WARNINGS: One brief NSFW moment. Our Commander gets flirty ;)
CULLEN
I closed the wicket door behind me. The guards saluted, I nodding before making my way down the hall. As much as I wanted to retreat somewhere, I needed to find Rylen. To tell him what we had planned and to discuss repairs for Skyhold.
Despite the anger I felt at the terror that had been unleashed upon our stronghold and its people, the damages opened the door for not only repairs, but improvements. Our master builder had been hesitant to do to much to the ancient structure for fear of shifting the foundations, but now…there wasn't much choice. Before seeking out Rylen, however, I needed to check on Mia and Rosalie.
I set my course for the infirmary; putting one foot in front of the other, I let my mind wander to the darker thoughts and emotions roiling within. My craving for lyrium had returned, I'd taken my frustrations out on Meira who did not deserve it and I had handled myself in a spectacularly miserable fashion before Anders and the Warden-Commander. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the slight tremble in my fingers as I did.
It had been nearly four years now since Anders's attack on Kirkwall—even if there was truth to his need to pay for his crimes legally, there was even more truth in what Ellana had said. He was a Grey Warden now—he could atone there by protecting the world from the Blight. Just as I could atone within the Inquisition.
And in the end, how different were we really? How many had I caused to suffer in my sanctimony, as he'd said? No less than he had in his—and his cause…had far more merit than mine had.
I clenched my jaw at the thought. Was that really true? Did I really believe that?
Magic couldn't be made safe, there were dangerous mages and there were people who sought to harm mages just for having magic. But Meredith—I—had gone too far in The Gallows, even before the Annulment. No matter what was "acceptable" within the eyes of Chantry law.
And there was the problem, what was acceptable within the eyes of the Chantry and the Order…was it truly acceptable? And whose fault was it? The Chantry for the stance they took on mages or the Order for the way they treated them?
I let out a bitter laugh. Were they not intertwined? The Order sought faithful soldiers; faithful to the Order, I had come to learn, to the Chantry, did not necessarily mean faithful to the Chant. I looked to the likeness of Andraste painted upon the sign of the Herald's Rest as I passed by the tavern to reach the infirmary. When did the Chantry stop being synonymous with the Chant? When did the Chantry begin serving itself? I thought of Meredith, of how the templars had broken away—when did the Order begin serving itself?
'I vowed to never again question the Order'. 'After what happened in Ferelden, I told myself I would never again question the purpose of the Order. But it grows harder each day to tell wether I'm serving the templars or only the Knight-Commander. It may be that they are no longer one and the same.'
And now? I was full of questions and it was far too late. And the Order? I thought of Barris and the others. Of the Battalion. Of all Meira had begun implementing amongst the Inquisition. Something has to change.
But how did we make that change and make it last? To ensure to the best of our ability that we did not pave a new path that only led to the same outcome again? Had the Chantry—had the Order—truly intended to become what it had? Or was it as Meira had said to Anders: the evil in the hearts of men that had slowly corrupted it over time?
I looked at my hands. I had proven that we could be free of our lyrium chains. Not entirely, perhaps, but repeated use, a steady supply, might not actually be necessary. And if it wasn't necessary, it couldn't be manipulated against us.
"Cullen?" Mia's voice spoke, cutting through my brooding.
I stood in the doorway of the infirmary, pursing my lips at the scene before me. The gravest of the injured were inside, Rosalie an exception as she had been healed, but Bethany had wanted to keep her under close observation. She was not a mage and according to Solana could have a harder time with magical healing. Mia sat upon her cot, no screen for privacy as Bethany wanted full view of Rosalie as she worked on the others—the rest lay behind screens.
Towards the back of the infirmary, I noticed Ser Stroud and Dorian standing together at the foot of a cot. I met Elolora's eyes as she looked to me, exhausted as she was, but gave a nod of reassurance as she mouthed Mahanon's name—the male had been injured in the fighting. I could smell the magic upon the air from Bethany's healing as well as lyrium. Not only from the potions she was no doubt using to bolster her mana, but also from the man that I had not expected to find within: Rylen.
Rylen stood near Rosalie's cot on one side. On the other, near Mia, stood Blackwall. Confused, I looked at the two men. Both of whom grew fidgety at my arrival
I looked to Mia, her brown eyes looking me over, concern in their light. I came closer to the cot, noticing that Rosalie was pale, her brow knit and damp with sweat. Her arm that had been broken, the bones protruding before Meira healed her, was wrapped in bandages that bound poultices to her skin. Though all the cuts she'd suffered at the maleficar's magic were healed, the pallid tone of her skin indicated there was still damage beyond what the eye could see. I stooped down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Be strong, Rose," I murmured before whispering a prayer over her.
"So let it be," Mia breathed when I had finished.
I met her gaze. "Are you alright?" Mia nodded. "Try to get some rest. If you need anything, I shall be in my tower." She nodded again, but made no answer, so I straightened and looked between Blackwall and Rylen. Raising a brow when they didn't meet my gaze. "Captain Rylen? Ser Blackwall?"
"Commander Cullen," Blackwall greeted, bowing his head slightly.
"Commander," Rylen saluted, "Orders?"
"I'll meet with you privately," I stated, "My office. One hour."
Rylen nodded. Both men looked guilty and sheepish, eyes flicking towards…my sisters. The pieces clicked. I had noticed Blackwall seemed to always be nearby whenever Mia was present, speaking with her if he was able; but Rylen had been around Rosalie once as he carried her in his arms. I'd seen the man around women he was attracted to and it was very obvious he felt something for Rosalie. Oh, for Andraste's sake.
"I…wanted to check that the lass was alright," Rylen finally spoke, looking slightly embarrassed—like a pup that had been corrected.
"Well, I appreciate it," I said, trying not to clench my teeth, "But I ask that my sisters be left alone for the remainder of the evening," I glared at Blackwall as well, who also took on the demeanor of a scolded puppy.
Rylen ran a hand through his hair and I stiffened. The smell of lyrium wafted off of him and saliva flooded my mouth. Maker, I thought the worst of this was over. I spotted a phial on his belt, the sweet song faint as I stared at it. I have to get out of here.
"I have to go," I stated, hurriedly, before leaving the infirmary and forcing myself not to run.
Bethany passed me, a thought occurring, so I stopped her, her brown eyes looking at me as her brow quirked, "What is it, Cullen?"
"As soon as you deem her able to move, Rosalie and Mia are welcome to my quarters in the castle," I stated, "It will be safer and free up space for you in here."
"Of course," she nodded, "Once she's stronger, I'll see her moved."
Outside, there were several bedrolls upon the ground. Mages working as healers passed between them, assessing injuries, administering potions and poultices, or healing severer injuries with their magic. As I passed, my ears pricked at Anders's name.
"I heard Anders is here," one of them whispered.
"Anders? The Anders?" the other replied, "I wonder why he's here?"
"Can't be sure, but I wish I could talk to him, learn what really happened in Kirkwall."
"You don't believe what's been said?"
"I believe there's more to the story and the Chantry is covering it up."
"What about our leaders? Surely—"
"The 'Inquisition'? Led by the Right and Left Hands of the Divine? Kirkwall's previous knight-commander its commander? You honestly think they'd let the truth out?"
"Then why are we here?"
"Where else would we go?"
Nerves rolled in my gut at their words. What would Anders's presence bring about amongst the people we'd gathered? Would it strain the tentative understanding that had begun to develop between the mages and templars here? Destroy it?
No matter how hard we tried, word spread through the fortress like wildfire. And if the mages knew…so did the templars. And I knew exactly how they'd react.
Sighing, I made my way past the practice dummies to the stairs near the armory. Climbing them to the battlements, I walked through the easternmost barracks, the few soldiers within snapping to attention. I took a moment to offer them some praise and encouragement before pressing on. I hesitated outside the guest room above the Herald's Rest, recalling Bull's words to Meira and I when he'd caught us in the infirmary. Fighting the flush in my cheeks, I strained to listen; ensuring there was no illicit activities underway, I knocked and tried the door and passed through the—thankfully—empty room.
I headed for my tower, groaning as I noticed that the top of it had been taken off, my hope for solitude dashed as I was met with a crowd within. The hunger for lyrium grew to a fever pitch as the room was swarming with templars—all of which had been freshly dosed with lyrium not hours prior. Head pounding, hands shaking, saliva pooling in the back of my throat forcing me to swallow, I was frozen in place as they all turned to me. Their eyes glowing with the fresh lyrium in their blood.
I wanted to scream.
…
"And you're not going to do anything about it, Commander?" one of the templars demanded, "He's the reason we're in this mess!"
"It's mages like him that make templars necessary! Make the Circles necessary!"
I'd spent the last hour listening to the templars rage about Anders being within Skyhold, walking free. With each complaint, each argument, each angry statement, it chipped away at the tangled thing in my chest. A mess of knotted chains, emotions, questions, fears whose roots had been boring throughout my being since Kirkwall.
Though Anders's method for bringing about change could never be condoned, I couldn't deny the parallel between he and I. We'd both wrought our hatred upon the world, we'd both been forced to face the cost and consequences and we'd both joined causes that fought for the world at large in an effort to find atonement. Anger rose, the want for Anders's blood grew obvious.
Slowly, I stood, having been leaning upon my desk, arms crossed as I listened. I clenched my jaw. Something needs to change. I looked at them all as they grew quiet.
"No. The reason we're in this mess is because we forgot what it meant to be templars. The Order forgot what it stood for," I looked a few square in the face.
Barris stood, arms crossed, a pensive look on his face. Rylen had joined us, leaning against the far wall. Wilhelm stood towards the back. Laren, Asaala and Amelia were amongst the templars as well. I looked away from all the eyes upon me, heat prickling across the back of my neck.
My gaze landed on the few phials of lyrium that sat upon my desk. In the aftermath of using my abilities, I had realized there'd been no euphoria in their use, no sense of empowerment or fearlessness usually brought about in their wake. And I realized it had always been the lyrium that brought about those feelings, never the abilities themselves. The 'righteous fervor', the 'blessing from Andraste' we'd been told such feelings were was nothing more than a lie—a lie to cover over that it was nothing more than a drug-induced state of ecstasy. And despite the rage at such a revelation, I found myself desperate to taste that bliss.
"We'd grown drunk on power and at the fear of losing it, we pressed our boots upon the necks of the mages until they fought back," I clenched my fists, hating the words coming from my mouth no matter their truth.
For was it not true? Was that not the very reason I had left? Because the Order I had naively believed as a boy to be some stalwart bastion of defending the weak and innocent, standing for what was good and righteous, had slowly revealed itself to be none of those things.
"And when they fought back? We pointed at it and said, 'See?'" Nausea rolled in my gut. For what else would happen when the people vilified by the Chantry and the Order rebelled against the system put in place by those two powerful and trusted entities? "We became what they claimed we were."
"You cannot honestly think that," one of them argued.
"Am I saying the mages are innocent? Of course not," I curled my lip as I pinned the arguer down with a look, "But we are no less guilty." I paced before them.
"The Order imposed further and further restrictions upon the Circle in the wake of the rebellion in Kirkwall. Limiting mages' freedoms until they had next to none," I scowled, "Knight-Commander Meredith did the same within the Gallows before her threat was ended. Her harsh methods kept people safe, I don't deny that, but what was the cost? Where did it lead?" Silence swept through the room.
"Yes, the return of the Circles may bring peace for a time, if only because people crave stability. But how long would it last?" I stood before them. "I have watched Lieutenant-Commander Talitha help bring about camaraderie and understanding between you and the mages here. You are learning about one another, working together, fighting side by side, would you have it end with the Inquisition?"
"But Anders—"
"Is now a Grey Warden," I cut the argument off, "And we cannot touch him. We will not touch him. So long as he remains a Warden and does his duty to them, his past is his past." I looked them all in the eyes.
"Lest you desire for the Inquisition to start purging its members who also have sordid pasts to keep from hypocrisy?" They looked away at that. I placed my hands on my sword pommel to hide the shaking that had begun.
"For I would be the first to be dismissed," I looked away, "The greatest of betrayers to the vows we took as I stood by and let the Order harm our charges for the sake of safety. For the greater good. In the name of the Chantry."
"It ends with us," Barris's voice spoke and I looked to him, his green eyes burning, "It has to."
I quirked a brow. "And how would you bring it about, Barris?"
"As I said before, a new order. Mages and templars working together, focused on protecting the people," Barris stated, "No longer focused on keeping the mages locked up in Circles, but on protecting Thedas from the real threats. And Thedas being the mundane and the mage." Anger rose in his face.
"Perhaps if we had done so in Kirkwall, the city would not still be in turmoil. Perhaps if we had done so in Haven, the Divine would still be alive. Perhaps if we had done so, I would not have had to watch as a crowd tried to kill one mage because he'd newly come into his magic; having accused him of being an abomination. The man, Noam, courageously faced his would-be killers to spare those trying to protect him on our behalf. The Battalion intervened. It is only because templars were present that the crowd would listen to reason. Now, Noam is here and eager to begin his training under the Lieutenant-Commander's curriculum, grateful for not only the mages amongst the Battalion's assistance, but ours as well.
"Before that, mages and templars fought together against a Venatori threat—their mages using their magic to subjugate the people of Val Colline. We disrupted their magic and the mages put an end to them. And Ansburg? Demons plagued them. Our mages fought temptation and the demons with greater zeal than even some of us. Captain Amell chief among them with every call we answered. What right have we to deny the mages the ability to prove themselves? To also fight for the world they live in?" He clasped his hands behind his back.
"A mage leads the Inquisition. A mage leads the Battalion. Have they not led us true? Despite what we've been taught? Have the mages we fight alongside not done so with as much skill and passion? Have they not stood against the temptations we now know they face, kept their magic subject to their control and served the Maker as they aid us against those who would harm his children?" There was murmuring amongst the templars. My head was pounding, gut churning and the want for lyrium growing maddening the longer I was amongst them, but what Barris had said brought hope.
"No, magic can't be made safe," Barris continued, "But we now know that it can serve outside the Circle, alongside us. Should they fall to temptation, there's other mages and lyrium available for the ritual we all know can save them from possession."
Shame flickered through all of us. We knew such a ritual could be done, knew if it was done swiftly, if the mage's consciousness remained, the mage could be spared. Evelyn had come to Kinloch Hold seeking such aid, saving those of us still within as a means to secure it. She had returned to Redcliffe, the mages with her, and had saved the boy, Connor, from his fate. He'd come to Kinloch some time after, afraid of his magic, but had learned with a passion in order to never fall into temptation again.
But too often the ritual had been ignored—citing lack of time and resources as the reason. Citing the mage's inability to resist as a sign of their danger. Citing the "greater good" as more important. Because mages were tools. Just like we templars.
I clenched my jaw at the thought. It was more complicated than that, I knew, but what had once seemed so black and white to me was now infuriatingly grey. Something needs to change.
My mind went to all the Harrowings I'd attended, but focused on Meira's. The mages had called a demon—had actually sought out a demon—at the behest of the templars. Through the lyrium, the demon was able to possess her, because we had allowed it. And it was only through her will, through her fight, that she had not succumbed to the possession. Yes, she'd had years of training and preparation prior to the test under her tutelage, but did that justify it? She had no idea what the test was, so how prepared could she truly be? Whereas the vigil for templars was fully known about prior to our facing of it. What did the mages have to fear in the face of their Harrowing? Possession and death. For a templar during their vigil? Falling asleep. Nausea rolled in my gut once more. But what is the answer?
"Commander?" Barris's voice spoke as if far away, drawing me back to the present. He and all the others were looking at me, eyes intent.
I cleared my throat. "Something needs to change, that much is obvious, but we won't solve everything in one evening. This day has been long. The Battalion will be going on more missions soon, so I suggest you rest while you can. We can continue this discussion in the future. But for now, stay the course and Anders is not to be harmed per the Inquisitor's orders. The Maker will judge him, for we shall not."
They saluted and I offered a salute back before they left the tower.
"Well, Barris is certainly coming into his own," Rylen's spoke as he came closer.
"Why do they come to me for answers?" I growled, "Barris is their best hope. The man has more sense than I ever have—seeing right through it all."
"It's not hard to have more sense than ye, Commander."
"I'm serious, Rylen," I shot a glare at him.
He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "They come to ye because ye see what needs to become of the Order, even if ye don't realize it. Ye designed the Battalion. Ye stopped taking lyrium. Ye left. Why do ye think I followed ye, Cul? Ye saw through the keech of the Order long before any of the rest of us. Saw it in Meredith."
"You're giving me too much credit, Rylen," I turned away from him.
I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and I met his blue eyes. "No, I'm not. Ye give yerself too little."
"If I had done my duty and seen through her sooner—"
"Then all those mages ye helped—begrudgingly or no—would've ended up branded or dead," Rylen cut in, his fingers digging into my shoulder, "Ye did yer duty. Now it's time ye look to the future. They're asking ye where the Order should go."
"Why?" I implored.
"Because like it or not, Cullen, yer still a templar. Still a Knight-Commander. Barris is coming into his own, but he's still seeking direction."
"I left because the Order is broken," I urged, "I don't know how to fix it."
A smirk pulled his mouth, twisting his tattoos. "I think ye do, Cul. I think ye do."
I clenched my jaw as those thoughts I kept pushing away resurfaced. "It doesn't matter. Right now we have to focus on our people. On Samson. On Adamant."
Rylen gave a nod, allowing me to change the subject of the conversation. I spoke with him of the repairs I had in mind, writing out requisitions. He pointed out my own tower's need for repairs, so I made a modest request for it as well.
That seem to, I listened as he debriefed me on all that had occurred in the Western Approach and informed of the state of Griffon Wing Keep. I wrote out a few requisitions for the Inquisitor to sign off on in order to ensure the Keep would be prepared once we marched on the Approach. The Keep would have to act as our base of operations for as long as we remained in the Approach to deal with the Wardens and Adamant. Any final preparations would have to been seen to there. I wrote out another requisition and orders for more soldiers to be sent ahead to ensure our enemy could not cut off our supply lines as we were planning to do to them. Once that was finished, I told him of our plan to attack Sahrnia and go after Samson.
"Are ye sure that's wise, Cullen?" he questioned, "Going after Samson?"
"Wise or not, we have little choice," I stated as I continued to write, my eyes flicking to the phials of lyrium on the desk every so often as the smell of it on him made my mouth water repulsively, "If Maddox is in Sahrnia, we have to take the opportunity to get to him. If Samson is there…we have to opportunity to rob Corypheus and the Red Templars of their general."
"And your lass?"
I met his blue eyes. "I will sleep better knowing I am at her side. I nearly lost her again, Rylen. If I can aid her against this threat—and as I've already told you I have legitimate reasons for going with her—I will."
"I suppose I can't blame ye, just…don't be an idiot and get yerself killed."
A smirk pulled my mouth. "I'll try."
"I mean it, Cullen," he said in a tone I rarely heard him use. It was serious and even bordered on threatening. I met his eyes.
"Yer too good a man to lose on some blighted crusade of self-sought atonement. Ye ain't Samson and it ain't yer fault he ended up how he did. Ye don't have to hunt him down to prove it. And yer lass? Ye think she'd go on living without ye?"
I set down my quill and straightened. "I have no intention of dying, Rylen. Nor am I trying to prove anything in regards to Samson. He's a monster who serves a monster. He must be stopped."
He nodded. "Then I pray the Maker guides yer steps, Commander."
There was a knock on the door before it started to open, "I know it's no table laden with food, but I—" It was Meira. She stopped when she saw Rylen. "Oh, pardon the intrusion. I'll—"
Rylen stood and gave her a slight bow. "It's no intrusion, my lady. We've just finished. I've duties to see to, so he's all yours."
She chuckled and came the rest of the way inside. She'd changed out of her armor and cleaned up. She was now wearing leather leggings, a long knitted wool sweater and fur-lined slippers. The hair of her wig was loose as it tumbled down her shoulders. Her silver eyes flicked to me, worry in them. There was a tray of food in her hand. Though the kitchens had been damaged, the cook had been able to salvage some utensils and ware enough to prepare simple fare from what food remained in the castle's larder.
"Thank you, Captain," she offered Rylen a smile, "It's good to have you back."
"Ye'll make this no-good Captain blush, lass," he chuckled, "But it's good to see ye again as well. If yer up to it, ye'll have to regale me of yer adventure in the Oasis sometime."
"I shall, Rylen," she nodded as her eyes took in the state of the tower, "but for now, I need to see to our stubborn commander."
"Of course, my lady," he bowed again before sweeping from the room.
I let out a breath and sagged back into my chair, my legs shaking. I pinched the bridge of my nose, thoughts swirling in my pounding head. "Maker's breath," I sighed.
"Talk to me," Meira's gentle voice spoke as I heard her come closer, the tray of food clacking on the surface of the desk.
I opened my eyes to find her leaning against the desk. I said nothing, only taking one of her hands and pulling her to me so she stood between my legs. I encircled her in my arms, but she pressed me to her. My ear against her chest, I could hear the steady beat of her heart, the gentle intake of breath into her lungs. "I'm sorry for my harshness in the War Room."
Her fingers ran through my hair as she hugged me tighter. "I will be glad to have you by my side as well, Cullen. I meant only for you to be focused on what is most important."
I curled my fingers into her sweater. "You are what is most important."
She leaned back at that, her gentle fingers lifted my face to her before she cupped my cheeks. "I love you for saying that, but you and I both know we must focus on our enemy now."
I pursed my lips. "I know. And that is why I want to accompany you. We must put a stop to Samson. But his desperation makes him as dangerous as Corypheus."
"I know," she chewed on her lower lip, her brow furrowed, "From people? Can it be true?"
"I will have to ask Dagna what her thoughts are, but I believe she was close to concluding the same," I informed her.
"Maker have mercy," she breathed.
I pressed a kiss to her jaw as I held her to me. "We will stop him."
"Cullen? Are you…shaking?" she questioned. Andraste's pyre. She leaned back and looked me in the eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I'm just tired…and hungry," I said, telling her the partial truth.
Her eyes narrowed. "It's more than that." I looked away, but she took my chin in her fingers. "Don't shut me out."
I curled my fingers tighter into her sweater, burying my face in her stomach as I pulled her to me. "I want it."
Her hands ran through my hair. "Want what?"
"Lyrium."
Her hands paused. Maker do I just want to drown it all out. Slip into the sweet oblivion of the song. My skull ached, my body trembled, nausea rolled in my gut.
I didn't want to face the questions rolling around in my mind in the aftermath of Anders and the templars. I didn't want to hear the answers my mind was already formulating of its own accord. Questions I had buried so long ago. The same questions I had begun to ask before Uldred. Questions that shook me to my very core. Shook my faith.
Doubt. That is what filled me now. Made me question it all. Who was I to lead in any capacity? To order the templars? To order the mages? To order even the mundane men?
It was so much easier when someone else held the authority. When I just had to follow. But now they were turning to me. Me. I wanted the bliss of willful ignorance. Not this…burden of consequence for every decision I made resting solely upon my shoulders. Not this ever present fear.
I shuddered at the cowardly thoughts. It wasn't the truth. It was the addiction talking. And that only made me more disgusted with myself.
"Tell me," she murmured.
I pulled away, taking her hands and kissing the backs of them. "It's…shameful, Meira."
Her fingers grasped my chin and pulled it up. Her eyes were gentle and full of understanding. Maker, she's beautiful. "Tell me, Cullen."
I sighed, "I am an addict, Meira. When I used my abilities…I should have known. I should have known that it would…draw everything back out. I used them, with no more than my will. A part of me is elated at such a discovery, but…it does not change the fact that I won't be able to protect you from this demon should we come across it in Sahrnia. If I use my abilities, I'll exhaust myself." I clutched at her back, dropping my voice to no more than a whisper.
"I'm so tired…and it hurts. How do I keep you safe? How do I—"
She straddled my legs, sitting upon my lap and causing my heart to thud unevenly in my chest. Her eyes were intense, her hands cupping my face. "You do not need lyrium."
"Meira, I—"
"No," she said, her voice firm.
"But I—"
"No, Cullen."
"I have to—"
She pulled my face closer to hers. "You do not need lyrium to serve. You do not need lyrium to be strong. You do not need lyrium to be brave." Her thumbs caressed my cheeks.
"We will protect each other."
I sighed heavily and dropped my head onto her shoulder, my hands digging into her hips. "Alright."
She held me close, rubbing soothingly along the back of my neck. We sat like that for a time before she climbed off my lap. "Come on, you need to eat something."
I grabbed her hand. "I should patrol."
She gave me a hard look. "You need rest and food. Besides, Harrit is fixing your armor, you shouldn't patrol without it. And I have the Battalion on a guard rotation to fill in for the wounded soldiers."
"And I should join them," I began to stand, only for pain to shoot through me, causing my knees to buckle. A gasp of pain escaped my lips.
"Cullen!" She shouted in alarm as she caught me and pushed me back into my chair. She took my face in her hands, her eyes frantic, "What's wrong? What can I do?!"
I put a hand over hers in reassurance, panting slightly at the pain and weakness, "I'll be alright. It will pass."
She simply looked at me for a long moment before she straightened. She held her hand out. "Come with me."
…
Threading our fingers together, healing magic flowing into me and renewing my strength, she'd led me through the keep. It was quiet as everyone was either patrolling or sleeping. We'd run into a few guards, but they'd pointedly looked the other way as we'd passed.
She'd been silent the entire way, careful to keep the tray of food in her other hand balanced. Instead of going to my quarters, however, she'd led me up to hers and sat me upon the couch before she'd sat upon my lap, scooped up the bowl and offered me a spoonful of stew.
I met her eyes as I opened my mouth to speak, but her fingers pressed against my lips. She let out a deep breath and looked me square in the face, her gaze hard as she began to speak, "Since the time you were thirteen, you've been told that ingesting lyrium is the best you had to offer the world," she began, "For five years you were prepared for when you would take that initial draught. Daily subjected to physical training and indoctrination to condition you to believe that whatever came once you were put through initiation was in the name of the greater good. Was an act of devotion to the Maker and Andraste.
"That to subject yourself to lyrium—to the life of a templar—to sacrifice all you had ever dreamed of for yourself was the best you had to offer the world. That your only use was to be the bulwark between the mundane of the world and the potential threat that mages posed." I opened my mouth again to speak, but instead she shoveled the food in, which forced me to chew.
"Alongside that, you were conditioned to never question orders. To never question your superiors. To never question the Order. To give all you had to the Order. To the Chantry. On behalf of people who would never thank you and on the behalf of charges that would most likely hate you. A life of service and sacrifice, as you said." Again, she spooned food into my mouth.
"But despite all of that, you were kind to us. Wanted to treat us fairly; to treat us like people. Because what you truly wanted was to be a knight in all that it meant. To serve and protect people with honor and chivalry. Then, your life was torn apart and you learned to fear us. You grew angry and bitter and fearful. Believed all you'd been conditioned to believe. Until the corruption you ignored pointed a sword at you. And then you stood against it only to find your world torn apart for the second time. You stood amongst the rubble unsure who you even were anymore, for you had been just as much a part of that corruption as she had.
"You'd given the Order everything and it'd used you. Used you and corrupted you. But who are you without it? Who are you without lyrium? What else do you have to give? Everything that made you, you was stripped from you—twice over. First by mages and magic. Then, again by the Order and lyrium." She fed me more.
"No, you are not an innocent bystander, but you were broken. And the Order kept using you anyway." Tears slipped down her cheeks as she set aside the bowl. Her hands slid up my chest, one coming to cup my cheek. Maker do I need her touch. I leaned into her palm, covering her other hand with my own.
"Now you are here. You are free. But you still believe all you have to offer is you the templar. Lyrium. Sacrifice." She ran a thumb over the scar on my lip.
"Oh, my lion, the Inquisition does not wish to use you. Your soldiers want to follow you. Ellana and the others want to work with you." She leaned closer to me, pressing her forehead against mine.
"And I want to love you. You. As your own man. I know you're unsure who he is, but…" She leaned back, pressing her fingers over where my heart thudded.
I put my hand over hers. A single one of mine large enough to hold both of hers. I swept away the tears on her cheeks with a thumb. "Why do you cry for me, beloved?"
Starlight burned as it pierced my heart. "Because, my love, you have a soul that's been battered and bruised. You have been the best and worst of yourself. Your spirit shattered. And yet you, piece by piece, have been putting it back together with your own two hands.
"Because you thirst for righteousness, for redemption, for atonement. And you'll fight to your last breath for it—not for yourself, no, because you believe yourself unworthy, but for the Inquisition. So that it may rise where you fell." Her fingers curled into my shirt.
"Because you are strong. You are brave. And you are good."
I brought her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles. "I am none of those things, Meira. Not a half hour ago I wanted to run. To take lyrium. And I said things that hurt you. I am weak. I am a coward. I am a wretch." I tipped her chin up.
"I did not act when I should have in Kirkwall because of those very things. Inaction and willful ignorance were my sins. Prejudice. Anger. Vengeance. Hate. Burying my humanity beneath my duty." I clenched my jaw.
"Yes, I swallowed the lies I was fed—by Meredith, the Order, the Chantry. Myself. I ignored the whispers of the others. The signs. She allowed abuse of the mages. I didn't stop it. She wielded the brand wrongly. I didn't question it. She kept things from me. I didn't look into them. She called for the Right of Annulment when it wasn't even justified—not really. But I cut down mages right alongside her. She told me her design to arrest Hawke. I would have gone along with it. She'd gone mad and I didn't even realize until, as you said, she pointed her sword at me." I looked away.
"I let her puppet me because it was easy. It was easy to pass responsibility on. To be the obedient, ignorant dog." I ground my teeth. The floodgates had opened again, she'd cut to the heart of the issue. Lanced open my festering wounds and I couldn't stop the pouring out of the foul truth.
"That's all I've ever been. An obedient dog. Obedient to the Order. To the Chantry. To Meredith." I gave a bitterly derisive snort. "And what else would I be? That's what my name means: 'young hound'." I met her eyes, studying them for a time before wrapping her in my arms and burying my face in the crook of her neck.
"I have been such a fool."
Gently, she pulled away from me, taking my face in her hands.
"Cullen," she said my name with command, willing me to look at her, "None of that is true. We are mortals, whose only hope is in the Maker's grace. It is time we started acting like it." She took my chin in her fingers.
"You made mistakes, but I fear you assign yourself greater sins than you committed. You were no puppet. You did take care of the mages when you could. You saw what the Order had become. You left. You're here. You're trying." I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it. I stared at her. My heart. The mate of my soul. My equal. Her thumb ran along my cheek.
"No one is beyond redemption that seeks it."
'A mage of all things'. The Maker certainly has a sense of humor. Oh, Rutherford, you fool. Would there have ever been anyone else? For who besides a mage would ever have been able to remind you of the man you wanted to be? I swept the hair of her wig off her shoulder, cupping her cheek.
"Your grace will be my undoing, love," I murmured. She turned to kiss my palm. "I have been such a fool. But not here. Not this. Not ever again." I pulled her in to kiss her gently. "Thank you…for talking sense into me. For stopping me from considering lyrium again. I'm a stubborn fool, beloved. Forgive me."
She pressed a kiss to my forehead. "This is simply another battle, my knight. A battle of will. You've spent nearly ten years with lyrium in your life. A few of them spent using it as a means to drown out the past. It will not be so easily set aside—no matter how strong you are. But you will learn to defend yourself against this, Cullen. Give yourself time. There is nothing to forgive." She hugged me to her and I crushed her against me, pressing a featherlight kiss to her pulse.
"But that's the beauty in all this. Leaving the Order. Giving up lyrium. Leading the Inquisition. They're the first decisions you've made for yourself in nearly two decades. You've given yourself fully to the Inquisition because through it you see what could be. You work yourself to the bone for that future. You've been focused for so long on a single purpose, but now…now you can find a new one. One that is yours. But you're afraid," she met my eyes again and I swallowed thickly. There was no judgment in her face, but her starlight eyes saw right through me. Saw me as only she did.
"So very afraid because you don't know what that purpose should be. Or, you do and that's what scares you more." She was silent then, waiting for me to speak.
I was quiet, contemplating, praying. What was the call I felt? The pull? Clearing my throat, I attempted to put the thoughts I'd been desperately trying to ignore into words.
"I want…I want to help the templars find freedom. I want…to help better the lives of mages, to help them find freedom as well. Lasting freedom. But I'm not the man to make those changes for mages, to decide those things. Magic cannot be made safe, but I do not wish for my fears to compromise what is needed. But for templars…I agree with Barris. A new Order. Autonomous. Focused upon protecting the people, not guarding mages. And for those templars who wish to leave lyrium behind…a proper means to do so. But am I the man to be part of any of those things? I don't know."
"I believe it is your very mistakes that make you the best candidate."
I chortled. "I believe you are biased, love."
She pressed a kiss to my cheek. "Perish the thought."
I drew her close, kissing the corner of her mouth, before sitting her upon the couch, her dainty feet in my lap. Gently, I removed her fur-lined slippers and began kneading her soles with my thumbs. "What would you see for mages?"
"An autonomous system as well," she began before groaning softly, "Maker, that feels good." She picked up the bowl and began eating what remained.
"A college of sorts, like the fraternities within the Circle. Independent of the Chantry, but not hostile towards it. Bound together by the commonality of being mages and wanting independence, but focused upon moral conduct with magic. A place of education, but mages are free to come and go as they please—as in, they can visit their families, live at home if they're close to the college itself and once their education is finished, they can pursue careers beyond the walls of the institution. Like the college Celene built in Orlais." She turned, using magic to call the rest of the food tray over as I continued to massage her feet. She broke a roll, tore off some and held it out for me to eat.
"But in truth, I like what we've built here: the Battalion. Templars and mages truly working together. Fighting side by side. I pray it is the beginning of something more."
"As do I," I nodded, "And I too pray it doesn't end with the Inquisition." I stared off. "In truth, I believe having mages be part of the Order…may be a piece of the puzzle to finding a lasting solution."
"Do you think if the Conclave hadn't been destroyed, such an end could have been reached?"
I snorted. "Not in a thousand years."
She sighed. "I suppose you are right. It took the Inquisition. It took us."
I laced my fingers through hers. "It took you, darling." I kissed the back of her hand. "I may have proposed the Battalion, but you…you have led it. Molded it. Gave Barris and Solana the means to make it flourish."
She blushed a little. "It's far from over, but to see how they worked together today. It brought hope."
"Hope Thedas desperately needs," I agreed.
A smile tugged at her mouth. "I suppose we shall see in Emprise du Lion, won't we?" Her eyes met mine. "Did you ever believe you'd say those words? That mages and templars would fight together? Would be the hope we need?"
"Not in a thousand more years," I chortled.
"It seems I've corrupted you, Ser Cullen," she smiled impishly, "Just as Greagoir feared."
I laughed before leaning over and kissing her soundly. "So it would seem," I hummed. My mouth tugged into a wicked smirk. "But you haven't lured me to your bed quite yet, so I'd say your corruption is not wholly complete."
Her eyes flicked to the object in question as I felt her toes curl. "I don't know, we're only a short distance away, I dare say I'm close."
I chuckled against her skin as I peppered kisses along her throat. She tilted her chin up, her fingers curling into my tunic as she curved into me.
"Not yet, my love. Not yet," I murmured against her skin. She shuddered slightly.
"My earlier floundering aside, I will continue to properly court you, beloved, until we are wed. Or did I not promise such?"
She leaned way to pull at a delicate chain around her neck. Out from the "v" in her sweater came my coin, now fashioned into a long necklace.
"You did." I felt my face soften as I held the coin.
"I wanted to keep your promise close to my heart," she murmured, "For it is—it always has been—yours."
I met her eyes. "An apt setting for it," my lips twitched, "As my heart is always with you." I flashed an impish grin.
"And I'm rather fond of your breasts."
Her eyebrows shot up in shock, her mouth falling open even as it tugged into a smile, "Cul—"
I silenced her with a searing kiss, a slight moan on her tongue that sent me reeling. Breaking away, I kissed her gently before leaning back and resuming my ministrations upon her feet.
"Forgive me, that was impertinent," I smirked. There was a heavy blush on her face, she peering up at me through her lashes. We were silent for a time, until I cleared my throat.
"What was your opinion of Anders?"
"I…recognized him," she said after a time.
My brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"He…he was a mage from Kinloch Hold. He was older. Kept to himself mostly. No one knows his real name as 'Anders' is what everyone started calling him when he refused to give his true name—not that I can't relate to that. Very rarely was he actually at the tower, however. He was constantly escaping." She paused before chuckling.
"One time he escaped by swimming across Lake Calenhad. I have no idea how he succeeded at that, but he did it. Greagoir and Irving restricted our outside time for months after, even after Anders was caught a week later, but no one else was…determined enough to attempt escaping that way."
"I don't recall Anders being at the tower," I stated.
"When he escaped again…the templars put him in solitary confinement for a year," she murmured, "That was shortly before you arrived. He escaped again not long before…Uldred. I don't know how, but—"
"There were a few templars that were killed when a mage escaped," I murmured, "We sent them to the Maker, Greagoir sending a sizable party out to track down the mage responsible. He never stated who it was, but…he and the templars he sent seemed to take it all personally."
"Like I said, he was rarely at the tower," I murmured, "and when he was, he kept to himself. I believe he was close to only one person, but that mage was sent to Kirkwall and his escape attempts only increased in frequency after that."
"Do you remember anything about him?" I questioned.
She chewed on her lip. "We never interacted, but even then it was obvious he hated the Circle." Her face darkened. "And it still seems that he's a self-righteous fool."
I chortled. "Many would say the same of me, love."
She snorted. "Me as well, I suppose." She sighed. "I don't know what to make of him, to be honest."
"You said his…possession is something more. What did you mean by that?"
She looked away, chewing on her bottom lip. "It was as if the two of them were no longer separate entities—they are one and the same. There is no Anders and there is no Justice. When he is calm, they seem more separate, but when he is aggravated…they are one entity. One will."
"Why does it worry you?" She still refused to meet my eyes, worry on her brow. I took her hand, lacing our fingers. "Talk to me, love."
Her silver eyes finally met my gaze. "If they are no longer separate entities, there may be no hope of ending his possession—which I sense both of them want. And if there is no hope for them…what of me?" I rubbed my thumb along her knuckles.
"I do not think I can separate myself from what lies within me, but for us to become whole? A single entity? What will happen?" She worried her lip more.
"No, she's not a demon in the traditional sense, but she is something supernatural. Something that can take over. What if her will is stronger than mine? What if I…disappear? If bit by bit we are melding and I don't even realize?'"
I squeezed her hand. "Meira, you have the strongest will I have ever known. Do not doubt yourself." She gave me an appreciative smile. "What do you believe she is?"
She played with my fingers as she spoke, her skin soft against my callouses as the pads of her fingers traced them. "I believe…I believe she is much like Shame was to you—something born of me. But what, I am not certain. All I know is that she is tied to…him…and to you."
I furrowed my brow. "Me?"
"Purpose—Desire," she corrected.
"Oh," I murmured before looking away. I recalled as she had yelled at me in the Fade, cursing me for hurting Meira again. If Purpose as Desire had worn my face…had hurt her in such a way as to bring whatever this darkness was about…it was no wonder it despised me. I felt Meira's gentle hand on my cheek as she turned me to her. I met her loving eyes.
"I do not blame you," she breathed, "Do not blame yourself." I took her hand and kissed her palm. "In regards to Anders, there is only one way to find out if the two can be separated."
"Entering the Fade," I said for her to which she nodded.
"But only if he—if they—even desire it," she added, "For now, we must deal with the immediate: Samson."
I clenched my jaw. "It will not be an easy task, but we will see it done. And once Samson is dealt with, we must face Thedas's Grey Wardens. Her heroes of gravest sacrifice…how could they have fallen so far?"
"Do you trust Evelyn?" she questioned.
"I would be dead or mad if not for her," I murmured, "When she found me, I was in a sorry state. The things I said to her about mages, about you, were…unkind. Untoward. I regret them now." I pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"Forgive me, Meira." She nodded.
"I owe her much. Her anger towards her fellow Wardens seems genuine. And she seemed to have left a mission of great importance to set right their wrongs."
"She mentioned Alistair. His opinion of you. I saw that he and Leliana were witnesses to—"
"Yes, they were both with Evelyn in the aftermath," I stated, meeting her eyes, "Leliana has been…kind enough not to speak of it outside of a private conversation. I was…well, despite her abrasiveness towards me at times, she is kind." A smile tugged my mouth before it fell. "And Alistair…"
I began to tell her of my time in templar training. The years following leaving home. It had been a long time since I had thought of them. I recalled the homesickness, the loneliness, the rejection I felt by many of the other trainees—especially those that came from noble backgrounds as I was a commoner from a village many knew nothing about. But it set my focus upon my studies and my faith, finding distraction and purpose in the former and comfort in the latter.
After a time, a group of fellow misfits formed. Alistair, Annlise, Beval, Farris and I. We'd had each others' backs when it came to the bullying from the others. But Alistair and I were the closest, bonding over our love of the training and all it entailed, over being outcasts and our views on mages, but we never agreed on the Chantry or the Order.
"Alistair never trusted the Chantry or the Order," I told her, her head now on my shoulder, fingers playing with mine again as she listened, "I had dismissed it as resentment for being forced into becoming a templar, but now…now I wish I had paid more attention."
"What would he say?" She questioned.
"That the Order is truly just an army at the Chantry's disposal. That our abilities were far more akin to magic than they would ever want to admit, the only caveat being that they only work against mages. But what truly earned his scorn was the first Harrowing he attended. Even when we're not fully knighted templars, we are squire to a knight. We are their attendants and we go where they go to observe their duties. Including Harrowings. He had to help them put an end to the girl that was being Harrowed."
"That's awful," she murmured.
"And then when he found out about lyrium—the truth—I dismissed it again. He admitted he couldn't be certain, but he feared the whisperings enough that…well, I was happy for him when he became a Grey Warden," I stated, "Being a templar…it wasn't something he wanted." I chuckled darkly. "And now look at me. He'd happily rub it in my face that he told me so."
She breathed a chuckle. "How so?"
"The addiction. The Chantry's use and leash upon templars through that addiction. That lyrium may not even be needed to use our abilities." I frowned. "Maker, he was always smarter than I. Why didn't I listen?"
"What is it, Cullen?"
"I used my abilities with nothing more than my will, pulling on forces within myself. Like…like magic." I looked at her. "Like a mage. What if…what if he was right? If you were right?" I swallowed. "If it's true…" I chuckled bitterly. "Anders was right. Hypocrisy has always been my strength."
A gentle hand turned my face. "Cullen, it isn't true. Not fully. As you said, your abilities only work against mages and demons. My abilities work on whatever I wish."
"But how could I be so…so blind?"
"It does not change the fact that there are evil mages in world. Evil magic. Demons." Her starlight eyes flicked between my gaze. "Templars can stand against those things more effectively than a mage. Than a mundane person." Her thumb ran along my cheekbone. "You wanted to protect the innocent from those threats."
"But am I not…is the Chantry not hypocritical in doing so?" I questioned.
"You cannot harm anything that is not Fade-touched with your abilities," she stated again, "Mages and demons." I was silent as I mulled it over, until I felt her shift. My heart stuttered as she straddled my lap once more. "All we can change is the future, Cullen. The past is the past. We must let it go." I nodded after a moment. She nodded in response before curling against my chest. "You are free, my lion."
I cupped her cheek and coaxed her to look at me. "Whatever my sins, Meira, know that I will not let them keep me from you. I may stumble, but I…I cannot be without you."
"Then forgive yourself, Cullen," she murmured.
"How can I?"
"You have suffered enough," she whispered, "Been at war within yourself for far too long. When will it be enough?"
I took the coin hanging from her neck into my hand again. "What if it never is?"
She leaned back slowly, a tenderness in her eyes. "You are worthy of happiness, Cullen." She put a hand to my cheek. "You are worthy of love." She pressed her forehead to mine. "You are worthy of forgiveness. You need only to let go."
"I don't know if I can," I sighed, my breath shaky, "The dead do not forgive. And some ghosts cannot be laid to rest. But for you…I am trying."
"I know, my knight, I know. And I will be at your side every step of the way." Her lips met mine and for a moment, it all slipped away.
We kissed for a time before she slipped off my lap. She stood, her eyes meeting mine as color bloomed in her cheeks. "Stand up, please."
I quirked a brow, even as I did so. "What's this about?"
"My feet feel wonderfully relaxed. I thought I'd return the favor," she murmured, her blush darkening as she circled me.
"What do you—"
My words died as her fingers came to my shoulders, pulling my surcoat off. She draped it over the bannister before she came to my front once more. Heart beginning to race as her fingers skimmed across my chest as she unwound my vest from my sword belt before pulling that off as well for it to join the surcoat. Heat lanced through me as her hands worked to remove my sword belt, though my sword had already been removed, it upon her desk.
The laces on my leather doublet were next, she undoing those at my wrists and neck. I pulled the doublet over my head, passing it into her hands, our fingers brushing causing my skin to tingle. That done, she pressed her hand to my chest in a silent command to sit back down upon the couch. She sat beside me, but grasped my shoulders as she pressed them so I would turn my back to her.
"Is it alright if I use magic?" she asked, her voice quiet.
I turned to look at her from over my shoulder. Her face was flushed with color, but she met my gaze. "Yes," I murmured before turning back to look out the door to the balcony.
She'd gotten a fire going in the fireplace, it crackling as the flames danced. Stars shone in the sky above, clouds drifting lazily. I felt her hands through the thin fabric of my tunic as they pressed into my back, warmed by fire magic from the feel of them. She started at my neck, thumbs digging into the hard knots, the warmth in her hands leeching through and causing them to relax. She worked down my neck, to my shoulders, and slowly down my back. Then she cooled her hands with frost magic, bringing relief to my aching body as she reworked over the muscles she'd loosened.
I made a groan in my throat of approval. She did the same along my arms before she stood. I met her eyes. Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees. Her hands went to my boots, beginning to work them off.
I reached down to stop her, a sudden feeling I couldn't describe washing over me, "Meira, I can take off my own boots."
Her silver eyes met my gaze. "I know. But allow me to do it."
"Why?" I nearly choked out.
She took my hand. "Because I want to take care of you."
I squeezed her fingers before kissing her knuckles. "Alright."
I watched as she undid the straps, buckles and laces of my boots before sliding them off my lower legs and feet. She even pulled the wool socks off, folding them to set them next to my boots. That done, she stood. "Lay on your stomach."
Again, I obeyed and thanked the Maker the couch was long enough for me to stretch out. Otherwise, she might have asked me to lay upon her bed. If she did…I did not know if I would be able to leave it. Once more, I felt her hands set to work. Kneading down from my thighs to my calves.
Once finished, she helped me to sit up before taking one of my hands into her own to massage my wrist, my palm and even my fingers. Her own traced the callouses upon my skin, the scars. Some old and some new. The callouses different from my right to my left; ones from holding a sword, others from holding a shield.
A fire lit in my gut with each touch along with a thankfulness I did not know how to express. She sat upon the floor, taking one of my feet into her lap. She warmed her hands again as she pressed her thumbs into the arch of my foot and I couldn't stop the groan of relief that slipped past my lips as I slumped against the couch. I felt the pain, the soreness, the aching that had been consuming slowly subside.
She stood, walking out to the balcony, rubbing some of the potted lavender there between her hands. She sat, crossing her legs as she rested against the arm of the couch before pulling me down to lay my head in her lap. Her fingers magically cooled, she weaved them into my hair and began to massage my scalp. I could've wept at the relief it brought.
I looked up at her. "Meira—"
"Shh," she hushed me and continued to work her fingers through my hair.
She began reminiscing of our time in the tower together and her years before. I joined her, telling her of my years training to be a templar, my life within the tower when not with her. Though such tales were tinged with sadness, laughter filled her chambers as we recalled the happier moments.
As we recalled who we'd once been. Who we were hoping to be once more. And in her care, in that moment, I felt a few of my doubts quiet.
In time, she began to hum, still massaging my scalp. I couldn't fight the sleep that tugged at my eyes. I felt her shift, her lips pressing to my nose. I blinked my heavy eyelids open, my fingers curling into her hair as I pulled her down for a sound kiss.
"I love you," I whispered, "And know, that for you, I will never stop fighting for the future."
"Neither will I, Cullen," she breathed, "Sleep now, my lion."
A final time, I obeyed. Surrendering to sleep, feeling safe as I did for the first time in years.
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