Author's Note - *casts resurrect WIP*
"They would have given you anything you wanted," Bethany remarked as she picked a careful path across the stones, well above the point at which the waves crashed in and churned among the rocks that they had spent centuries polishing to satin smoothness, "and you chose this?"
"Not anything." Devon's foot slipped on a stone, and Bethany supported her sister as she regained her balance. Normally, Devon would have negotiated the seaside landscape with ease, but it had been barely a week since the Qunari had attacked, since she had nearly been killed in her fight with the Arishok, and she was still dreadfully weak, the fair skin of her cheeks almost translucent. Magical healing could only do so much, regardless of the skill of the healer; it inevitably drew upon the reserves of the one being healed, and by the end of that titanic battle, Devon Hawke had none left. She'd been more dead than alive, teetering on the precipice when Bethany's desperate spell had pulled her back just enough to keep her on this side of the Veil.
It had been closer than the mage wanted to think about. In the days since, healing magic had been supplemented with restorative tonics and supportive care, all overseen by the best healing mages the Gallows had to offer. Nothing was spared the Champion of Kirkwall in her convalescence … except her own sister. Bethany had not been allowed even to visit Devon since she had been borne away from the Vicount's manor on a litter and Knight-Commander Meredith had ordered all mages to return to the Gallows without so much as a word acknowledging their role in fighting the Qunari. Orsino had provided updates, but Bethany had not seen her sibling until Devon had shown up at the Gallows this morning.
"I wanted them to release you from the Gallows permanently," Devon said now as they angled toward the broad, expanse of sand fringed with gently waving seagrass that spread just above the rocks, beyond all but the highest spring tides. They had found the hidden beach on their earliest explorations outside Kirkwall; Mother had loved bringing a picnic basket and spending a spring afternoon enjoying the ocean breezes, escaping Gamlen's cramped, stuffy hovel for a time. "I had to settle for a day." She cast a baleful glance over her shoulder. "And an escort."
Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford struggled over the rocks behind them, trying to maintain a distance that struck a balance between discretion and vigilance, sweating profusely in his armor, and looking decidedly ill at ease.
"He's not so bad as some of the others," Bethany spoke up in his defense. "He is never cruel to the mages."
"I suppose that qualifies as high praise in the Gallows," Devon replied with a sardonic snort, dismissing him and turning her eyes forward once more. A moment later, she spoke again, her voice pitched for Bethany's ears alone. "You think he'd like a boost to his lyrium rations?"
"Don't," Bethany pleaded, her voice equally soft. "Please." Devon had said very little to her of the lyrium smuggling venture she had undertaken with Isabela, but she had not failed to notice that the templars who seemed just a bit more protective of her than they were the other mages seemed to grow greater in number with time. She felt sure that Ser Cullen would not only refuse, but would report the whole scheme to Knight-Commander Meredith. That wasn't the whole reason for her reluctance, though. The templars that Devon was supplying lyrium to all tended to have the same look about them: hungry, desperate and more than a little ashamed. Not always, but often enough.
The lyrium hurt the templars, even as it gave them the ability to dominate the mages. Even in her short time in the Gallows, Bethany had witnessed a few of the oldest members of the order standing in confusion, having forgotten what business they were on. Two of them had vanished from the Gallows entirely; when Bethany had asked, she had been curtly told that they had retired and instructed not to ask further about them. She didn't want such things to happen to Ser Cullen, who treated her kindly without her sister bribing him with lyrium.
Devon gave her a sharp glance, and Bethany willed her cheeks not to flush. Perhaps she was nursing a bit of a crush on the handsome Knight-Captain, but there was nothing wrong with a bit of fantasy, was there? She knew well enough that she would never be permitted to have a husband and family of her own. Perhaps one day, she might have a romance with one of the other mages, but for now,she focused on her duties and stole glances at Ser Cullen while he was training in the practice yard.
"All right," her sister agreed at last, and Bethany felt relief flow through her. Devon had always been headstrong, and had no compunction with taking whatever course she decided was needed, but she had never broken her word to her sister.
They reached the sand, and Bethany selected a sunny spot, then spread the blanket from the picnic basket she'd carried while Devon leaned against one of the larger boulders.
"I'm fine," Devon said sharply when Ser Cullen moved to assist her, glaring at the templar until he backed off several yards and seated himself awkwardly in the shade of a tree. Only then did she all but collapse onto the blanket, paler than ever and trembling with exhaustion.
"You should have let him help," Bethany scolded as she knelt beside her sister, letting Devon lean into her, alarmed at how light she felt, how insubstantial. Bethany had been taller than her older sister since she had been fifteen, and Carver had towered over them both, but Devon's confidence and energy had always made her seem larger, and seeing her like this brought home to Bethany just how close she had come to losing all the family that she had left.
"I don't need help from a fucking templar," Devon growled, breathing hard. "They left you and the rest on that terrace to die."
"He wasn't one of them." She didn't like thinking of those terrifying moments: watching their escorts charge off in pursuit of a group of qunari, only to have a larger pack descend seconds later, attacking without hesitation, killing without mercy. Orsinio had tried to coordinate an attack, then order a retreat, but they had never been taught to fight together, and the conflict had quickly descended into chaos, with every mage fighting alone for their lives. She remembered facing a horned giant with an implacable expression and a pair of wicked looking daggers, remembered holding him off for a few seconds, then a white-hot flare of pain in her belly, then nothing until she woke to her sister's sobs. "I heard that he argued with the Knight-Commander about disciplining the ones that left us."
"Good for him," Devon drawled, her eyes flat. "Get me a list of the ones that were there, will you?"
"What are you going to do?" Bethany asked worriedly. She loved her sister, but Devon had always been quite ready to resort to violence, particularly where her family was concerned.
"Better you don't know, little sister."
Bethany swallowed, steeled herself. "I won't tell you, then." She wasn't trying to protect the templars, though most of them probably didn't deserve whatever Devon had in mind. The fun-loving, mischievous sister that Bethany remembered from their childhood had become steadily harder and more cynical. From their father's death to Carver's, to her own imprisonment, to their mother's murder, each loss had thickened the shell that she had built around herself and made her more jaded, more ready to take harsh vengeance. "I don't want you hurting anyone for me."
"You nearly died, Beth!" Devon exclaimed heatedly.
"So did you!" Bethany shot back in exasperation, fighting the tears that were trying to rise.
Devon snorted. "I always live, Beth," she muttered bitterly. "Whether I want to or not."
"Stop it!" The tears won, spilling onto her cheeks. "You weren't to blame for Father dying, or Carver, or Mother! You weren't to blame for the Qunari attacking! But you were to blame for nearly getting yourself killed for a bunch of stuck-up nobles who have been looking down their noses at you for years, you … you arrogant ass!" She broke down in sobs. "I told you we should leave!" she cried, not caring that Ser Cullen was in earshot.
"Hey." Devon pushed herself up and wrapped her arms around her sister. "Don't cry, Beths. I'm fine. Probably should have taken you up on that, though," she added in a lower tone.
That only made Bethany cry harder, and Devon held her, stroking her hair and making soothing sounds until the storm had passed. She had not allowed herself to cry since her sister had been taken from the Viscount's manor, afraid that acknowledging her grief and terror would cause even greater pain to befall when her sister died.
She wiped her eyes with the back of one hand and accepted the handkerchief that Devon offered her. "I'm sorry," she murmured, casting a furtive glance toward Ser Cullen, who was studiously looking back up the coast the way they had come. He really was a kind man.
"Nothing to apologize for," Devon replied, appraising eyes regarding him for a moment before turning to stare out to sea. "I didn't fight for the stuffed shirts, you know," she said, heaving a resigned sigh.
"I know." Bethany hadn't been sure she'd admit it, though. "Do you want to … talk about it?"
Her sister gave a lackadaisical shrug. "Not much to talk about, really. She fucked me over, got a shitload of people killed and Kirkwall torn apart, and now that bitch Meredith isn't even pretending that she's not running the city." She shook her head in disgust, expression hard, eyes melancholy. "I should have let the Arishok take her and go."
"You wouldn't be you if you had," Bethany told her, knowing it was true. Devon had never been able to turn away from someone in trouble. She remembered the wash of relief when Isabela had returned with that damned book, then the surge of terror when she had realized what was going to happen. And Isabela had let it.
She threw her arms around her sibling, hugging her fiercely. "She didn't deserve you," she whispered.
Devon shook her head. "She never said that she was anything but what she turned out to be," she said, then shrugged again. "Anyway, she's gone for good this time." She turned, reaching for the picnic basket. "And I'm hungry."
Bethany intercepted her, lifting the lid from the basket and beginning to lay out the repast on wooden trenchers: smoked ham, cold chicken, bread, cheese, olives, and – ah! Berry tartlets from her favorite bakery! Along with a more than generous selection of other pastries.
"We'll never be able to eat all this," she remarked, looking over the spread bemusedly.
"Midnight snacks?" Devon suggested, then glanced toward Ser Cullen. "Care to join us?" she called out, eyes gleaming with mischief as they cut back to Bethany.
Oh, Maker. She had seen that gleam before, back in Lothering; whenever a girl that Carver fancied was around, she'd be sure to call them over to chat, leaving him squirming in agony, sure that she'd say something to give it away (she never had). Bethany had never before been a target; not that she hadn't fancied any boys at Lothering, but her family had always taken great pains to keep her from being noticed much by anyone, lest the secret of her magic be revealed. It was a bit thrilling in some ways to finally be initiated into the teasing ritual, and it was good to see her sister looking more like her old self, but -
"I … yes, thank you," Ser Cullen replied after a moment of visible surprise and another moment of equally visible consideration. The butterflies that had started fluttering in Bethany's stomach at her sister's invitation abruptly grew to the size of eagles and began swooping when the Knight-Captain stood and made his way over to the blanket,seating himself on a corner that kept a respectable distance between himself and the two women.
"Wine?" Devon offered as she uncorked the small bottle that had been laid at the bottom of the basket, pouring into two pewter goblets.
"Thank you, but I have water," Ser Cullen replied, gesturing to the skin secured to his belt.
"No drinking on duty, I guess?" Devon inquired lightly, adding, "Don't worry, I won't get her drunk." Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial register as she began portioning out the food. "She got the hiccups once when she got tipsy, and every flame in the Hanged Man was dancing in time."
Bethany closed her eyes, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands to hide the blush that had risen to her hairline. "At least I never got drunk enough to dress up as a Chantry sister and visit the Blooming Rose," she replied, and immediately felt the blush deepen as Ser Cullen's eyes widened slightly. Had she really just said that?
"I lost a bet with … I lost a bet," Devon said, her easy smile not faltering in the slightest, though Bethany could see the faintest hardening in her eyes. Maker, why had she chosen that incident to come back with? But then, nearly all of Devon's escapades the last few years had involved Isabela. "And you've never been to the Blooming Rose at all, little sister." That last was for Ser Cullen's benefit, and did absolutely nothing to cool her flaming cheeks. "Besides," Devon went on with a cheeky smile at the templar, offering him a trencher that she had loaded with food, "it's not as though the Chantry requires celibacy, right?"
Now it was Ser Cullen who was blushing. "Not required," he replied with admirable equanimity, accepting the food, "but it is encouraged, to permit us to focus more fully on the Maker and our duty."
"Sounds amazing," Devon drawled. "I'd imagine you're beating recruits off with a stick." She cocked her head, regarding him with an expression that made Bethany's stomach do a slow roll of dread. "Is that why you joined up?" Not as bad as what Bethany was bracing for, but still dreadfully personal, and she was beyond grateful when Ser Cullen did not seem to take offense.
"No," he replied, seeming to weigh his words for a moment before continuing. "I wanted to help people." The words were so simply and honestly spoken, the hazel eyes so serious, that Bethany felt her breath catch.
Her sister did not seem similarly moved. "And how is that working out for you?" she inquired, the faintest edge audible beneath the words. Guilt clouded his handsome features, and for a moment, Bethany had to fight the urge to slap her sibling.
"Not as well as I had hoped," he admitted softly, his eyes distant and a little sad, "but I'll keep trying. Any good that I can do is more than was there before."
Oh, how she wanted to hug him! If all templars were only half so kind, the Circle would be a much better place! She shot a warning look at her sister, but Devon was regarding him thoughtfully.
"Fair enough," she said after a moment. They ate for a few minutes in a silence that hovered in the balance between comfortable and awkward, but when Devon began talking again, there were no more teasing or provoking questions. Instead, she was the sister that Bethany hadn't seen since Lothering: the one who could draw nearly anyone into a conversation. She had always envied Devon that ability, but today, that envy edged toward jealousy as her sister shared tales of their childhood travels in Ferelden and coaxed the templar to share stories of his own upbringing in the village of Honnleath. He smiled more in two hours than Bethany had seen since arriving at the Gallows, and even laughed a couple of times when Devon talked of the pranks that she and Carver had played on each other.
Bethany tried to keep up with the conversation, and Devon tried to include her, but she grew tongue-tied every time those hazel eyes turned to her, and when he smiled … Maker's breath! He deserved to be happy, and she couldn't give him that. Twice now in the Gallows, a mage and templar had been caught in a romance and punished: the mage being made Tranquil on suspicion of using blood magic to ensnare the templar, who despite purportedly being the hapless victim was deprived of lyrium rations for a week or more. It was too great a risk, and why would he take it for someone like her when he could have Devon?
But she didn't think she could bear it if he fell in love with Devon! It was more than jealousy; her sister had never stayed with any lover for more than a few weeks, at least until Isabela … but what if the pirate's abandonment led her to turn to Ser Cullen for comfort? Either she would tire of him and break his heart, or she would stay with him, and break Bethany's heart.
"We should probably start back." Ser Cullen's words brought her out of her silent inner quandary. He was looking up at the sun, which had just passed its zenith and started to descend. He had positioned himself on the blanket so that he could see back the way they had come, and he had frequently paused to glance in that direction.
"Before they send out search parties?" Devon inquired lightly, but she drained her cup and began packing up the leftovers. Bethany helped her, then found herself facing Ser Cullen when she began to fold the blanket. Devon leaned against a boulder, watching as they folded the blanket into thirds, then stepped closer to fold it lengthwise. The brush of his fingers against hers left Bethany's heart fluttering, and she relinquished the blanket to him, stepping back to a safer distance as he finished folding it and placed it atop the basket.
There was little conversation on the walk back. Ser Cullen resumed his position several yards behind the sisters, only drawing closer as they approached the gates of Kirkwall, leaving Bethany to wonder if he regretted being so familiar with them on the beach. Maker, what if Devon was planning to blackmail him with it?
Stop it, you ninny! she scolded herself. What was wrong with her, worrying one moment that her sister might seduce the templar, then the next that she might blackmail him?
They reached the docks and the barge that crossed from the city to the Gallows. The flat, broad vessel was kept anchored at Kirkwall, only crossing the harbor when a flag was raised at the Circle of Magi, and in addition to the sailors, four templars were assigned to the barge at all times. The four saluted the Knight-Captain, regarded Devon with the mix of wariness and resentment that had steadily become more widespread, and pointedly avoided looking at Bethany at all.
"Guess this is as far as I get to go," Devon remarked. "Thanks for chaperoning," she added to Ser Cullen, with only a hint of sardonic mockery in her smile. "You were better company than most of your mates would have been."
She'd kept her voice pitched low enough that those on the barge would not hear, but he still looked visibly discomfited by her words. "I simply did my duty," he replied gravely. "Enchanter Hawke is an exemplary member of the Circle of Magi, and the actions of you both during the Qunari attack were most courageous." Hazel eyes shifted to Bethany, and she wondered if she would ever grow accustomed to the way her heart fluttered at his regard. "You deserved greater reward than a day's outing."
"Yes, we did," Devon agreed without hesitation, then shrugged, "but I'll take what I can get." Turning from him, she stepped close to hug Bethany and press a kiss to her cheek. "He likes you, too," she whispered before stepping back with a wink and grin for her sister.
Bethany managed to keep her composure, but it was a near thing. "I'll see you on market day?" she managed with – she thought – remarkable composure.
"I'll be there," her sister promised. The marketplace in the Gallows courtyard was the only place where those not affiliated with the Circle were routinely permitted, and the one place where the sisters could meet without a direct templar escort; the ones stationed around the perimeter watched everyone closely, but would not leave their posts unless trouble of some sort appeared imminent. Their regular market day was three days hence.
She watched her sister saunter away, then schooled her expression before turning back to Ser Cullen, murmuring that she was ready to return to the Gallows. He had waited patiently for the sisters to say their farewells, but Bethany could see nothing in his face that indicated that he viewed her as anything more than another of his charges. Surely Devon was mistaken. That was all right, though. There was no sense in hoping for something that could never happen, but there was no harm in daydreaming.
She had long since learned to be content with that.
A.N. - This chapter had been lying in a half-finished coma for several years until revisiting the DA2 setting in Moments In Between & Way Leads On To Way got it to stirring again, and even then, it was refusing to fully wake up until I dragged Cullen into the picnic, which I hadn't been planning on. Muse as matchmaker.
Those of you reading Heroes Are Made already know how this particular subplot plays out. I'll be turning to that one next, but this is getting added back into the rotation & hopefully won't play so hard to get going forward.