Notes: Thank you for your continued interest in this story!
Cullen lovers, I apologize in advance for a particular scene in this chapter.
Song: Nine Inch Nails – "Mr. Self Destruct"
Chapter 68: Dragged Down, Used Up
The City Guard found several farmers who had sold their crops and livestock to the Coterie. Even though many of them did not have receipts—the criminal guild, it would seem, did not like leaving a paper trail—they cowered in fear under the stern gaze of Kirkwall law enforcement and confessed their dealings freely. The Kirkwall soup kitchen opened in a few weeks. It did not acknowledge the "competition" of the Coterie kitchen or even its existence. Caitlyn had decided that it was best not to grant any semblance of legitimacy to the criminal syndicate's doings.
"The farmers were none too happy about being made to sell below market price," Aveline reported to Caitlyn at the next Small Council meeting.
Caitlyn shrugged indifferently. "That's the price they pay for dealing with criminals. They are lucky I didn't confiscate their farms."
"I agree. I'm just reporting the facts to you."
"No signs, then, that Harlan is still trying to buy from them?"
"None that we can tell, and we're keeping watch on it. It seems that he is importing food from elsewhere, as you expected he would."
Caitlyn gazed out at the rest of her Council members, her mind whirring with ideas. "I don't want the Coterie kitchen to exist. Don't tell me," she added as Varric and the nobles looked to object. "I know how bad it would look to shut it down by force. But its existence legitimizes a criminal entity in the eyes of many people. My natural instinct is to apply hard direct force, I freely admit, but there are other ways." She paused. "And I want to make a stronger effort at crippling the organization itself. If we can't get informants into crucial positions at the legal businesses, the choice we're left with is to reduce the Coterie's illegal revenue." She turned to Aveline with narrowed eyes. "I don't blame you, Aveline. I know that there have been years of issues with corruption in the City Guard and that you've fought it whenever you have seen it. But it is an entrenched culture, so I'm going to try something new."
"What do you have in mind?" Aveline asked, curiosity mixed with wariness. She had lately seen a side of her best friend that she didn't like. She approved of Hawke's aggressiveness in many ways, but it did have a dark, despotic side.
"Guards are too easy to compromise, and it is a problem of culture. They're not underpaid or provided bad weapons or armor. They don't 'need' to supplement their income. It's a culture of corruption, and that takes a while to change." She paused. "Some of my Kirkwall Militia are ex-Coterie grunts. Not many, but there are some. However, the Fereldan military officers that Teyrna Cauthrien sent are a different matter. They have no incentive to accept Coterie bribery, and they are in charge of my militia."
The Council considered this. Most everyone seemed to approve, but Aveline still had a question. "Kirkwall has a dark history involving standing armies arresting civilians," she said. "The Qunari occupation, the Orlesian chevaliers and troops, Meredith's Templars. And those were all foreign armies, too. Or, at any rate, under the authority of someone other than Kirkwall's own locally selected secular leader."
"I know," Caitlyn said. "And I see your concern about Fereldan officers leading this effort. But the Kirkwall Militia is a local army, and those Fereldan officers will answer to you and me while they are on Kirkwall soil. Ferelden hasn't sent an occupying force."
"They sent officers to train our militia," Aveline pointed out, "not to lead groups of soldiers in arresting Kirkwallers."
"The officers are under our authority while they are here, and we can give them any lawful order. The Small Council gave me expanded wartime powers. I'm invoking them for this." The words felt momentous and heavy. "When it comes to Coterie crimes, the Kirkwall Militia and its Fereldan training officers have the authority to conduct investigations and make arrests."
"I support you in this, Your Grace," Ser Marlein Selbrech said.
"Seems like a good plan to me," Comte de Launcet agreed.
"You know my thoughts on dealing with Harlan," Petrice said.
Varric shrugged. "Do what you have to, Hawke."
"Before you became Viscountess, we killed or apprehended a lot of Coterie as independent vigilantes—at Aveline's request," Anders pointed out with a look at Aveline. "I see no problem. I've got your back, love."
Caitlyn turned back to Aveline, eyebrows raised pointedly.
Her Guard-Captain was resolute. "There are some among the guards who won't care for this, who'll see it as a sign of no confidence in them."
"As they should," Caitlyn said, giving her a hard look. "If they want my confidence in them rebuilt, they should stop turning a blind eye to their colleagues' bribery. You should want that, too. Their support will help you in changing the culture in the Guard."
Aveline sighed. "I'll do what I can, Hawke."
Caitlyn felt bad. She didn't want Aveline to feel a failure or to blame. The City Guard problems began long before she ever came to Kirkwall. "You're not just the Guard-Captain," she said kindly. "You're also a general. You are in charge of the Militia too, after me. You can involve trustworthy guards in the Coterie arrests if you want, as a good example for others to seek to emulate and to avoid total demoralization of the Guard."
Aveline nodded. "I have had misgivings about mixing civilian and military authority like this, holding titles for both, but I'll try to make the best of it."
That seemed to settle that debate, so Caitlyn moved on. "One more thing. Before Harlan planned a food riot and then opened his soup kitchen, he was riling people against my tactics to win the Battle of Kirkwall Harbor. It has taken a serious bite out of trade, as we all know. And we haven't effectively countered this fear-mongering."
"You have a plan for that, I take it?" Ser Marlein said.
"I do." She smirked. She had thought this over lately, and had made arrangements with two of the mages. "I have two artists, both of whom are mages, creating designs for broadsheets that I will have printed and tacked up throughout Kirkwall."
"Propaganda broadsheets?"
Caitlyn nodded. "That word has a bad connotation, but it shouldn't. We need propaganda in wartime. It's only sensible." Across the table, Petrice was nodding in agreement, as a storyteller Varric understood the need to shape a narrative, and Anders was absolutely unperturbed. She'd run the idea by him before giving the artists the order, and had discovered that he completely agreed with her on the need for pro-mage propaganda. "I've given them some general ideas, but I've left the designs up to them. I'll show them to this Council for final approval before they are carved into the printing press's blocks." She gave Varric and Anders wry smiles. "I will want you two's opinions in particular. Varric, you're a professional writer, and Anders, you wrote an excellent manifesto about mage rights."
"Careful what you ask for, Hawke," Varric said with a wink.
"No, I mean it," she insisted. "I want these posters to work. I want them as effective as they can be. When they're ready, be brutally honest about them."
A week later, Alain, Petra, Caspar Waite, and Sketch made a joint, unannounced visit to the Keep. Caitlyn and Anders were surprised; she had commissioned five print designs from the mage artists, and it seemed too early for them to be finished.
It was. Their visit was for another reason altogether.
"Not to make demands of Your Graces," Petra said, "but... it may be best to explain this in private."
"Of course," Caitlyn said, mystified and alarmed, as she and Anders ushered the other mages into a private audience chamber and locked the door.
Petra spoke first. "We've been hearing about a group of mages... a 'fraternity' of sorts, I suppose... organizing, holding meetings, and talking about ideas that we really don't like and think would be fatal to our cause if too many outsiders heard of them."
Fatal to our cause. Petra's shockingly dark words echoed in Caitlyn's brain. Her heart palpitated. "What ideas?" she said, eyes wide, exchanging alarmed looks with Anders. "Is it those blasted anti-Lucrosians again?"
Sketch shook his head. "No, this is something else. Something new."
Do I not have enough troubles? Caitlyn thought in anger and despair. "What is it, then?" she asked miserably.
"A group of mages who took an extremely bad lesson from the harbor battle and the way that we won it. They call themselves 'Restorationists' or 'Potentatists,'" Alain said with distaste.
Caitlyn and Anders exchanged uneasy looks. Those names boded poorly...
"They're mage supremacists," Petra said bluntly. "They believe mages are inherently and in every instance superior, that we have the right to rule over non-mages, not because of a talent for governance like Your Grace, but strictly because we have magic. 'Restorationists' are the worst of all. As you might guess, they idealize the Old Imperium of Tevinter."
Anders drew breath sharply. "That's bad," he said. "That's very bad."
Caitlyn's reaction was rather angrier. "Are they complete bloody idiots?" she burst out. "Are they out of their minds? Have they not heard the word on the street, the ridiculous fear of mages that my battle tactics wrought? How that crook Harlan is exploiting it? This is the last thing we need!"
Petra nodded. "That's why we came to Your Graces about it."
"As to their being complete bloody idiots—yes," Caspar Waite growled.
Caitlyn snarled to herself, exchanging a furious look with Anders. "I don't want to ban speech, but this is dangerous in the present climate." Her gaze hardened. "And as for the ones who want to recreate Old Tevinter... maybe I should hand them over to Petrice. According to her, that's a heresy."
Anders seemed torn. Caitlyn could tell that his ideals of free speech were being sorely tested against his ideals of mage rights. A mage-supremacist movement could ruin everything.
Caitlyn finally heaved a breath. "All right. I take back what I said about Petrice. She'd publicly denounce and burn them, and as satisfying as that would be, I'd prefer to keep the existence of this quiet. It's better if nobody even knows about it. It is that dangerous." She faced the Mages' Council members seriously. "Do you think you can quash it?"
The mage leaders considered thoughtfully. "I hope so," Alain said. "We don't allow anyone to spread these ideas inside the Gallows. I think most of them do live at the Gallows... they seem to think themselves too good to live in Lowtown among non-mages and can't afford to buy houses in Hightown..."
"You have names, then, I take it?"
"We have some confirmed names and some suspects."
"Watch them," Caitlyn ordered. "All of them. Every suspect too. If they leave the Gallows in a group, assume that it is to have a secret meeting to discuss these vile ideas outside your authority." She paused, hesitating.
"And if we do see that?" Alain asked quietly.
She took a breath. "Report it to me at once. And you specifically, Alain... by the authority of my wartime powers, I authorize you as head of the Arcane Guard to order their immediate arrest for sedition. You do not need Aveline's approval. You have it directly from me."
Anders looked regretful but resigned. He didn't like this order, and for that matter, neither did Caitlyn. But it was necessary. They could not turn a blind eye to this. If word of this movement spread, it could destroy the mages' cause.
Finally Caitlyn spoke again. "I hate to even ask this, but since these people think mages should always rule, strictly because we are mages, what do they think of me? If you know?"
"The Potentatists approve of you. They hold you up as their avatar."
Caitlyn glowered. "My mother is not a mage, nor is my brother. Nor are a majority of my friends. And I don't consider them inferior to myself as people, nor did I think being a mage gave me the inherent right to rule Kirkwall."
"All the more reason to make sure these stupid people know you don't back them," Anders agreed, squeezing her hand.
Sketch spoke up uneasily. "The Restorationists don't seem to like you as much as the Potentatists."
"That's true," Waite agreed.
Caitlyn's eyes narrowed. "Do they have a leader of their own?"
"We're looking into that," Petra said. "As best we can tell... no. But that may be wrong. We'll tell you if we find evidence to the contrary."
A silence fell. Caitlyn asked, "Was that all that you needed to tell us?"
"There was something else, now that you ask," Petra said. "Our lyrium supply... well, we haven't received any new shipments from Justinia since the battle, and the battlemages used a lot of it fighting."
Caitlyn and Anders exchanged concerned looks. "That's been over three months! You should've received a quarterly shipment in Kingsway!"
"We haven't. We're afraid that the Lord Seeker, who as you know is probably sympathetic to the enemy, has cut it off... or that it's just too difficult for the Divine to have it sent now." She looked uncomfortable. "And I know Your Grace won't like to hear this, but we're pretty sure that some of the mages have been making arrangements for their own private supplies to compensate."
"Let me guess, from the Coterie," Anders guessed at once, sharing a dark look with his wife.
Petra nodded. "That's our suspicion too. Harlan's earlier donation must have encouraged it."
"Plus Harlan making a 'hero' of himself," Caitlyn snarled. She collected herself. "I've set the Kirkwall Militia hunting for the Coterie and empowered them to make arrests too. You should tell your people that. If they get caught buying lyrium from Coterie agents, I'm not going to interfere with the law. They'd better be aware of the potential consequences."
"Understood, Your Grace."
"And in the meantime... I will write to Seeker Pentaghast and ask what is going on."
Caitlyn felt like crying after she sealed the letter to Cassandra and sent it by raven. She felt overwhelmed. As she watched the bird carry her message away, dark wings bearing dark words, the weight of everything seemed to crash upon her shoulders. Harlan, the Coterie, the economic depression, the present inability of Kirkwall to attack any of the enemy cities, the mage supremacists, the lyrium problem...
Tears came to her eyes, and the heavy lump in her throat seemed to burst. Choking sobs escaped her lips, and she buried her head on her desk, hoping that no one saw her, least of all her children, who would be frightened by the sight.
She had completely covered her eyes, so she did not see the shadow fall in the doorway, and her sobs overcame the sound of footsteps. But she felt the firm, warm embrace surround her.
"Anders," she gulped as he gently lifted her up, slid under her in the comfortable chair, and pulled her into his lap.
His arms enveloped her tightly. "It's all right," he soothed, running his fingers through her hair.
"No," she managed, "it's not, Anders." She gazed up at him, fear filling her wide eyes. "We could lose. We really could lose this war."
"Hush, love. We're not going to."
"You don't know that. You're just saying that to calm me." She closed her eyes again, letting tears stream down her cheeks. "I knew it before the war began, which is why I was so fearful of starting it in the first place and kept believing that reforms could happen peacefully. I knew it then. But once the bell was rung, once we were officially at war, I didn't want to face that anymore. I didn't want to face what it would mean to lose."
"We're not going to lose," he said again. "This is a rough patch on the domestic front. You're fighting your way through it, and it will pass! In battle, we've kicked their dogmatic, hateful, lyrium-addled asses every single time! And we'll do it again—and again, and again, until they are finally beaten."
She knew he was just saying it to bring her peace, that he of all people knew that things could go very wrong, and the justice of the cause would not be a shield against that. He understood, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, that justice was not always served. Sometimes injustice won. But she understood what he was trying to do, and somehow, it did help.
Her tears gradually dried up, leaving her feeling vulnerable still, but not quite so bereft and hopeless. His embrace loosened as she stopped shaking.
"You've been on top of everything that's happened," he said softly as she rose from the chair, pulling him along with herself. "You've fought back. You haven't let anything get out of control. And keep in mind, you have won every time we have fought the enemy. We have won. And that will continue."
She chuckled. "I know what you're doing," she said, "but for some reason, it still works."
"Good," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Have hope, darling. We're going to get through this and we're going to change the world."
But before Caitlyn could hear back from Cassandra Pentaghast or receive an update about the Mage Council's progress in combating the Potentatists and Restorationists, the lyrium shortage reared its head in a very unwelcome way.
She had called a War Council meeting—Maker, it was difficult sometimes to keep up with the three Councils that now existed and who was on them—to discuss what long-term plans could be made to prepare for an assault on the fortified, wealthy, and very defensible Minanter cities. She had no ideas herself that seemed actually feasible, but perhaps someone else might, and her War Council included both mages and non-mages. In stark contrast with the ideas of the mage supremacist fraternity, Caitlyn understood that different people would have different but often equally valuable perspectives.
She gazed around the table. Anders, Aveline, Alain, Petra, Sketch, Waite, Merrill, Thrask... Where in the everlasting Void was Cullen?
"Maybe we should ask our cousin," Anders muttered pointedly.
Caitlyn laughed darkly. "They'd both better hope that's not the reason he is late."
"I don't know," Anders reconsidered. "Think of how embarrassing that would be for him..." He smirked.
"Shall I give the order to look for him?" Thrask asked.
Caitlyn considered for a moment before nodding. "He's very late. If he just forgot, or is... occupied with my cousin... then it will be embarrassing, but it'll serve him right. And if something is wrong, we need to know."
Despite having only one hand now, and therefore being vulnerable in a fight, Thrask was the nominal head of the few Templars still in Kirkwall who had not joined the Grand Cleric's heretic-hunters. Cullen had resigned in protest against Meredith and was not officially a Templar at all anymore, but he had returned to fighting with them rather than joining the Militia. They regarded him as a brother still too. Caitlyn had misgivings about his ambiguous status, and Anders didn't like it at all, but there was little they could do about it. She had allowed Fenris and Isabela to fight where they would as volunteers.
Thrask summoned Ser Keran, an earnest and well-meaning young Templar who was moderate about mages, and dispatched him to the former Knight-Captain's office. Caitlyn summoned a Keep servant to inquire at the Amell manor with Charade.
The servant returned first. "Your Grace's cousin Lady Charade does not know where Ser Cullen is," the young elf reported nervously. "She was not with him."
Caitlyn dismissed the servant and gave her Council an uneasy look. Could something actually have happened to him? She hoped not.
Ser Keran returned a few minutes later, looking extremely grim—and extremely embarrassed. He spoke to Thrask first, privately, then the Council. "I'm sorry, my lords and ladies, Your Graces," he fumbled over his words, unsure how to address a meeting in which the Viscountess and Consort were actually the only titled 'lady and lord' present. "Ser Cullen will not be able to attend this meeting. He is... indisposed."
"He's unwell?" Caitlyn pressed. "Was he injured in a fight?"
Keran grimaced. "Nothing like that, Your Grace."
Thrask interceded. "It's best if I discuss this with Their Graces privately after the meeting. Let's just continue. Cullen won't be coming."
No one seemed to know what to make of this report, but the meeting had been delayed long enough. Caitlyn called it to order and brought up her reading about the defenses of Tantervale and Starkhaven, an issue that had been sidelined with the food riot and Coterie soup kitchen problems—let alone the dire news of the mage supremacist fraternity that had followed.
Aveline was grim. "It's a problem," she acknowledged. "They're very well defended. Hercinia too. It has a standing army, a militia like Starkhaven's... and ours... and so far as I can tell, they haven't even been bloodied."
"True," Caitlyn recalled. "No one with the heraldry of Hercinia was sighted at Wildervale, and the harbor attack was all Red Templars. Which seem to be based in the Minanter cities."
"You know," Caspar Waite put in, "as a native of Markham, Hercinia's nearest neighbor... except maybe Wycome... I've often wondered why in the Void they're in that alliance. Hercinia is a mercantile city, not a bastion of dogmatism like Tantervale."
"Could it be more like Starkhaven, then, a rich city in the schism because of a religious fanatic as a leader?"
He considered. "Could be. I don't know much about Margravine Arriata. Her mother was some sort of Antivan noblewoman. That wouldn't explain it, though; I didn't think the Antivans were mage-haters or orthodox zealots."
"They're not, on the whole," Aveline said, "but perhaps she is different and her loyalty to this schism is a revolt, a backlash, against Antivan culture."
"It's a coastal city," Caitlyn mused, "so it seems that it should be more vulnerable than the river cities."
"They're raided by pirates from Estwatch a lot," Waite agreed.
"Could we use that to our advantage?" Caitlyn wondered. "Make an alliance with the pirates?"
This suggestion landed like a dropped anvil. Aveline scowled. "Pirates can't be trusted, not without beggaring this city to keep their support. And maybe not even then. They'd likely empty our treasury, turn tail, and then use their newfound wealth to expand their reach and prey on Kirkwall instead."
No one registered a dissenting opinion, so Caitlyn moved on, not offended that the idea had been shot down. She was merely fishing for possibilities to make an offensive move for a change. She turned to Waite. "Markham, as you said, is close. Could your home city's forces attack Hercinia?"
"They could. I cannot say how well it would go. From what I know, Hercinia's militia just outnumbers ours. We could defend our own city against them, I think, but attacking theirs? And... they have a fully intact Circle still," he added reluctantly. "It's a rather small one, but in Markham, the only remaining mages are a handful who thought we rebels were wrong."
"So to attack Hercinia, we'd need to send a substantial portion of our own army to reinforce Markham's," Caitlyn mused. She sighed. "And we'd want to be sure we could take Hercinia quickly, or else it would leave us both open to attack from Starkhaven and Tantervale."
"Just so, Your Grace, I'm afraid."
She sighed again. "We're still not ready, then. I had hoped it would be otherwise, but... if we aren't ready to go on offense yet, we'd be fools to do it. Keep practicing your massed spells. Even if Lowtowners and merchants fear them, they're the best tactic that we have."
After the meeting, Thrask remained behind with Caitlyn and Anders. She hesitated for a moment before motioning for Aveline to wait as well.
Thrask did not object to the Guard-Captain's inclusion. His visage was grim as he spoke. "If I may presume so much, I would ask to keep this quiet," he said. "According to Ser Keran, Cullen was found... in a hangover."
Caitlyn's eyes bulged in shock as they walked down the corridor of the outer Keep. Of all the people she had thought might fall prey to drink, Cullen Rutherford had not been one of them.
She realized suddenly that Anders, who had a complicated relationship at best with the ex-Templar, was not laughing gleefully as she had expected. She stole a glance at him. His expression was serious indeed.
"It's lyrium, isn't it?" he said in surprisingly dark and somber tones.
Caitlyn gave him a surprised look. Yes, that did make more sense...
Thrask heaved a sigh. "I'm afraid it is."
Caitlyn took precedence of Thrask in the small group, putting space between herself and the others, and discreetly motioned for Anders to join her.
"You normally take every opportunity to laugh at lyrium addiction in Templars," she remarked in a whisper that only he could hear.
"In the enemy," he agreed. "I am not Cullen's friend, but he's not the enemy. Lyrium addiction in a Templar is a grim business."
She fell silent, unable to argue the point. It was grim. Sympathy for Cullen filled her mind. But as she thought about it, something else occurred to her.
How is he getting lyrium? The mages haven't had a quarterly shipment, and Cullen isn't even a Templar. Are the Templars still receiving lyrium but not sharing it with the mages—but they are sharing it with ex-Templars that they still consider brothers? Or has Cullen been buying from Harlan's agents?
Either consideration rather cooled her sympathy for his situation. Anger filled her thoughts instead. The mages actually need it! she thought. They are the core of my army, the most powerful soldiers I have. I want them to get used to not needing it for everyday living, but lyrium is as necessary for them in the heat of battle as a sword is for a knight. If it's going to Templars instead... or if that man is buying from the damned Coterie...
She tried to keep her outrage from showing in her face as they headed out.
Cullen's office was no longer at the Gallows; only mages now resided there. The Templars were housed either at the Chantry—if they had joined Petrice's Suprema—or in a small Hightown manor that had long been used for crime and held by gangs. It was the same place Caitlyn had met Leliana just after Divine Justinia had been elected. She had mixed thoughts about letting the remaining Templars have a headquarters of their own, but she supposed it was better than letting gangs have a foothold in Hightown in this place.
They entered the house and headed at once to Cullen's quarters. Thrask opened the door without knocking or calling out.
Caitlyn sniffed. The reek of lyrium permeated the air. She noticed that Anders was sniffing too.
Cullen's bed was unmade. Dirty clothes covered a chair. The uneaten remains of a meal rested at a small round table, cold and congealing. None of this seemed in accordance with the punctilious, fastidious man that they knew.
Thrask stalked through the room and pushed open a door—the door to Cullen's privy. There the man himself lay, snoring on a rug before a washbasin and metal tub, drool trickling from his lips. An almost empty bottle of lyrium was tipped over on its side, the top broken off. Caitlyn then noticed the shards of glass and drops of blood, and the cut on Cullen's right hand.
Aveline was outraged. "This is completely undignified!" she exclaimed. "Why did no one put him in his bed?"
Thrask blanched. "I don't know," he said, suddenly seeing her point. "Don't blame Ser Keran. He's but a lad. Cullen is too heavy for one boy."
"I don't blame him, nor you, as you didn't come here, but he didn't deserve to be seen like this by the Viscountess of Kirkwall. Ser Thrask, if you're able... your hand..."
This sight had had a very different effect on Caitlyn than it had on Aveline. No one made him overdose on lyrium, especially sitting in his privy slurping it down, not even fighting a mage criminal. If he has no more self-control than that, maybe being seen like this by me is exactly what he deserves. He certainly doesn't deserve my cousin, she thought mutinously. Any fragment of sympathy that she'd had on the way to the house was gone.
She scowled, not lifting a finger to help them with a force spell, as Thrask and Aveline carried Cullen to his bed and deposited him there.
Anders was already rifling through Cullen's wardrobe. By the time the two warriors had set Cullen on his bed, Anders had emerged from the closet with a crate in hand. Several more bottles of lyrium, about a dozen, clinked inside.
Caitlyn whirled on Thrask. "Not too many days ago, I heard from the leaders of the Mage Council that they hadn't received their quarterly shipment of lyrium from Divine Justinia's people," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "I want an explanation for what Anders holds. Are the Templars still getting it?"
Thrask gaped, holding up his one hand for peace. "Your Grace! I swear on the pyre of Andraste, we haven't received our quarterly shipment either!" He eyed the crate. "And we don't get that much when we do have our rations."
Caitlyn's voice was corrosive with taut anger. "So what is the meaning of this? Is Cullen hoarding it and then binging every now and then, as we see?" She gestured at the snoring man in his bed. "Or is he getting it elsewhere?"
"I... I have to assume he is getting it elsewhere," Thrask said. "Templars cannot abstain, hoard, and binge. As long as we are taking it at all, we need it like we need food. We can gradually wean ourselves... or gradually increase our intake, though that is a bad idea... but we can't switch from abstinence to binging like some can with alcohol. We need a steady supply. But a moderate supply. When a Templar falls down asleep from it, as Cullen has done, it is a sign of overuse."
Caitlyn's gaze hardened. "So he's buying illegally from the Coterie."
Thrask grimaced. "I... You are probably right, Your Grace."
"We're going to search this apartment," she declared. "If he bought it from them, there should be a receipt." She glowered at the sleeping man again.
Caitlyn, Anders, and Aveline stalked back to the Keep and stormed into a private conference room, locking the door behind themselves. Caitlyn held the receipts, proof of Cullen's purchase of illegal lyrium from the Coterie. Anders' compassion for him had evaporated with this find.
"I hope this doesn't mean Harlan has bought him," he said.
Aveline spoke up sharply. "There is no evidence of that. He has an addiction and Harlan's agents are making coin by feeding it. That's all there is to it."
"So far as you know."
Caitlyn glared at her friend too. "We know Harlan tried to bribe the mages in the City Guard with lyrium. He all but admitted it to me. Why wouldn't he try to bribe an ex-Templar who is on my War Council? For now, at least," she added. "The disgraceful scene that we saw, plus his involvement with the Coterie, means he may well have forfeited that post."
Aveline heaved a breath. "Hawke, I'm telling you as a friend, you are getting too paranoid about Harlan."
"No, she isn't!" Anders interjected, to her gratitude. "Even the Grand Cleric, and you know well enough what my thoughts about her are, agrees with Caitlyn about that man!"
Aveline raised an eyebrow. "Petrice's belief in something does not exactly mean it's true," she said coolly. "And how would she know about Cullen anyway? She's not on the War Council, and we just learned it ourselves."
"She doesn't know, of course," Caitlyn said. "But she does agree that Harlan wants to supplant me. Apparently the fact that I became Viscountess made him believe that the likes of him could too."
"That may be," Aveline granted grudgingly. "You might be right. But there is no reason to believe that Cullen has been bought off by the Coterie. That is what I meant."
Caitlyn breathed heavily, trying to focus and control her temper.
"My first husband Wesley was a Templar," Aveline continued. "He confided in me about lyrium. It's an addiction, Hawke. You mages are lucky. You are less prone to addiction, and you can do magic with nothing more than your own energy, your mana. With Templars, if they don't use it, their anti-magic abilities are hobbled."
"And perhaps that's an indication that they, not we, are the unnatural creatures cursed to suffer terrible fates," Anders interjected, bile in his tone.
Aveline turned to him slowly and menacingly. Fury filled her eyes. "You are speaking of my late husband, Anders," she bit off. "How would you feel if I said something that contemptuous about Hawke? Or more to the point, Karl?"
His eyes widened, and a flash of blue light flickered within. "You dare—"
"I dare, and I see you too, Justice. I don't care if you're the husband of the High Archon of Tevinter. If you can't manage to speak with a Maker-damned modicum of respect for others, I'm done with this," she said with a snarl.
Anders was startled and taken aback by her vehemence. He fell silent, considering her words. A sigh escaped him as the derision left his face. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean your first husband. I've just been told... that sort of thing... for much of my life."
Aveline sighed in turn. "I know." She turned back to Caitlyn. "To return to Cullen. There's no reason to believe that the Coterie has bought his loyalty. Templars who use too much lyrium get addicted to it, and that's almost certainly all that has happened." She gazed at her friend. "I understand perfectly why you don't want Harlan making coin off him, nevertheless. He needs to break the habit."
Caitlyn huffed impatiently. "I agree, he damn well does. Even if he isn't compromised, this is completely inappropriate and embarrassing behavior in a member of the War Council, and if it gets out, it'll encourage the mages to buy from the Coterie too, further enriching that criminal. They'll be giving coin to the man who is trying to displace the very mage Viscountess they fight under." She glowered. "If an ex-Templar, not even a real one, is buying the stuff illegally, why shouldn't they do it too? So I'm cutting him off, to the extent that I can. I'll set someone in charge of all deliveries to that house. If he wants to arrange a rendezvous point elsewhere to receive illicit shipments, I guess I can't stop that, but I'm not going to make it easy for him."
Aveline grimaced. "I understand your rationale, Hawke, but you can't just 'cut him off.'"
"Oh, can't I?" she said sharply. "Watch me. He's buying from a criminal."
Aveline glanced down uncomfortably. "There's a bigger problem than that. Templars... when they are taken off lyrium too abruptly, rather than gradually, that alone is often fatal. He needs assistance weaning himself from it slowly."
"So," Caitlyn drawled, "you are implying—what exactly? That I must watch him carefully as if I'm his mother, and let him keep buying from Harlan, just less and less, until he is no longer addicted?"
This representation of the matter made Aveline grimace, but it was accurate enough. "That is the only way for a Templar to safely withdraw from lyrium. You wrote to Seeker Pentaghast. Presumably she's going to arrange for Justinia to restore the official shipments, so he won't have to buy from Harlan. He can get it from a proper source. But Templars' bodies get used to it, and they decline horribly and then die if they quit, or are cut off, too abruptly."
"And is that my fault?" Caitlyn replied. "I didn't make them take lyrium. You'd have me reduce the amount that the Free Mages get in order to feed the addiction of a man who isn't even a Templar anymore?"
"Hawke, if he is abruptly forced to quit, he'll lose his mind and then die. That's why he's buying illegally in the first place. He needs it, physically, but the amount he's taking will also kill him. He needs to come off it gradually, and he can't do that alone, it seems. He needs help to quit. I know you and Anders aren't close friends with Cullen, but he doesn't deserve to die this way."
Anders spoke up again harshly. "I notice how your sympathy about who 'deserves to die' is reserved for a Templar. Did Karl deserve to die the way he did? Did Caitlyn's Amell cousin? Did all the apostates since the founding of Andrastian Circles deserve to die as they did?"
"That's exactly why you shouldn't write off someone's life without good cause. You're right, some died who deserved life. We can't give it to them. So let's be very careful in whom we condemn to death."
Caitlyn interjected. "Nobody is condemning him to death—save for himself. You aren't thinking as the general I made you, Aveline. Because you loved Wesley, you're focusing on a single person, a person for whom lyrium is a luxury—a toxic one. There is already a lyrium shortage among my forces, and Cullen doesn't even need it. In fact, it interferes with his current duties!"
"Hawke," Aveline said, shaking her head, "what part of 'it will kill him' are you not getting?"
Caitlyn glared back hotly. "I get it completely! But Cullen is a grown man, Aveline. He chose to buy from the Coterie to feed his habit. If he can't control himself, he'll face the eventual consequences of that. It's not my responsibility to hold his hand and get him to stop using it."
"So you are intending to write him off as a loss? That's cold."
"I am not Cullen's caretaker. I am responsible for the city of Kirkwall and the fate of mages in southern Thedas. Isn't that enough? I'm not responsible for controlling the private behavior of an ex-Templar—and mages need lyrium, and don't bloody die of it. They get first rights to it. What's next, if I find someone addicted to drinks in my army, I should open a tab at the Hanged Man and tell the bartender to gradually cut him off? Because I see little difference between that and this."
"You are responsible for the city of Kirkwall and the fate of southern mages, you say," Aveline said coolly, "but have you forgotten that that means people? Cullen is a person too."
Caitlyn turned aside, glowering. Anders glared at Aveline and turned away as well. He placed an arm supportively around Caitlyn's shoulders.
She took a deep breath and turned around again. "The Lord Seeker is apparently making it difficult for official shipments to come to Kirkwall. I do not have the luxury to give regular lyrium supplies to people who do not need it, nor do I have the capability to cope with Templars' specific... problems. If Cullen wants to spend his coin buying it from the Coterie, I can't stop him without locking him up for it... which you say will kill him, if he's deprived of the stuff. But I do have the authority to strip him of his command if he misses any more meetings or it otherwise interferes with his duties."
Caitlyn summoned Cullen to the Keep as soon as he was awake and recovered from his overdose. She asked Anders to be present as well, to increase Cullen's shame and hopefully his resolve too, as well as as Petra—who had known him in Kinloch Hold—and Thrask. She had not included Aveline in the meeting.
"We left you the crate of lyrium that you had already purchased," she told him in frigid tones. "You have that amount to ration out to yourself in order to break your addiction, plus I suppose whatever you can beg from others if Divine Justinia resumes you Templars' supply. So I suggest that you dole it out carefully—or have someone else control your supply and do it for you, if you find yourself incapable of that degree of self-control."
Cullen blushed heavily, thoroughly ashamed of himself. "I understand," he said humbly. "I'll do my best. And I'm very, very sorry about the meeting—and the scene that you found."
"I will have people watching the Templar house in Hightown," she added. "I'm aware that if you are absolutely set on getting it, you could rendezvous with the Coterie somewhere else and sneak it back. If you evade my patrols, I admit there's little I can do. I'm not going to set a watch inside your bedroom. But do know that I will have patrols, and they will not be led by corrupt guards. Every unit will be led by a Fereldan Army officer sent by Teyrna Cauthrien of Gwaren. I believe you know who she is." Her tone was frosty.
"I do," Cullen said, his head hung, his eyes unable to meet hers.
"And one other thing," Caitlyn added as it occurred to her on the spot. "If I hear of you buying or using any illegal lyrium other than what you already own, I'll tell my cousin about your problem. I can't stop her from seeing you, but consider very hard whether you want her to know about this... habit."
Anders gave her a surprised, impressed look at that. Cullen grimaced and blushed even redder.
Somehow, Aveline heard of the meeting they held with Cullen, and Caitlyn could tell that her friend did not approve of her harshness. Aveline bore a thin, scowling grimace whenever she saw Caitlyn over the next couple of weeks. But Caitlyn believed that she was right. She had bigger problems than helping a man with an addiction who—when all was said and done—was little more than a military colleague, not even a personal friend. If he had been Charade's husband, she might have owed him more support as an in-law, but as best she could tell, her cousin did not even know of her beau's problem.
There are plenty of people in Kirkwall who are addicted to something, she told herself. Mostly to alcohol, some to potions of various sorts, and others to lyrium. It is not my duty to hold their hands. I have enough to worry about.
She did hope that Divine Justinia would be able to restore quarterly shipments of lyrium. As harsh as she had been with Cullen, a prickle of her conscience told her that that crate did not contain enough lyrium to allow Cullen to safely and successfully wean himself of his addiction. He would need a supply for longer than the crate's contents would last, especially if he was already used to taking more than he ought. She just did not want him to obtain that supply from the Coterie, further enriching her domestic rival.
As she waited to hear back from Cassandra, she received word from the mages that the propaganda poster designs were finished.
At the next Small Council meeting, Varric and Anders studied the art with critical eyes.
There were five drawings, as Caitlyn had commissioned. All were to be block printed in single colors, to keep the printing cost low. Only very costly books had multi-color prints, as it drastically increased the expense to have to coat different sections of a carved block with different colors of ink.
"I think this one would do well in a dark gold or dark yellow," Anders said, holding a stylized picture of faceless mages, staves in hand, captioned "Protecting You from the Schismatic Heretics." A stylized sunburst blazed behind the row of mages.
Petrice nodded. "It is the color of the Chantry, and that is obviously the most strongly pro-Chantry message of the lot."
Anders stifled a grimace as he put the drawing down. "Yes," he managed.
Varric hid a smirk. He had seen Anders' struggle to control his expression. "I like this one," he remarked wryly, holding up an uncaptioned picture of a stylized mage couple—obviously Caitlyn and Anders—defending cowering children from a deranged female Templar with an extremely exaggerated, monstrous expression of rage on her face. "Looks just like the statue. It's becoming as famous as the Twins." He gave them a dark, sideways smirk. "It's a shame we can't have them in multiple colors. Naturally this needs to be in reddish-pink, the color of that blasted red lyrium, but I kind of hate depicting you and Blondie in that same color."
Caitlyn gave him a sympathetic look. Red lyrium was personal to Varric, due to its effect on his late brother. She could tell that his dark humor was a way to conceal and cope with that trauma. "The statue is kept covered by a lead box and guarded by mages," she said. "As for the drawing... red is fine. There was a lot of red that night—red lyrium, blood, and anger. It's a color that evokes powerful emotions."
Varric's smirk left his face as he set the drawing down.
"This one should be in blue," Anders said, picking up a picture of Caitlyn herself, hands spread out beneficently over a silhouette of Kirkwall as she smiled. It had no caption either. "Blue is soothing."
"Maybe this one too, then," Varric said of the fourth drawing: a poster of two anonymous, ambiguously gendered mages hugging a mage child, captioned "Support All Families."
"Blue or green," Anders agreed. "Or dark turquoise."
Caitlyn was finding the scene amusing. Anders had an eye for style, as she had long known, and this situation had brought it out. It was quite entertaining to watch him and Varric quibble about specific hues and shades of colors.
"And the last one?" she managed, not quite suppressing her smile. "It's the most pointed of them all. Certainly the one most likely to draw eyes."
They considered the final draft. It was indeed, as she had said, very striking and startling—almost scary. It was a stylized drawing of a woman in a towering Chantry headdress worn by Divines. But the headdress was shaded to resemble demon's horns, and that was what it looked like to the viewer at first glance. The woman's identity was unmistakable. Despite the stark menace in the figure's glaring eyes and the overall aura of malevolence in her face, it was without a doubt the exiled former Grand Cleric Elthina, Divine Fidelia I of the schismatic Chantry. Blood dripped from her hands, and beneath the pooled drops drawn at the bottom of the picture was the caption: "Hate Mage Soldiers? Here's Your Alternative."
Caitlyn was surprised—though pleased and impressed—that a mage artist had had the nerve to draw this. It must have been very satisfying indeed, she guessed. And it would definitely turn eyes around town.
"Dark red," she ruled. "I want this one evoking strong feelings too."
Anders smirked. "It will definitely do that. Between that one and the one with Meredith, I'm going to have nightmares."
"Oh, that wasn't my intent," Caitlyn laughed. "I'll comfort you if you do."
Varric wolf-whistled, and several others in the Council chuckled. Caitlyn flushed slightly, but only slightly. She was pleased with the artwork, and she could tell that Anders was too.
The drawings were sent to a guild printer who had worked for the city of Kirkwall before and was sympathetic to mages. In short order, the prints started appearing around Lowtown and Darktown. A few were tacked up in Hightown in public locations, just in case some nobles secretly opposed Caitlyn.
The prints had peppered message boards, lampposts, gates, and the sides of certain buildings by the time that Cassandra Pentaghast arrived in Kirkwall.
She was quickly admitted to the Keep, but Caitlyn and Anders were stealing a blessed moment with their children when she arrived, so she had to wait a bit to meet with them. They suppressed their sighs of regret at leaving Mal and Jo Beth. At least they would get some sort of answer about the lyrium shortage.
But as they approached the room where their guest awaited, they overheard a pair of familiar voices having a private conversation already: one Nevarran, one the wry baritone of a dwarf she knew very well.
"This is not a good idea, Seeker."
"A Seeker takes no vows of celibacy, and you are a bachelor. What is the problem, exactly? This is a better idea than chasing after a married woman."
Caitlyn and Anders halted in their tracks. "We can't burst in on them," she said in a panic.
He smirked. "No," he whispered back in wicked glee. "Let's listen!"
There was an audible sigh from Varric inside the audience chamber.
"Your Bianca had a choice and she chose someone else." Cassandra's tones were sharp.
"She chose not to be cast out by her family."
"I did not say whom she chose. She chose that, but she also insisted on keeping you, just in this furtive, sneaky, deceitful manner, which gives her everything she wanted but denies you a loving relationship that you can openly acknowledge. She is selfish and childish."
Varric's voice was tense. "Seeker, if this is what you're going to do, I've got to ask—"
Cassandra interrupted. "This one-sided promise kept you from having a chance with Hawke, too, did it not?"
Caitlyn flushed hot. Now what? she thought. They'll know I heard that if I come in just afterward.
"Seeker—"
"Call me by my name, Varric! This habit of nicknaming people is nothing more than a way to hide from your feelings, whether friendship or love! And it makes it all too clear to me who has burrowed into your heart! Another married woman, this one happily so."
Anders whispered to Caitlyn, "She's dead right about that. All of it."
Varric sighed. "Cassandra. Nobody truly had a chance with Hawke after she met Blondie in Lothering."
Anders gave Caitlyn a pointed smirk. "True enough," he whispered.
"Hawke," Cassandra repeated pointedly. "You call her by her name. It's perfectly clear why."
"You're mistaken, See—Cassandra. Only Blondie calls her by her given name." He paused, and the eavesdroppers guessed that Cassandra was glaring at him. "Fine. Anders. But as long as he was alive and well, she was his. Nothing I told Bianca kept me from Hawke. She wanted Bl—Anders, always."
There was a silence, then Cassandra replied. "I... do not deny that it is hard to imagine Hawke with you. She and Anders are... certainly a well-matched couple, I will give them that. But what you told Bianca is keeping you from someone now."
"This is not the time for this," he said brusquely. "Hawke and Anders are going to be here any minute now."
"I'm not going to forget this," she warned. "I see through you, Varric."
"Yes, yes, the all-seeing Eye of the Seeker."
Cassandra grunted in disgust. "I see through your jokes, your nicknames, and your carrying of torches for married women. You do it all to keep yourself from a real relationship, because your family life traumatized you."
"Cassandra..."
"Has it ever occurred to you that you are not the only person with bad memories of family?"
The clicks of hard-heeled armored boots on tile sounded through the cracked door, growing louder. Caitlyn and Anders exchanged a glance and panicked, darting away as quietly and quickly as they could.
Cassandra flung the door open to let Varric exit in a huff just as they were outside hearing range. They faced her, trying to hide what they had been up to.
"I am sure you heard some of that," the Seeker said, eyeing them. "I am very sorry."
Varric groaned. "Right. I'll leave you three to it. Later, Hawke, Anders."
There was not much to say as Caitlyn and Anders sequestered themselves in the room with Cassandra. No one wanted to discuss the embarrassing meeting, Cassandra least of all.
"I am not able to remain here long," she said briefly. "I have business in Cumberland soon afterward, and this is a bit out of my way, but I thought I might as well make a brief visit."
Caitlyn nodded. "You are welcome for as long as you can be here."
"It will not be long. I am here only overnight unless the weather turns foul. I did want to explain the situation with the lyrium shortage, though."
"It's become dire," she admitted. "One of the ex-Templars has had a problem with addiction, and he's fed it by buying illegal lyrium from the Coterie. The handful of Templars haven't had a supply either."
Cassandra pursed her lips, sighing. "The Lord Seeker is one factor, as you guessed in your letter. He does not want lyrium sent to the three Circles that are officially in rebellion. Divine Justinia has had to arrange for it to be sent covertly through people she trusts, rather than openly defying him, for reasons that I do not suppose I need to reiterate."
Caitlyn shared an exasperated look with Anders. She suppressed her urge to tell Cassandra that Justinia needed to declare her support for the mage rebellion, bring mages to the table, and let the disloyal Seekers go to the Void. They'd argued about it with Cassandra before.
"But until recently, she has been able to do this," Cassandra continued. "The problem of late has come from the source: the contract with Orzammar."
That surprised Caitlyn and Anders. "The contract?" she repeated. "What issue does Orzammar have? Please don't tell me the dwarves are terrified of my big scary mage army too." Derision filled her words.
Cassandra raised her eyebrows. "They are not scared of your army's magical power. They are scared of losing the biggest source of revenue that they have if the Circles were to be abolished and the Templar Order disbanded."
Shock and panic suddenly filled the couple. As Caitlyn took this in, she gaped at Anders, seeing fear in his amber eyes that was most certainly mirrored in her own green ones. This was something she had not considered.
"Is the King of Orzammar siding with the schism?" she burst out in horror.
"No," Cassandra said. "Our spies confirm that. We do not know where they are getting their lyrium, other than that vile red kind. It is possible that they have made contact with Kal-Sharok. Probably also smuggling from traitors in the Chantry. But I digress. King Harrowmont has been uneasy about what Circle independence would mean for the dwarves' mining business."
"Didn't Lady Cousland choose him as the dwarven king?"
"She did, over the thrice-kinslaying but forward-looking youngest son of the late king." Cassandra sighed. "I understand her decision, and I would have done the same at the time, but knowing what I know now... it would be a harder choice. But that is history now. The Left Hand accompanied Lady Cousland to Orzammar in the Blight, so she met the king, and she has sent agents there to try to reassure him that independent, mage-run Circles would still need lyrium. Divine Justinia cannot do this with her own messengers, of course, as she must appear to support the Circles that have not rebelled. I think she has convinced him, but this was the reason for the delay in the shipment."
Caitlyn groaned, feeling a headache. She really had not thought about the Orzammar dwarves at all. Her acquaintance was with surface dwarves like Varric who couldn't care less about the Chantry's lyrium mining contract.
"It won't be a problem again, I hope?" she managed.
"If the secret diplomacy has been successful, it should not be." Cassandra gave her a sympathetic look. "Times are hard everywhere. This particular problem should resolve, but there are obviously many more."
"There are," Caitlyn acknowledged. "Damn it. And the lyrium shortage was far from the biggest one I have been facing."
A sad smile crossed Cassandra's face. "Welcome to war, Viscountess Hawke. I did warn you a few years ago."
Notes: The mage supremacist fraternity will appear again. It is possible at this point to make some shrewd guesses about just who is involved with it, and even perhaps to guess how else they will figure in this story, but I will not be confirming or denying anything until the relevant chapter(s).
Regarding Cullen, all Templars decline if they don't quit lyrium, but it seems that for him it's more than a professional hazard. It's a substance abuse problem with which he struggles particularly badly, between the dark "still taking lyrium" Trespasser slide and his personal quest in DA:I itself. I also am aware that Caitlyn was harsh and uncompassionate. But she's Aggro Hawke, the leader of the mage rights side, and her and Anders' relationship with Cullen hasn't been extremely chummy.
The posters got me thinking about printing technology in Thedas. I've referenced both paper and parchment in these stories. Which one is used more depends on how cheaply paper can be made. There are indications it's pretty cheap: a lot of non-religious, non-scholastic books in broad circulation, including serialized fiction such as Varric's works. It's virtually inconceivable that this could be so unless paper is comparatively cheap to produce and a printing press with movable type has been invented. I've presumed that it has been and have written all my DA stories with that assumption. Returning to our war posters and mass production of pictures, we all know about woodcuts. Still, color printing with wood/ceramic/metal blocks was expensive. I don't think these posters would justify the extravagance of multiple colors.
