Or maybe something else? He's so complicated, so clever...could be a million reasons...or just him caring about his friends, I feel he does that more now. The thought made her smile.
The one next in line, Isabela, glanced back all of a sudden, noticing Merrill's smile...and smirked, making the elf shoot back a glare. It's not...stop that! A shrug and a chuckle, and Isabela turned back to look where she was walking, leaving Merrill to grumble at her back. I don't care what she says, we're not...I'm of the elvhen and he's a human! Just because we happen to enjoy each others company doesn't mean anything else! It would be against everything I've stood for, against my heritage, against the oath we make as children, I would never submit to...to...eugh, no!
Of course, that simply brought Merrill back to thinking about why she'd agreed to come...and much to her chagrin, that didn't help things.
She had, even on Garrett's advice, chosen to avoid templars as much as physically possible, to stay safe one had to avoid them. Yet now she was going to a tunnel where they might well find templars if things had turned badly for the runaway mage coming to meet them, something Garrett had pointed out when offering her the job, saying he understood if she didn't want to come, but wanting to give her the offer.
She'd been very reluctant, Anders was nice in his own way but...well Merrill didn't want to die for the man's ideals, however nice they might be...in the face of a templar on a tranquil-spree, those ideals weighed lightly.
But then Garrett, asking if she was sure, had touched her hand...and things had gotten a little hazy at that point.
Gripping her spear tight until her knuckles turned white, lips becoming a thin line as she pressed them together, Merrill felt her heart squeeze tight with anguish. We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last elvhen. Never again shall we submit. The oath was one children repeated in their sleep, intricately tied to the Dalish way of life and culture...it was the Dalish. I'm not...a bad person, but I can't...I can't...no, stupid thoughts, like flies, shoo them off, Merrill, shoo them off. She swallowed. He's a nice man, a nice human, that's all...I'm not against humans like many of my kin, I'm not, but I can't...I must not...we live as we do for the continued survival of the elvhen, a Keeper, even a first, must honour that...not that that's any problem, of course, no...
Right?
Merrill looked up, finding Garrett obscured from view by a closely following Anders and his wide black cloak, which was both a relief and a disappointment, making Merrill grimace.
Besides the mage practically stepping on Garrett's heels, the human was followed by Varric, Isabela and Merrill herself, leaving three conspicuous missing people.
Garrett had, probably wisely, not even bothered to ask Fenris for help in trying to bring a mage in trouble out of the Circle. Aveline, being the city guard's captain, was also out of the question to bring according to Garrett. As for Maric...the dog was currently on bed-rest by orders of Leandra, since the poor little Mabari had been served meat that has been foul in some way during the group's last party, leaving the dog to recuperate over the next few days, if Merrill had to guess. Cute how Garrett worries over Maric though...you'd think the dog was dying when listening to him. She smiled for a moment at the human, then shook her head, irritated with herself.
Still, even reduced, Merrill found the group quite comforting, knowing not many would dare bother such a formidable force, even the more brutal gangs in Dark Town preferred easier targets than them. But templars is another matter...if we meet them...it'll be to the death. Swallowing, Merrill hurried closer to the others.
Still, Garrett's smart, he'll not put us in too much danger, he's like a Keeper in that respect, he keeps us safe, only allowing as much risks as is necessary, it'll work out. Straightening, reassured by the thought, Merrill nearly blundered into Isabela as the pirate came to a stop. "Sorry, I-"
The pirate hushed her with a finger over her lips, Isabela suddenly tense as a bowstring, the rest of the group also hunching low as they cocked their heads to the side, making Merrill do the same, straining her hearing.
The woman's cry was faint, and full of terror. "Please, I can't...I haven't done anything!"
The other voice was that of a man, and had a maliciously amused quality to it. "The little mage is lying again, I see, well there's cures for that. Tyrain, the rod."
"NO! No please! No don't! I'll tell you anything!" The scream was faint, yet clearly cried out as loud as the woman could...and even under his heavy black cloak, Anders began to glow, making the rest of the group turn and look at the man in alarm even as Merrill winced. Can't we ever find the one in need of rescuing not being at sword-point and about to be killed? Just her waiting for us without any danger? Is that too much to ask for, Ancestors?
"Yes, yes you will."
The sudden shriek was nothing like the faint cry before.
It echoed along the corridor, loud like the the roar of some underground monster, piercing like nails on a chalkboard and spoke of a volume of pain Merrill couldn't imagine.
Then it came to an abrupt end.
The entire group stood rooted to the spot, dazed by the call, rendered unsure by the volume of pain it held.
All but one.
"Alrik!" The templar whose name Anders had muttered previously was now roared by some other creature, some entity of glowing blue and white inhabiting the mage's flesh like an old coat.
Merrill could feel it, a vibrant creature, more so than even Dhavine when corporeal. A mixture of Justice in the fade and Anders in the real world, two beasts twisting and clawing at one another within the prison that was Anders' flesh, ripping at each other in panic as their wills came at odds and intertwined at random.
It was as beautiful as it was horrifying.
Garrett turned, moving to put his hands on Anders' shoulders...and the scrawny mage shoved the much larger and heavier human into the wall with a loud crash as if he was nothing but a curtain to be brushed aside. "ALRIK!" With a speed only Maric might have matched, the mage rushed past the stunned Garrett, black cloak fluttering like a banner behind him.
Silence.
The group staring at the disappearing human with shock. Garrett looked too, then back to the group, eyes wide...before he with a curse took off after the Justice-Anders hybrid, breaking the spell and making the others rush after him on instinct.
They didn't have to run far.
Coming around one of the narrow corners of the tunnels making out half of Darktown, Merrill found the group running into a chamber that might as well have been a cave for all the lack of properly carved walls and the ground of dirt.
The group before them were Templars, ten of them, staring at the newly arrived group with shock. At their feet, two men in the robes mages wore lay, though the backs of the robes had been torn open, the skin underneath whipped to a mass of gore that had likely happened before they'd had their throats slit. There was a female mage among them as well, judging by her robes...though there was no sign of agony on her face, nor fear, or anything...her face a blank mask of calm as she looked at the group, the blue glowing burn of the Chantry still hissing and smoking from the branding of lyrium.
Tranquil... Merrill shuddered in revulsion and horror.
But mostly the templars, as well as everyone else, were staring at the possessed mage. His eyes were blazing blue light as he with an animalistic growl raised both hands, a pair of fireballs surging into life within them with nary an effort. "ALRIK!"
The templars were putting on their helmets, all but one, a bald man with a short little goatee, still holding the tranquiled mage by the sleeve with one hand as the other grasped a glowing poker, the ember of lyrium at the end smoking. The man was staring at Anders with wide eyes...that then narrowed in recognition. "The rebel! Finally! I will-"
Whatever else the man was about to say was ended by Anders hurling his twin fireballs straight at the templars, making them curse and shout as shields were raised and the fade suddenly turned into a sluggish mire near them, their skills nullifying the very fabric of the fireballs as the fade slowed around them.
Yet the balls didn't unravel fast enough and hurtled straight for the growling templar...who with a grunt shoved the blank-faced tranquil forward.
She didn't scream, not in terror, nor in agony, as the fire consumed her, making her flesh slough off her bones like hot wax as she hit the ground.
Merrill gasped in horror at the sight, a hand clasped over her mouth...and to her shock, found Anders not slowing down the least after his action as he took a foreboding step towards the scrambling templars. "You will never harm another mage!"
Two rushed at him, shields raised, the fade nearly disappearing around them as they concentrated all their power into nullifying the wrath the possessed mage was about to unleash on them.
Anders' hands shot forth, bitterly cold ice drawn from his very being spraying over the ground before the templars, creating a mirror-smooth pool of it. The attack sent both men toppling onto their backs with cries of surprise and horror, their armoured forms sliding across the pool and towards the glowing mage, the fade returning around them as they lost their focus.
The abomination dropped onto one knee as they came to a stop next to him, hands landing on their helmets...and filling them, then covering them, in ice. His gaze was fixed on the leader of the templars though, even as his glowing hands closed, shattering helmets and skulls alike, Anders' was glaring at the paling Alrik. "Face your death, Templar!"
Slowly reacting to the rest of the group, there was only one templar moving to attack Garrett, sword shooting out from behind his suddenly turning shield so fast it was a blur to Merrill's eyes.
Somehow, Garrett sidestepped the thrust though, sword bashing his foe's sideways even as his shield struck the templar across the helmet before shoving him past Garrett as the man moved to stand between the templars and Anders. The dazed and stumbling templar didn't get far though, the man staggering right into Isabela's daggers that pierced the human underneath his helmet, turning his neck into ribbons.
Then, the templars, their shock passing, gave a cry and charged in.
With Anders to her left, Varric next to her and Garrett and Isabela in front of her, Merrill had thought she'd get some time to think. Instead, she found terror grip her as two rushed straight at Garrett, swinging swords striking his shield and armour alike in a storm of horrifyingly powerful blows. No! Four were rushing straight past the man though, at Merrill and Varric, making her unable to help the man as she found her vision filling with the plate armoured templars while their presence made her mind swim, dazed by the sudden weakening of the fade.
Around them, magic died, the world turning into a mottled grey and brown, bereft of the life all mages lived with.
Can't, I can't...I can't defend against that!
"A spell would be nice, kitten!" Varric's cry was punctuated by a repeated thumping sound as the dwarf hit a lever on Bianca, making the crossbow spit out half a dozen bolts at the approaching templars, making them slow to a crawl as three of them hunkered behind their shields, a fourth covering behind them, greatsword held high.
Right. Swallowing, Merrill did the only thing she thought might work on the fade-killing templars. She felt the earth under her shift as the energy of the fade reluctantly swirled around her, drawn by her manipulations, tugging at the fabric of reality like eddies to a beach. Earth, life, rock, for thousands of years, you've moved, you've shifted...now move again!
With a crack, a boulder the size of Varric pulled free from the ground and hurtled straight at the templars, the energy pushing it forward died in moments as the boulder came closer to the templars, but the rock already had momentum, devastating momentum.
With a crunch, the rock flew just over the shield of one of the templars, striking him in the head with enough force to tear it straight off his body, cracked helmet and all, the decapitated body falling forward like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Tyrain!" The templar next to the corpse lowered her shield with a cry of grief, turning her head to stare at the dead templar...and her concentration wavered. Next to her, the other templar too lost her concentration as Varric managed to nail her foot to the ground with a perfectly aimed bolt, her whimper of agony nearly lost in the battle-cry of the greatsword armed templar rushing at a smirking Isabela, his concentration failing as well as the pirate with a Rivaini taunt wheeled away from his wide swing.
No prisoners, as Garrett said. Merrill cried out in sympathy even as she summoned on the growing pool of energy returning to the world around her. "Sorry!" Energy, raw and powerful, nature and fade, as one, the call of the heavens! The feel of the energy crawling down her hands made Merrill tingle before it rushed down into her spear and shot forth, a bolt of lightning aimed straight at the templar still in shock over her comrade's death.
The bolt struck the woman in the chest, the shock wave when energy struck matter enough to send the templar flying back, the heat and energy of the bolt crumpling and melting her breastplate, making the skin underneath hiss as the, thankfully already dead, woman was cooked by her own armour.
Ahead, Garrett was still fighting the two templars, his sword only darting out to deflect the odd strike as his shield again and again parried blows. Some got through his guard, slamming against his armour like clubs against a drum, making Merrill wince in horror and sympathy, just waiting for the killing blow to come down on the man.
Further to the left, Alrik had engaged Anders, though his snarl had turned into a panicked stare as he kept swinging the glowing poker after the mage who dodged and weaved with inhuman speed, as if the mage had done nothing but fighting in close combat his entire life. Justice...?
The templar nailed to the ground by Varric's bolt cried out, her knee exploding into bits of bone and gristle as another bolt caught her. She lowered her shield to protect her legs, only to moan as a second bolt struck her shoulder with a meaty thud, making her drop her shield. The next two bolts punching through her helmet were a mercy.
Varric was already turning to help Isabela...and Merrill looked on just in time to see the pirate get bowled over by the much larger templar as she parried his greatsword with her crossed daggers...and then pushed her feet up, lifting and sending the templar flying over her like a thrown sack of potatoes. The man landed hard into a corner, something snapping as he landed on his left arm...though he never cried out as Varric's Bianca spoke, neatly putting a high-powered bolt through the man's gut.
A grunt of pain made Merrill whirl about, spear lowered, energy charging. Garrett! Her panic turned into bafflement though as she found the templars battering at Garrett's shield and armour with slowing arms...and then one turn stiff as a rod as Garrett's sword thrust out, punching straight through the man's visor and sending blood spurting from it as the man's skull was pierced.
With a twist of the wrist, Garrett pulled the blade free and turned his full attention to the next man, who cried out in panic and swung for the noble's head...and Garrett didn't raise his shield to block.
NO!
Merrill took a step forward, her concentration failing, the energy of the fade slipping out of her grasp.
And then Garrett took a step forward, making the blade of his foe hit air as the man's wrist instead became the one uselessly striking the helmet of the noble. Garrett's shield-arm shot up over his foe's sword arm, gripping it by the shoulder and pinning it against his own. Suddenly unable to swing or even move away, the templar cried out in panic as Garrett's longsword thrust up...and then went silent as the blade found the mail-covered spot under the man's armpit and punched in deep.
Calmly, almost as if he had never been in any danger at all, Garrett shoved the corpse of the templar back, making it collapse.
Which left only Alrik, who was still swinging after the elusive Anders...and then crying out as, in a moment of his concentration waning, the mage's hand shot out, a flood of water showering the man...and then turning to ice.
Suddenly frozen, all but his hands and head encased in ice, Alrik cried out in rage. "No! You can't do this! I'm a- NO!" Anders, hissing something under his breath, wrenched the still smoking poker from Alrik's head and turned it around. "You filthy mage! You disgusting little dog! I piss on you! I and all my templars will one day wipe out your-!" The poker shot forth, into Alrik's mouth, then out the back of his skull with a hiss of smoking flesh and a crunch of breaking bones.
Silence descended.
Merrill stared at Alrik, watching the dead templar's head as it lolled back with the poker still sticking out of the back of his head, his body still encased in ice, like some macabre statue.
Slowly, the light emanating from Anders faded, his body shaking, the man looking dazed and...confused? Groaning, he put a hand to his head, yet his next moan of pain seemed to get caught in his throat as he looked about himself, eyes widening.
"Bloody hell..." Isabela muttered, pushing a helmet off a templar with her boot, swallowing. "They're barely kids? Initiates who...?" Something flashed in her amber eyes, and she turned a cold gaze to he dead Alrik. "I see."
"Yeah, seems like an...offshoot?" Varric suggested, grimacing as he shrugged, eyes on Anders, speaking softly. "I could...look things up, Anders? Maybe it's not as bad as you thought? With the tranquil-spree thing?"
Isabela was shaking her head, looking away, huffing. "This is so...world's fucked when kids are put into positions like this..."
As to Garrett...
Ancestors, he looks mad.
Merrill found herself shirking back even before the man spoke. "Of all the foolish, undisciplined...after I've specifically told you to...that we would...that we shouldn't...I..." Garrett's mouth ceased working, the man's face pale, drawn with rage, enough to make him, of all people, lost for words.
Swallowing, Merrill inched closer to Anders, just in case Garrett did something rash, though frightened she couldn't actually calm him if it came to that. Did he...train as a templar because of me? Or Anders? He did say it was because of all the rogue mages we've faced, but still, considering who we are... Merrill wanted to believe Garrett, she probably did, yet her ingrained distrust of humans – templars – still reared its head at times, and the idea of Garrett being trained in such...anathema of a power was frightening.
Yet Garrett didn't act rashly, he stood there, fuming, waiting for Anders to reply.
And when the mage did, it was with a whisper. "I...did this?" The man swallowed, gaze fixed on the burnt corpse of the mage turned tranquil laying at Garrett's feet. "I did...that...? But she was...I...did I do that...?"
A snarl, and Garrett strode over the burnt corpse, over to Anders and gripped the mage by the hair, holding his head fixed and forcing him to look at the body, as if Anders was capable of anything else at the moment.
Silence, and Merrill noticed Garrett taking a slow breath through clenched teeth.
When he spoke, his voice was even, but there was no missing the anger underneath, like a current of magma just under fragile rock...yet this one was cold, cold as ice. "Yes, yes you did." A pause, Garrett's eyes narrowing. "Look closely, look very closely..." Merrill found a whimper escaping her, hands clamping over her mouth, stopping her from interfering in something she didn't want, yet knew had to be said. "...that's your revolution."
Anders didn't answer, only stare.
With a snort, Garrett finally released the mage and stepped back, his eyes dark as he turned and walked back from whence they'd come, so angry he didn't even look at the others. "Come on, there's nothing for us here any more."
As Merrill turned to follow with the rest, she looked back.
Anders was still staring at the burnt corpse, then to the dead Alrik, then back to the girl.
His eyes glowing, narrowed in rage, yet tears trickled down his cheeks.
And suddenly Merrill was hurrying to get away.
8
8
8
"Parry! Riposte! Parry! Riposte! Faster!"
With a yelp, the other initiate dropped his sword, making Carver grimace even as a couple of passing female initiates tittered at the sight, making the other man go crimson.
As had become his habit of late, Carver ignored the girls and scowled at the man. "I didn't hit you across the wrists so...?"
"I...they hurt." The man managed, somehow turning even more red as he shot the now leaving women a embarrassed glance.
Cocking his head to the side, Carver watched the man gently rub one wrist, then the other. "Overexertion, I guess...I'll try to talk the instructor into giving you a week off training. Stretch them every day and after the third do some exercises with smaller weights until they start aching but no more, we'll turn those wrists into iron soon enough." He managed a smile, not a big one, but it was there none the less.
There had been more and more of them as of late, slowly, carefully, as training and sweat slowly soothed Carver's anger.
Anger with Bethany's death, with mother, with Gamlen, with the lost estate, with Garrett...with the entire Hawke legacy...
As the other initiate nodded and smiled back before picking up his sword and heading for the baths, Carver remained, eyes glued at the white-plastered wall ahead as he took steadying breaths. Maker, who watches...bloody Garrett getting all...no...Maker who...oh screw it, and screw him, this is good enough, I don't need to compare myself to him here.
The thought made Carver's ever wider shoulders drop an inch.
It was good though...his moments of angry reminiscing becoming more and more infrequent as time passed on, as he held on to his new purpose.
With the large training-hall now empty, it was dinner-time, Carver gripped his greatsword tighter and marched over the sand covering most of the floor until he reached one of the wooden posts erected in regular intervals along that side of the room. Spartan in decoration, the floor at the sides that was covered in stone largely a corridor for passing people to walk on as well as containing racks for practice weapons, the training-hall was one of the few areas bereft of symbols of the Maker. For as the instructor said, for a templar, training was prayer.
Bollocks.
Still, Carver liked the thinking of the other templars, it made his fixation with training more acceptable in their eyes. He wasn't the praying sort, or even the religious sort, that had been Bethany's thing. Nor was he an administrator, a templar going about the tedium of books and learning besides what was required of him, that was Garrett's forte.
Carver was a warrior.
And getting better every day.
Grimacing, Carver began to swing at the wooden post, checking his distance by making sure every blow just grazed the surface of it, creating tiny scars over the more crude hacks it had already received during official training hours. Moving, constantly moving, Carver let the blade sing in his hands, a blur over his head, then over his right shoulder, then left, then across his side, then the other.
Unlike his sparring-partner, his wrists were iron, and his already considerable, at least compared to many initiates and even average templars, skills had been honed through rigorous practice to the point that he now felt himself improving. It wasn't in bits and spurts, but a slow climb...every muscle and bone learning every movement, his body, balance and even sight shifting, turning into a finely tuned instrument of death.
Someone, another initiate who'd tried befriending the then still sulking Carver had asked him why he trained so hard, why he tried to become so good.
Carver still had no answer, only that it felt...right.
And what other answer was required?
I'm not my brother, I don't need to think about every little thing, I act.
It felt good.
Ahead, the post, now covered with a fine spider-web of scars, seemed to tremble before Carver.
Good.
With a growl, Carver swung his blade low, as if forcing his foe back, spun himself, letting the blade swing upwards to gain momentum before he brought it down hard while nimbly stepping closer to his foe.
A single crack, and the post was sheared in half, the top plunging to the floor, the clean cut pleasing to the eyes.
You could balance a coin on that. Smirking, Carver lowered his blade and blinked out the sweat that had formed on his face without him noticing, his breath coming in spurts, the sudden lack of exertion sending a pleasant hum of relaxing muscles through him, quite a few aching and even trembling with exertion.
"Got lost in training again?"
Turning, Carver offered a hesitant smile to the man approaching, then remembered himself and bowed. "Knight-Captain?"
"Please, Cullen when we're just talking." The approaching man requested. His fine features, short beard and neatly cropped curly blond hair made him like a knight of the tales, the one riding off with the princess at the end. Yet the brown eyes held none of the steely resolve from the tales, but a gentleness and kindness shadowed by something else...tiredness? Grief?
Carver looked around himself, suddenly suspicious. How would he know I train so much? And why come to me alone...? "Are we, then?"
Cullen arched an eyebrow, his tone somewhat more wary. "Well...if you'd like...but I'd prefer if we could talk as two men, rather than superior and initiate?" For a moment, the man held Carver's gaze, waiting, then he smiled as Carver offered a slight nod. "Excellent. I've been meaning to speak to you, you see and...well you didn't show up at dinner." Carver's stomach growled at that, making the man smile. "Don't worry, I instructed the servants to put some away for you when you arrive, but first, let's talk."
"Okay..." Carver felt wary as he moved over to one of the walls, putting his sword back onto its place on the racks there. It's no secret Cullen is Meredith's right hand...what could he possibly want with an initiate? When he turned, he found himself blurting out the question he loathed himself for thinking. "Is this about my brother?"
Cullen frowned in confusion. "The new noble everyone's talking about? No, should it?"
"I...no, I suppose not." Carver shook his head, then internally groaned as Cullen moved to lean against the wall, looking ready to speak upon the matter Carver now wished he'd left alone.
Which the man did. "I've met him a few times, you know. A bit...austere, perhaps, but seems to be a good man, head screwed on right and all that...you can tell there's a reason he's the talk of the town." Carver barely concealed his grimace. "And he's your brother...you must be proud of him."
It wasn't a question, yet Carver felt obliged to answer. "Yeah, sure."
Cullen paused for a moment at that, then cocked his head to the side. "But enough about him, this is about you." Well...I'm listening... Carver, curious, shifted closer. "You've been with us, what, nearly a year now? Not a long time really, but you made an impression already on your first day..." Cullen let the words linger, nearly making Carver ask what impression before the knight-Captain continued. "Tell me, when you first got here, and don't take this as an insult or anything, but word was that you were quite...err...libidinous?" The man blushed ever so slightly as he turned his head, examining his shoulder-guard for invisible dust. "Yet nowadays...well we Templars have no real oaths of celibacy, despite Meredith's recommendation, but you seemed to have changed in this quite dramatically, why? Err...if I may ask?"
They're not Merrill. Was Carver's first thought. I find little satisfaction in it any more. Was the second. "I...don't know, I guess it just became a distraction after a while, I always found other things to do with my time all of a sudden...wasn't really a conscious decision..." Carver shifted where he stood, a little embarrassed. "Training has been more...rewarding, I've found."
"You know, I've heard many initiates say they prefer training to become templars over their social life..." Cullen chuckled, shaking his head at Carver. "...but I think you're the first I believe aren't trying to suck up to me or even lying."
"What!? I'd never-!"
"Relax, it was a compliment." Cullen cut in, hand raised to stop Carver's protest. Then he sighed. "Change of subject...how are your studies going? History-test didn't go so well, I recall your teacher saying?"
Carver grimaced. I thought I did good...stupid Rivain stuff probably lowered my score. "I'm not...a good student, I know. I've never been, that was...is...my brother's thing." Cullen arched an eyebrow. "I'll try to do better!" Carver didn't much care for the defensive pitch of his voice, making him scowl back.
Cullen, not intimidated by the scowl, continued. "And prayers? I've not yet seen you in the chapel during anything but the required times."
"I'm...not...I believe, serah, but...I'm not good at prayers." This, whatever it is, is going badly...Maker, wish I had Garrett's way with words, the bastard...no offence, mother.
Cullen laughed though, a genuine sound that echoed oddly in the serious surroundings of the Templar's training-yard. "That's quite alright, Carver! Many templars don't...Meredith herself might be a believer, but she told me herself that she doesn't care if a templar believes, only that he serves." A smirk appeared on the man's face. "I myself prefer to say that the light of the Maker shines on us all in different ways, there's nothing wrong with that."
Carver, not sure what to say, lowered his head. "As the Maker wills it."
"As the Maker wills it." Cullen echoed, the phrase turning him serious. "Anyway, to the meat of the issue...your combat-training...it's really impressive. By the day you arrived, you've surpassed all the other initiates, and by now you're actually as good if not better than the instructors. Everyone I've spoken to has commented on your passion for this, for how dedicated you are to become a better warrior..." Cullen let the words linger, a question in them as he arched both eyebrows at Carver.
Who shifted where he stood, unsure, feeling as if he should be embarrassed over the praise, yet just feeling pride. "It's...who I am..." He shrugged, looking away. "I've found it satisfying to train, to do what I'm actually good at." To have a purpose. "As you yourself said, the light of the Maker shines on us in different ways...for me that light comes from the blade." Carver grimaced. "Maker, that sounded corny..."
"Yet it's true." Cullen replied, nodding with a serious look on his face. "I've actually had several of our masters come to me, expressing a desire to train you, they're all curious to see how far you might develop under their tutelage."
Masters...? Carver found himself staring at Cullen. Besides the knight-Captain and Commander, the knight-Masters were the highest ranking templars in Kirkwall, each one a knight with decades of experience and a plethora of skills, one did not get promoted to that rank without amazing skills. They'd want to train me!?
Smiling at Carver's telling silence, Cullen continued. "Of course, Masters couldn't well train a mere initiate, which puts us in a bit of a situation, don't you agree?" Wait, you want to make me...? Before Carver could ask, Cullen continued. "Perhaps you've heard of that latest escape? Ser Alrik snuck off with a few mages and initiates...apparently to do some illegal rites of tranquillity´with the impressionable youths to spread his little cult..." The man shook his head, a sad look on his face. "I've always thought him extreme, but do such a thing, and to drag initiates into it as well...Meredith was furious, as I'm sure you can imagine. The rite of tranquillity is not something one does lightly, and to disobey your superior...oh furious can't quite describe her." Cullen shuddered, then shook his head. "We still haven't found the escaped mages, heck, there's the weird issue of us doing a name-call and finding the only missing mages being those lying dead next to the templars, suggesting a third party might have...but never mind about that." Anders. Carver was glad Cullen shook his head, or the man might have spotted Carver's grimace. Better not tell, could expose Merrill too that way...and maybe even my family...I guess. "What it does show is how poorly equipped us templars are in dealing with the mages we're supposed to guard though."
"I'm sorry, serah, I'm not following..." Carver shook his head, confused and a little overwhelmed by the hints of things to come and the mention of what everyone in the order was currently gossiping about. "We're templars, we're the antithesis to mages already...?"
"Yes, but how many of us, truly?" Cullen asked, but spoke quickly so Carver couldn't answer. "We have thirty thousand templars in Kirkwall, Carver, that's immensely many in one place, drawn from all over the Free Marches. Yet how many are truly templars? We've done a lot of recruitment, meaning that nearly twenty thousand are still initiates, half of which are so green they can't even deflect the weakest of spells yet. In a year or two, many will have learnt more, but we need men who lead the way, examples that shows the path to becoming a true templar. Only then can we claim to have a proper force of templars, right now too many of them are just warriors on paper."
Carver, unable to contain himself any longer, had to speak. "You...want to make me a templar? Already?"
"Yes, I've spoken to several masters and even Meredith about it...the option should be open for you." Cullen nodded, offering a pale smile. "Now, going up in the ranks will demand more studies from you, as well as more prayers, but you'll also get access to training with the masters and a little more freedom in terms of what to do in your free time. It'll also demand of you to pick up your training in the templar arts more fully..." The man grimaced, hand coming down to dig into his belt. "...which is why I ask you to consider this option carefully."
A moment later, Carver found himself staring at a small vial held up before his face, the content glowing a pale blue.
Lyrium.
"Some templars go through their entire lives as initiates because of this, and there's no shame if you chose to do so too...for remember, once you fully join us...there'll be no going back, at least not in a state that's desirable." Cullen hesitated to hand the vial over, instead choosing to simply hold it up. "I want you to think on this, Carver, this is not an choice made lightly, there are rewards and prices to pay with this, and you should consider both before you make an informed decision. Now, if-"
"This offer..." Carver couldn't help but interrupt, swallowing as he looked at the lyrium, then to Cullen's face. "...it's not because of who my brother is, right?"
Cullen blinked, looking confused. "No...it's because of who you are."
Carver nodded.
Then he took the vial from Cullen's hand, making the man take half a step forward. "Wait, you don't have to make a decision right now-"
Carver downed the liquid in one sweep, the bitter taste causing a tingling sensation down his throat and into his stomach as he swallowed. My choice, my life, my career...the price is nothing.
Before him, Cullen looked...displeased? Worried? Whatever it was, it disappeared a moment later as the man bowed his head, offering a gentle smile.
"Welcome to the order, brother."
8
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8
Thanks to Abydos Jackson for being such a fighter.