WARNINGS: Graphic Violence

MEIRA

"Are you out of your mind?!" Purpose yelled, "Have a death wish?!" He threw up his hands. "The armor could have killed you! What am I saying? When it comes to him you're willing to die a thousand times over." As I ignored his rant, he calmed, looking around. "Where are we?"

I had been scanning our surroundings. We seemed to be in a small human village. Sunset was beginning to fall as the townsfolk milled about, bartering in the merchants' stalls, laughter from the small groups standing around, rambunctious children chasing each other underfoot. The village was decorated for a festival of some sort; flowers, paper streamers, and magical animals floating upon the air were everywhere.
In the middle, a fenced hill sat. Flowers decorated the patch of grass, but the focal point was a great stone statue. It was a bit strange in appearance: hands spread wide, carved to appear mid-stride and decorated with glowing crystals. The statue had a face, the emotion it displayed was quite angry.
I wouldn't have blamed it for being angry, as it was covered in spots where bird droppings had been layered thick before being scrubbed for the festival. The statue was bedecked for the celebration as well. As I looked upon it, several children were scurrying around the base.

"Come on, Matthias!" A voice called, "I bet I can beat you to the top!"

"Yeah right, I'm bigger than you!" Another voice answered back.

A boy with golden hair emerged from behind the statue before he began climbing it. Another boy, older and taller, followed behind. The younger boy reached the top, sitting upon the statue's shoulders, a triumphant smile on his round face.

"I won!" He boasted.

The older boy shoved him off, causing the younger to hit the ground with a thud. "Nope, Bran. I did."

"That's not fair, Matthias," the younger boy harrumphed.

Another boy had snuck up the back of the statue before pitching Matthias off. He was younger than the boy named Matthias, but older than the other. He grabbed the wreath of green that graced the statue's brow and sat it atop his golden head. "And I beat you both."

An older girl strode up to the rowdy boys, hands on her hips. "Cul, Bran, it's nearly time. Father and Mother are ready to find our spots. Stop clambering about the statue like Avvar barbarians." The boys with golden hair grumbled as they followed after the girl, all bearing striking similarities. Golden curls and honey-brown eyes.

It was not hard to guess what I was looking at: Cullen and his family.

"We're in Cullen's memories," I whispered as I felt a malevolent presence watching. "Be silent, Purpose. I do not want to mistakenly interfere and we are not alone."

I ensured that the piece of armor granted by Charity was still upon my skin and rendering me invisible. Purpose disappeared. I turned my attention back to the memory unfolding before me.
Together, they found their parents. Their mother, breathtakingly beautiful, greeted them with a warm smile. Her hair was auburn, eyes a warm brown with flecks of gold, freckles like constellations fell across her nose. A young girl sat upon her hip, head tucked into the crook of her mother's neck as she slept. Their father, Cullen his near spitting image, let out a boisterous laugh as they approached. Clapping Cullen on his shoulder at their approach, he congratulated him for his ruthless win.
As I looked at Cullen's parents, I saw how like his father he looked, understanding how, with a beard, he would see his father looking back. Yet, Cullen had his mother's kind eyes, high cheekbones, slightly upturned nose and the shape of her mouth. All else, his handsomeness, curls, tall frame and broad shoulders all came from his father. Beyond that, though, he had his father's shy nature and his mother's quiet strength. Stanton and Eleanor.
As they passed to find a spot amongst the rest of the village, they were greeted by all with warmth. Sitting upon the ground, they waited expectedly with the others. Night fell and with it, a man appeared. A mage as he had a staff in hand and began to work magic for them. The animals that had floated upon the air his work as he made them dance and play before he wove a tale. The tale of Dane and the Werewolf.
The mage worked his magic, ice and fire forming great warriors, beasts and battles. The village watched in awe, Cullen as enraptured as the rest. Templars stood off to the sides, relaxed and observing curiously. Even the Chantry Mother and Sisters sat upon the steps of the modest church watching the display. Once the mage finished, he wove another tale; telling of how he and King Maric fought in the rebellion.
That finished, the final display was a tale of the templars conquering the fabled Flemeth, saving a beautiful maiden from her clutches before she could be devoured by the Witch of the Wilds. The templars of the village joined in, displaying their abilities as they fought a spectral witch. Magic met lyrium, the battle a show of both the mage and the templars' skills.
This had grabbed Cullen's attention more, his back straight and focus rapt. His brother and sister kept teasing him, but he'd hush them, unable to look away. The phantom witch won the initial battle, but the lone surviving templar eventually triumphed, saving the maiden and earning her love. Finished, the mage bowed and saluted the templars who saluted in turn. Roaring applause sounded and the night carried on in merriment.
I watched as Cullen's family traveled along a road, farmland to each side of them as they road in a wagon. Cullen and his siblings were in the back of the wagon while his father and mother road in the front. Stanton held the reigns while Eleanor led the children through a chantry hymn.
Their voices quieted as they crested a hill. Smoke curled off the charred remnants of a large farmstead. Templar armor glinted in the sun, their scarlet banners unfurling in the gentle breeze. One halted Cullen's family, causing Cullen to scramble out of the back and onto the bench with his parents. His father told him to sit quietly.
Common folk stood before a group of templars, weapons in their hands. A small child stood at the templars' backs. Those with weapons in their hands demanded the child be killed, while a man and woman held each other, crying. The templars calmed the enraged people, another bending down to the child. He was frightened, tears cutting through the ash on his face.
The templar that came to his level placed a hand on his shoulder, words upon his lips. The child wiped his tears. His parents were allowed to say their goodbyes. Bravely, the child went with them, his hand in the templar's that had spoken gently to him.
Some of the templars stayed, offering to help rebuild the buildings that had been burned. Cullen looked upon it all with awe, his mouth agape with a smile displaying a few missing teeth.
Time flowed to a scene before a lake. Cullen and his siblings were playing, the brothers chasing their sisters with sticks fashioned into swords and shields. Templars and apostates. The apostates claimed their younger brother, but Cullen stood defiant. He attacked his sisters, the apostates, the eldest sister giggling as she instructed the younger as to how to properly pretend to die. Mia and Rosalie. Dramatic deaths ensued, causing them all to descend into laughter. In the midst of it, Cullen stood up, a fierce look on his youthful face.

"When I'm older, I will be a templar," he stated. "I will be a knight who protects people."

His elder sister and younger brother teased him while his youngest sister stood, fists upon her little hips. "And I will be a princess—no, a cat!" She looked at her brother, adoration in her face. "If an apostate tried to hurt me, would you save me, Cul?"

Cullen looked at her, a broad smile on his face showing a tooth missing, as he gave her a salute of promise, "I would, Rose."

His brother, Bran, ran at him. "Here I come, 'Ser Cullen', to capture the beautiful maiden and best you!"

Cullen gave a feral grin, readying his stick sword and shield, holding it with as much valor and fierceness as he did now, to face down his sister's would be captor. His brother tried to tackled him, to push him into the lake they played beside, but Cullen defeated him, sending his brother for a swim before they all devolved into laughter once more.
Darkness crept into the golden memory, cold stealing away the warmth. All peeled away, leaving Cullen alone. His laughter continued, echoing. When he realized the others had fallen silent, he opened his eyes. The shore of the lake was now empty. Silence descended for a moment before a choir of chaotic voices began shouting. The harsh melody beneath it all sung of hunger. The boy Cullen dropped his makeshift weapons to cover his ears. Falling to his knees, his eyes met his reflection in the lake. The water lapped upon the shore, until it ceased moving, the noise fading away.
Cullen dropped his hands, confusion lighting his face as his reflection met him. In the water was not Cullen as a boy; instead, it was Cullen as I had known him in the tower, eighteen. Eyes of burning blue met honey. The blue eyes widened in fear as lyrium began pouring from his mouth.
The lyrium bled into the lake, luminescent blue eating the water. The lyrium began lapping upon the shore, gentle at first, a soft song in the ebb and flow. Cullen dipped his fingers into the liquid, curious, but at his touch, the glow snuffed out, only darkness in the lake. Then the harsh melody renewed and screamed to a crescendo as the lyrium pulled away from the shore. Cullen covered his ears again, a noise of terror escaping his lips. The colorless lyrium grew into a giant wave before crashing atop Cullen, engulfing him.
I dove into the liquid and as I did the chaotic noise became melodic music. I could not describe the sound, but it was an ancient song, that called to something deep within my soul. That song was comforting in a way, but full of sorrow. The sound not unpleasant before it was swallowed up by the harsh melody. From the dark symphony, a malevolent voice spoke.

"But you didn't protect people did you? A coward and a murderer you became," the dark voice mocked. "Why did you ever become a templar? You are no hero. No knight. You know it too; regret ever setting foot upon this path. For what did it lead to? You became the villain in your tale."

A cry of anguish answered the voice, followed by a laugh like bones scraping against each other.

I found the boy Cullen struggling in the murky depths, clawing for the surface. As I neared him, hands grasped his ankles. The lake of lyrium froze, ice so bitterly cold it awoke despair within my heart. It fractured as the hands upon his ankles glowed the dark crimson of red lyrium and in horror I watched as he was dragged down. He flailed, desperately trying to reach the surface.
I swam to him, taking hold of his hands. Kicking at what held him, it let go and disappeared into the darkness below. Pulling him to the surface, we spilt upon the shore. He gasped in breaths, eyes darting about. He met my gaze, I willing him to see me.

"Who are you?" He asked, his honey eyes studying me, wary.

"A friend," I offered. "I'm here to help."

He assessed me. "You're pretty."

I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped from my lips. "Thank you."

He looked out to the water. "It keeps happening. Over and over," he murmured. "No matter what I do, wether I fight or surrender, it's the same."

"What's the same?"

"The water," he whispered. "There's something in it. No matter what I do, it drags me down." He met my eyes, defiance in his own. "I'm a good swimmer, but no matter what, I can't swim back to the surface before it grabs me. Then I wake up, back on the shore for it all to happen again."

"What about the voice? The music? Does any of that change?"

He shook his head. "No. It's been the same each time, until you came." His brow furrowed. "It says I became the villain? That can't be right. I wanted to protect people. It sounds like the villain." His gold-flecked eyes met mine, full of confusion.

My heart ached for him. Did he really believe that? That he was the villain? No hero. No knight. Beyond redemption?

"Sometimes we lose our way," Purpose spoke, appearing beside him. Cullen turned his head to the spirit. "But that doesn't mean we can't find it again."

Cullen looked back to the lake. Worry and sadness knitting his brow. "Did I hurt people, like it said?" His voice was quiet. "Did I let people get hurt?"

I swallowed hard. "You got hurt. And it…"

"It made you lose sight of what you wanted to do. Who you wanted to be," Purpose finished for me, seeming to be talking to himself as much as he was to Cullen.

"But that's no excuse," he stated. "You shouldn't hurt people just because you got hurt."

"True," Purpose nodded, "But we cannot always control what pain makes us do."

Cullen seemed to ponder this. "I suppose, but then you should apologize. And try to do better."

"That's what you're trying to do," I assured.

"Then why am I here?" He asked.

"Because you let that pain fester and turn into something else," Purpose said, "And it doesn't want to let you go."

"Pain makes us stronger," Cullen murmured, "And makes us learn. I shouldn't forget something I did wrong."

"But when we let it consume us, it makes us forget who we are," Purpose challenged.

"So you embrace it and use it to become someone new," he stated.

Purpose placed a hand on his shoulder. "Exactly."

Cullen gave a nod, tucking something into his pocket, before running to dive into the water. The demon shrieked in anger. Purpose shot me a smirk before gesturing for me to follow and disappearing. I dove in after Cullen, watching the boy swim to the bottom of the lake. Reaching the murky depths, we were unable to see. I summoned a sword of light, cutting through the dark.
Light reflected upon armor. Templar armor. Cullen lay at the bottom of the lake. He was older, his hair curled, a close-shaved goatee upon his face. His eyes were closed, as if asleep. The younger Cullen swam to him and took his gauntlet-covered hand. Pressing something into his palm, the older Cullen awoke.
Looking at each other a moment before the elder Cullen gave a nod. I watched as the younger swam back to the surface. Turning my attention to the one beside me, I met haunted eyes. They studied me a moment before they widened. He threw a hand out which I grabbed. In a flash, we'd been sucked beneath the mire.
We were pulled past piles of corpses, all screaming out for justice as they clawed at us. His grip tightened on my hand and I tried to hold on, but the dead hands pulled us apart. The cloying scents of blood and decay filled my nose and I gagged. Falling through the writhing dark, I lost all sense of direction until my feet slammed upon solid ground.
Even paving stones were beneath my boots, crimson flags snapping in a wind, the briny smell of the sea cutting through the smell of too many people. Towering above, a great sandstone building reached towards the heavens. At its base, a foreboding staircase thronged by more bronze statues.
The stairs spilled down to a courtyard. Bronze statues mounted upon sandstone pillars lined the space, telling of misery and woe, depicting abuse committed against slaves. The expressions on their faces shifting from sorrow to terror in the flickering torchlight.
As I watched, I spotted Cullen near the entrance of the courtyard. He strode out and I followed. He looked out upon the dark sea, the moons and stars dappling light upon the waves.
His face was forlorn, his eyes seeing ghosts as his shoulders curved with a burden beyond his years. In the light of night, he looked far older than he was. He leaned against a mooring post, crossing his arms over his chest. He pulled his lips into a thin line, his jaw clenching before he began speaking to himself.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just," he straightened, his posture resolute.
"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood…" He paused, his stony demeanor falling away, voice lowering to a whisper, "the Maker's will is written." He looked up to the sky, anger falling away as confusion and doubt took its place.
"These truths the Maker has revealed to me: as there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and He is our Maker. They are sinners, who have given their love to false gods."

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," another voice spoke. A woman, older than Cullen, walked up behind him. She had pale blond hair, bright blue eyes and a fierce look about her. She wore the armor of a Knight-Commander, but no helmet. Instead she wore a diadem across her brow and a hood; resembling Andraste.
"Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be name Maleficars, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond."

Cullen straightened, giving a salute. "Knight-Commander."

"At ease, Cullen," Meredith waved a hand. They stood, neither speaking. Meredith studied Cullen while he kept his eyes averted. "You disagree with my decision about Maddox?"

"Well, I…," he began, stammering a bit. Meredith gave him a look, crossing her arms. Cullen sighed. "Yes."

"Samson as well?"

"Yes," he nodded, meeting her eyes.

Arching a brow, Meredith asked, "And your reason?"

He hesitated before answering, conflicting thoughts playing out in his eyes. "What harm was Samson doing in passing letters for Maddox to his sweetheart? What harm is there in Maddox having a sweetheart?"

Meredith's lip twitched, her jaw clenching. Her eyes became cold. "What harm? Do not honey this rebellion. It is the harm he could have done you will concern yourself with. The softhearted are all too easy for the maleficarum to manipulate. A lesson I thought you had learned well." Meredith pinned Cullen down with a look. Fear clouded his eyes a moment, lost in memories, before anger took its place. He gave a nod.
Meredith, satisfied, but not finished continued, "The rising number of apostates and blood mages in Kirkwall should be proof enough we have grown lax policing our own as well as the Circles." Cullen saluted her, his stance resolute despite the flicker of doubt in his gaze.
"There will be no appeal. Raleigh Samson is no longer a knight of the Templar Order."

"I understand Samson should have known better," Cullen admitted, "But did Maddox truly deserve the brand, Meredith?"

"He corrupted the moral integrity of a templar, Cullen. Was it truly Samson's choice or did Maddox corrupt him through blood magic? And did Maddox operate out of innocence in having a lover or was he operating under the influence of a desire demon?" Meredith studied Cullen. "Have you truly learned nothing?"

At the mention of blood magic, Cullen had paled. At the desire demon, he'd gone even paler. "I just…at Kinloch the brand was never utilized as a punishment or without proof."

Meredith straightened, her gaze steel. "This is not your old tower, Captain. Greagoir may have operated with a gentle hand, but we cannot afford to do so here. Blood magic has spread through Kirkwall like a disease, this 'Mage Underground' a symptom. Just as Maddox's affair is a symptom. Just as Samson's lack of conviction is a symptom. They are corrupting us bit by bit. Is that not what happened in your tower? And what followed, Cullen? What came of a soft touch?"

Cullen mulled her words over. "I understand."

Meredith's steely countenance fell before she placed a hand upon his shoulder. "I know it is not easy, Cullen. But I watched as a monster that was once my beloved sister tore our mother apart before my eyes. Watched from behind a shield as she slaughtered those who lived amongst my childhood village before the templars who had come to take her to the Circle put her down. Perhaps if she had not been so afraid—if we had not feared the templars—if she had not resisted, she would still be alive. Along with all those the monster who took her had slaughtered. I swore I would never let that happen again." She dropped her hand.
"So when I see resistance, rebellion, complacency, I cannot help but deal harshly. I do so to prevent what inevitably comes. It may seem cruel, but is it not crueler to stand by and let evil fester? Growing until it takes the innocent and wipes out the lives of many?" She turned from him, facing the great sandstone building.
"Did Maddox deserve the brand? Perhaps not, it is true. But… what could have come if I allowed this infraction? Another templar swayed by the mages' plight? Greater rebellion? I am called, just as you are, to a higher purpose. We are to make the hard choices. We are to sacrifice for the greater good. We are to protect the innocents. And sometimes that involves harsh punishment when it seems undeserved." She turned back.
"Mages cannot be treated like people, Cullen. Their emotions cannot be indulged. Surely Tranquility is preferable to death? The Circle to monstrosity? A mage is no more than a vessel to magic, a doorway to the Fade. A doorway for demons to enter, a weapon to be wielded if a demon takes hold. And if they fall to blood magic? It could doom us all. That is what we guard against. Every weed rooted out without mercy. We must be vigilant. We cannot falter."

Cullen met her eyes. "I do not mean to doubt you, Knight-Commander."

"I know, Cullen. You are devoted to the Order, to our purpose, just as I. It is why I chose you as my Knight-Captain when the previous failed," Meredith offered. "I see in you what Wentworth saw in me: a true templar."

"But what did she really mean, hmm? Not a knight of integrity protecting the innocent, no. She covered the rotting corpse of her madness with flowery words. Tickling your ears. She meant a soldier, soulless and mindless, wielding their sword to cut down both guilty and innocent alike if it kept the monsters away. She saw your fear and rage, reflecting her own and knew she'd found her puppet.
"In you, she saw the means to her end. So she poured lyrium down your throat to help you drown out your sorrows and doubt. So drunk you were on its song and its power, you ignored the cracks in the façade. Ignored the madness underlining her words. Ignored the guilt pricking your heart. For what did it matter if a few mages suffered? It was no more than what they deserved for what they did to you."

Another agonized cry sounded in response to the demon's mockery.

I watched as Cullen tossed and turned upon his bed. Frantic murmurs, disturbed muttering. He twitched and writhed as sweat beaded upon his skin. The sheets got twisted up in his legs and it seemed to panic him more.

"Leave me," he growled in his sleep, "Leave me!"

Then he wrenched up out of the bed, eyes wide, pupils dilated, as he panted for breath. He was shaking. He pulled the covers off himself before striding to his wardrobe, digging through until he found a philter of lyrium.
He hesitated a moment, but unscrewed the lid and gulped down the contents. His eyes closed, his breathing slowed. I watched as he licked his lips. Replacing the lid, he returned the empty bottle before returning to bed. He slept fitfully, but did not wake again.

"Such an easy solution. Slaking thirst and burning away the nightmares. No wonder you were Meredith's lap dog! Too afraid to lose what kept you from reliving your nightmares. But what did drowning your sorrows do? You drowned out the plights of your charges! The people you'd sworn to protect! All the while pretending as if you were some righteous warrior instead of the lyrium addicted coward you know yourself to be!"

Now we stood in the middle of a shantytown, some time appearing to have passed, makeshift stalls thronging each side. Cullen strode amongst them, he and a small group of templars on patrol. A voice called his name and he turned. A man crept out of the shadows.
The man had once been handsome, but now he was thin and sickly, the wear and tear of a rough life plain. Long, greasy hair was slicked back, errant pieces hanging straggly about his face. A hooked nose, that had most likely been broken more than once, his most notable feature. Hazel eyes with rather large pupils darted around.

"Oy, Dog Lord," he called again.

Cullen quirked a brow. "Samson?"

"Aye, ya cheeky blighter," Samson flashed a crooked grin. "Still bendin' over for Meredith?"

Cullen's lips twitched as if he would smile before deadpanning, "As much as I can with that stick up my rear."

Samson let out a huff of a laugh. "Still haven't got that looked at, then?"

"Haven't the time," Cullen shrugged before his face fell. "How have you been holding up?"

Samson grimaced. "How well does any templar hold up outside the Order?"

Cullen gave a nod. "I am…sorry for how things played out, Sam."

"Not your fault. I was the one gambling. Got cocky. I lost," Samson bit out.
"Maddox shouldn' a paid for what I did. For that, I hope Meredith gets what she deserves." Samson let out a sigh. He assessed Cullen.
"There…is something you could do for me, Rutherford."

Cullen's brow furrowed. "What is that?"

"You know what happens when we don't get the dust," Samson stated carefully.
"You saw how I was before she dragged me out. It takes me harder than others, Rutherford. The pain…the hunger. I'm goin' mad, Dog Lord. Could you give me some? Just a little? Just to get me through?"

"You know I can't, Sam," Cullen shook his head.

Samson started to grow desperate. "Please, Cullen. I'm beggin'."

"I understand you're…more reliant upon it than others, Samson, but I cannot share my supplies," Cullen stated firmly.
"There are rumors you've become friendly with mages since you were thrown out of the Order. If I were discovered handing you even a single drop of lyrium, Meredith would have our heads on display at the Gallows."

Samson stepped towards Cullen, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I can give you a piece of the Mage Underground. I know Meredith's been sending templars to poke around lookin' for information. I can give you a healer that's been helpin' apostates; healin' and smugglin' for 'em. Their group may lead you to bigger fish."

"Samson, I'm not going to give you lyrium in exchange for information," Cullen shook his head. Cullen pulled his coin purse out from his skirts.
"Take this coin and buy passage out of here. Kirkwall is no place for a templar without a Chantry." He passed the purse to Samson before looking around.
"Or anyone else, these days."

Samson took the coin purse, staring at it for a long moment. His hand clenched around it. "I used to be somethin', you know?" His voice had turned bitter.
"I didn't deserve this. I don't. Templars deserve better than Meredith…or the Chantry." Samson met Cullen's gaze.
"Watch yourself, Dog Lord, that you don't become her." He lifted the purse to his eyes, his pupils dilating just a little more.
"In thanks for this, I'll give you the information anyway." Samson passed Cullen a slip of parchment.
"Saturdays are when they're busiest."

"Such hypocrisy," the malevolent voice laughed. "Samson expelled from the Order for passing letters while you remained. You who loved a mage. Was it charity that drove your hand to give him coin? Or was it shame? Knowing it should be you in his place? And then what did you do? Crushed that part of the Underground with such ruthlessness, without mercy.
'Dragging men, women and children to the Gallows in chains. There they suffered further under you as they were interrogated and then imprisoned. You loathsome hypocrite! No wonder you doubt that she could ever truly love you! How could a man like you ever be worthy of love?!"

Another memory formed. Shouts of anger and cries of denial sounded as people scrambled to get away. Templars were raiding a shanty. Bedrolls were spread all over, along with supplies. Men, women and children in varying states of wealth ran around.
Mothers and fathers scooping up their crying children, only for them to be ripped from their arms by the templars. Men and women screaming as their lovers were taken from them. Magic began to be cast about the room, only to be extinguished by the templars' merciless abilities.

"Detain them all, but be gentle with the children!" Cullen's voice ordered as he appeared. It was hard to witness, the anger and hatred on his face. But what made it even harder to see were his eyes; they were not their warm honey-brown color, but a blazing, pitiless blue. The blue of lyrium.
"We'll separate the mages after, the rest will be interrogated."

A templar nearby was struggling against a mother fighting to keep her son who was crying. He was yelling at her, threatening her. The boy kept making terrified sobs. Cullen noticed and strode over to them after handing off a man who'd been resisting to another templar.

"Knight-Captain, this cow won't give up her brat," the templar growled.

"Watch your mouth, templar," Cullen ordered, his voice fierce. "Go assist the others."

The other templar grumbled, "Ser."

Cullen turned to the woman, his eyes cold. She clutched her son tightly to her, trying to hush his cries. Her eyes hard, her voice harsh when she spit, "You will not take him from me."

"I am under orders, ma'am," Cullen stated.
"The Mage Underground poses a threat to this city because it is harboring apostate mages. Amongst whom are dangerous maleficarum. All we've found here must be detained and questioned. If you come willingly, I will see to it that you and your son are not separated. Resist further and harsher means may need to be utilized."

Her gaze remained hard, but she stopped fighting. "And you templars wonder why people hate you. Ripping children from their mothers all to find a few mages."

Cullen's jaw clenched, but he said nothing as he led her over to the others.
"Ruvena," he ordered a younger woman, "Get the children back to their mothers, but keep the men separate from the women and children. It is better for the mage children to be as calm as possible before we take them."

Ruvena gave a salute before seeing to her orders. Cullen turned back to the room where order was slowly forming out of the chaos. Towards the back, there was a group of young mages.
Hate was upon their faces, rage in their eyes. Two templars were ordering them to get in line with the others, but they were refusing. Exchanging glances, a few nodded.

"Templars! Be vigilant!" Cullen shouted as he unsheathed his sword, it brimming with the light of his templar abilities.

He ran for them, but it was too late. The mages produced daggers, many slicing their skin open while another started to scream before their body broke apart. Enchanted blood became tendrils, grabbing the other templars. They started screaming as the blood tore them apart. Bones snapping, skin tearing, the other mage screamed until it rose as an abomination.

"Templars! To arms!" Cullen commanded.

The others stopped what they had been doing and ran to meet Cullen. Swords or bows drawn, shields up, they faced down the abomination and blood mages. Cullen ordered the archers to focus on the maleficarum, while he and the others rushed the abomination. The cursed blood attacked, grasping on to weapons and shields, growing when it made contact.
The templars fought, blocking and cutting. Dispels, rallying cries, smites all rained down upon the mages. A few fell, arrows finding their marks. The abomination roared, charging through the line Cullen had ordered formed. The monster made to attack the people who'd been rounded up by Cullen and his men. They cried out in terror, children screaming.
Cullen rallied the others, running as fast as he could. He threw himself between the abomination and the people, the abomination roaring as Cullen slashed at it with his sword, preventing it from hurting the woman who'd spit at him that the templars were hated. Blood tore through a few of the templars that had joined him. One had stood next to Cullen, his blood splattering his armor as he died.
Rage lit in Cullen's eyes, that blue burning brighter. Slamming his blade against his shield before lifting it to the sky, he summoned a pillar of light. It blazed brightly, the abomination crying in agony, shielding its face from the light as the blood mages were stunned.
Using the distraction to his advantage, Cullen thrust his sword into the gut of the abomination before jerking the blade up, splitting the creature in half from its navel through its head. Blood spurt upon Cullen's face, but he paid it no heed. Standing a moment longer, the split sides of the creature wobbled before it fell backwards, dead.
The blood mages still stunned, he threw himself at them. Blade and shield tore through them without mercy. The last to remain fell to their knees.

"Please, ser," he begged, "Please sp—"

Cullen punched his sword through his throat. Jaw clenched, nostrils flared, he heaved in breaths, staring at the young man upon his blade until the rage in his eyes cleared. For a moment, he seemed stunned. Slowly, he eased his weapon back.
The man fell, blood pooling upon the ground around Cullen's boots. Cullen shook the blood off, wiping the blade on his skirts. He looked down at the young man, at the carnage around him. Doubt and remorse flickered across his features before he turned, wiping the blood off his mouth and sheathing his sword.
He ordered the others to chain those who remained and for them to be taken to the Gallows for questioning. He turned back to look at the bodies of the blood mages and abomination. His eyes lingering upon the young man. Mouth pulling into a frown, he left.

"How it clawed at you, the cruelty with which you tore through them. The anger driving you. Magic upon the air, crawling across your skin and fear so consumed you, you didn't realize how many you killed until you saw them lying dead. Until their blood was drying upon your armor. How it ate at you! How you questioned who was the monster! How you beseeched your Maker!"

The Fade shifted. Cullen was kneeling before a statue of Andraste. I know this. It was the same instance where I had seen him, had tried to escape Alrik. If I had only called out to him…He was still covered in blood, tears pouring down his cheeks as he wept.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written," he wept.
I knew it was with the next words, I had been so close. It was the words he had spoken and the sorrow in them that had made me stop. Seeing him, hearing his voice, not believing it was real, I had stopped; stopped when I should have kept running to him.
"My Maker, know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride. My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to your approval." He had lowered his head then, looking at the blood upon his hands, fear in his eyes.
"I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss. Trembling, I step forward, in darkness enveloped. Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

Alrik had threatened me; threatened me with Cullen's death if I called for him. So, I had remained silent, Cullen's words echoing around us. Alrik's acolytes had dragged me away, tears hot on my cheeks, body trembling in fear of what he would do to me, to the others, for my disobedience.
I had hated myself in that moment for my cowardice. I should have fought, should have screamed for Cullen, but I did nothing. Shame a bitter taste on my tongue.
My eyes looked through the memory to where I would have been, but I was not there. To Cullen, he had been so engrossed in his prayers, it had not occurred, so there was no memory of it for him. Instead, I watched as Alrik emerged from the shadows.
My body recoiled at the sight of him. Bald head; dead, blue eyes; long, gray goatee. His hands were clasped behind him, a gloating smile upon his face as his eyes burned with malice.

He schooled his expression into a cool mask and spoke, "Interesting choices from the scriptures, Knight-Captain. Pray, tell me what affects you so?"

Cullen startled, but kept his head bowed, subtly wiping the tears from his face before he met Alrik's gaze. His own face was schooled into a mask of indifference as he stood. "Nothing that matters now."

Alrik's gaze flicked over him, taking in the blood. "I heard what happened during the raid." He turned to look upon Andraste.
"Our Lady calls us to a heavy burden, Knight-Captain. To stand between the innocent and the monstrous. Mages may wear the mask of innocence, but as our Knight-Commander says, there is always a demon behind it. We cannot allow ourselves to be fooled. They are always looking for a chance to influence, to manipulate, to ensnare.
"When we spill the blood of a mage, it is because they force our hand. We are the Maker's soldiers, the blades of Andraste. It is our divine right to stand above them, as you said yourself to Lady Hawke.
"Tranquility could save them all from such fates; giving them life and purpose without the fear of possession or the temptation of blood magic. It frees them from their sin; for they stole from Heaven, but the Rite returns it to the Maker while still leaving them with their life. It humbles them, calling the mercy of the Maker upon them to spare their souls from the deserved Void."

Cullen's nose scrunched in agitation. "That is what you believe, Otto."

Alrik's eyes gleamed as he turned to Cullen. He was enjoying this. "And what do you believe, Ser Cullen?"

That malicious voice laughed. "What do you believe?"

Cullen's voice spoke, repeating his prejudicial views over and over. "Mages cannot be our friends, they must always be watched. At any time, any mage could become a monster. Mages cannot be treated like people. They are weapons. We have dominance over mages by divine right."

"Ah, but my personal favorite," the demon purred.

"Kill them all for what they've done," Cullen's voice spit.

The demon laughed, the sound making my stomach roll. "How those words corrupted you. Made you into the man who bowed before Andraste covered in blood! Sharpening your rage like a blade to turn it against those in your charge. And you did it, gladly. Drenching your hands in blood, bathing in it!"

We stood in the sandstone courtyard once more, an older, elven male in mage's robes striding towards Cullen. The elven male was both angry and worried. There was a staff at his back, indicating he was at least a senior enchanter.

"Knight-Captain," the male called.

Cullen turned to him, irritation flicking on his face. "Yes, Orsino?"

"You must put a stop to this," Orsino demanded.

"To what?" Cullen asked, his voice exasperated. His eyes were back to their honey-brown color, purplish bruises beneath them indicating how exhausted he was. They were slightly bloodshot as well.

"The mages Karras and Thrask brought back," Orsino began, "They're being abused."

Cullen scoffed. "Pray tell what are the so-called abuses this time, Orsino?"

"They're not allowed to leave their rooms, they've been denied food, the others say they're being beaten by the templars posted to guard them," Orsino explained.

"They're not allowed to leave their rooms because they've proven a flight risk already. They fled their previous Circle and will most likely attempt to do so here," Cullen retorted.
"As for denying them food or beatings, it is most certainly hyperbole. You mages are given to exaggerating your plight. Perhaps they're not getting as much food as they wish and therefore claim they get none at all? Perhaps their interrogation disturbed their delicate sensibilities and they call it abuse?"

Orsino became irate. "You can not honestly believe that?"

"Mages lie," Cullen hissed, his eyes narrowing, "This I know full well."

"As do templars, Knight-Captain," Orsino challenged, his green eyes flashing.

Cullen huffed a breath. "I will look into it, First Enchanter, but I am certain your concerns are nothing more than inflated rumors."

Orsino stared Cullen down, but said nothing as Cullen walked away. I watched as he worked his way through what I figured to be the Gallows. Walking halls, ascending stairs, until he came to a long hall. Doors lined either side, small windows with bars at their tops, imposing locks and templars standing guard assurance that what held them would not escape. The templars saluted Cullen as he approached, one removing his helmet. Karras, dark eyes, red hair and beard that meshed with his side burns, imposing stature, saluted Cullen.

"Knight-Captain," he greeted.

"Ser Karras," Cullen inclined his head, "How fare our latest additions?"

"They've got some fight in them," Karras stated, "but they'll submit soon enough."

"I have been told these mages are suffering abuse," Cullen stated, crossing his arms across his chest, "Denied food. Served beatings. Is there any truth to these accusations?"

"Of course not, ser," Karras shook his head. "They're given their rations and only punished if they try to fight or escape. If they choose not to eat or to continue rebelling, it is on them the consequences they receive."

"True enough," Cullen nodded, "Still, I would have a look at them."

Karras nodded, before going to a hook on the wall to remove a set of keys. He opened one door at a time, Cullen stepping inside to inspect and question the mages held within. The rooms were tiny, containing only a small bed, a slops bucket and room enough to move from the bed to the bucket. There were no windows within, only stone walls. The mages were dirty, thin and a few had evidence of having been hit.
Cullen asked them questions, but none told the truth of what was happening, fear in their eyes as their gaze kept flicking to Karras. I knew that fear all too well. The man was even more sadistic than Alrik and even more capable of hiding it. He was unpredictable and the fierceness of his wrath terrifying. He'd killed some of the women held by Alrik because he got too caught up in his bloodlust as he punished them.
Beyond that, upon us he tested how he could do the most damage and leave the least evidence of it. I had no doubt he used what he learned upon these mages, their wounds far worse than what Cullen's eyes saw and most hidden beneath their clothing. The final room they came upon held a young man. He was handsome, with swarthy skin and dark hair. He was laying upon the bed, eyes closed and he was unresponsive.

"What's the meaning of this, Karras?" Cullen asked, sharply.

"The boy fought, Knight-Captain," Karras explained, "Feared for my life. Found a dagger on his person once I subdued him. I sedated him for fear of him using blood magic."

Cullen's eyes flicked over the sedated mage. "You were not given sanction for such means of restraint, Lieutenant."

"I beg your pardon, Captain," Karras inclined his head, his voice feigning graveness, "Had to act hastily to avoid any deaths."

"Be that as it may," Cullen rounded on Karras, "You will not do so again. I want these mages moved to proper rooms. Tonight."

A dark look flickered on Karras's face, but he gave a nod. Bringing a fist to his chest in salute he said, "Aye, ser."

Cullen found Orsino in his rooms, sitting at his desk. Orsino's dark green eyes flicked up at his entrance. "Knight-Captain," he greeted, though his voice held no warmth.

"First Enchanter," Cullen nodded, "I found no evidence to support your claims. Exaggeration as I suspected. Some of the mages refused their rations in protest. A few tried to fight the templars, to escape, when the doors were opened to give them their rations. The templars subdued the would be rebels. They are being moved to their rooms this evening."

Orsino's lips pulled into a tight line, but he nodded. "Thank you, Knight-Captain."

"First Enchanter," Cullen said, stiffly, before turning to leave.

"Tell me, Knight-Captain," Orsino spoke, causing Cullen to pause, but not turn. "You are not unreasonable, but your views on us no less severe than Meredith's. I see how your demeanor changes when you are amongst us en masse. What made you fear us, so?"

Cullen turned slowly to the First Enchanter. There was anger in his face. Orsino's eyes held anger as well as challenge. "Because I was shown the truth of what you are." Cullen turned at that and left.

"And what is that?" Orsino called as Cullen strode out the door.

"Monsters," Cullen whispered.

"And there is the truth of it!" The demon exclaimed. "They were all monsters in your eyes! They still are!"

"No!" Cullen's voice sounded, the first I had heard him fight. His voice reverberating all around. "That is not true!"

"Is it not? We shall see!"

I followed Cullen as he patrolled a sandstone hall, bronze statues of weeping figures lining the walls. Doors sat every few feet, metal delineating the other sections along the bottom, sconces providing light. Cullen's armored boots worked their way across the crimson rugs as he moved with purpose towards an open door.
Laughter sounded as he emerged within a stone atrium. Bronze birds stood in each corner, unkempt evergreen gardens to their sides, metal benches before them. Flagstones were missing in spots, grass stubbornly growing through the stone. Numerous windows, metal bars over them, looked down upon the atrium.
In its middle, I recognized Bethany. She sat before a group of children, working magic. They laughed delightedly as animals of ice danced before them, some standing to run around, the animals chasing them. None noticed Cullen as he entered the atrium, too enamored with their fun.
I watched as Cullen froze. Numerous emotions played across his face as he watched Bethany's magic and the joy it brought the young ones. Wistfulness and fear were the strongest. Despite the fear, he hesitated to interfere. Bethany conjured a few birds, they flying around as the children chased after them. At their appearance, anger bled into his face.

"Bethany," he called, his voice harsh.

They all startled. The children stopped running, the joy gone. Bethany stood, patting the little ones in assurance as she made her way to Cullen. Her brown eyes looked him over, a dark brow quirked. "Ser Cullen?"

"I ask that you stop this and return to your assigned classroom," Cullen commanded.

"I apologize, Ser Cullen," Bethany gave a nod, "The children were restless. It was so nice out, I thought some sunshine and fresh air would do them good."

"I understand," Cullen acknowledged, "but you should have asked for permission first."

"I know," Bethany looked down. "Will I get in trouble?"

Cullen hesitated, his eyes flicking to the children. "No."

Bethany raised a brow, surprise on her face. "But I…other mages have done lesser things and have been reprimanded."

"Given that I have discovered you and you've explained the situation, I see no need," Cullen offered. He raised a brow, his lips twitching as if he were fighting a smile. "Unless you would prefer to be reprimanded?"

Bethany laughed despite herself. "No, Ser Cullen, I would not."

Cullen gave the barest hint of a smile. "I thought not." He looked her over, shifting on his feet. "To be honest, I…have not seen magic like that in some time. It was…it reminded me of someone. She was a special female; never met her like."

Bethany's brow quirked, a small smile curling her mouth. "Special? Ser Cullen…did you have a crush?"

Cullen realized he'd said too much and seemed to close himself off, but then he spoke. "I…I was in the Ferelden Circle when one of the senior enchanters there rebelled. He and his acolytes used blood magic and summoned demons. What I witnessed of mages and magic then…I would give my life to never see it again," Cullen's face hardened, "It was the foolish fancy of a naive boy. I know better now."

Despite the anger in his words, the pain of those memories was obvious on his face. Bethany saw it too, sympathy crossing her features. Cautiously, she placed a hand upon his vambrace, he flinched, but did not pull away.

Bethany met his fierce gaze, "I do not know what you faced, but I am sorry for it, Cullen."

Cullen looked at her a moment, seeming that he would rebuke her. Instead, he said nothing, simply looking at her.

"Ser Cullen," Meredith's voice spoke, reprimanding. "Mistress Bethany."

The two turned. Bethany stepped away, clasping her hands before her and looking to the ground. "Knight-Commander."

"What is the meaning of this, Ser Cullen?" Meredith questioned.

"Mistress Bethany requested some time for the children to be outside," Cullen spoke, "I escorted them out. They were just heading back inside."

Meredith glanced between the two, her gaze lingering on Bethany as it narrowed. "See the fledglings back to their classroom and stay there."

"Yes, Knight-Commander," Bethany nodded before turning to the children and ushering them back inside.

Once they were gone, Meredith turned to Cullen. "Do not let her beguile you, Captain. She is a mage, like all the others."

"I know, Knight-Commander," Cullen nodded. "You've no need to be concerned. I was fooled once. I have forsaken such feelings. To do any less would be to have them wielded against me. I consider the Champion a friend and therefore, I will look after her sister."

Meredith searched his face, her jaw clenching. "And you are good to do so, but be sure that you are watching her just as closely as all your charges. Do not be blinded by perceived friendship."

"I am not, Knight-Commander," he assured, "You asked me to keep an eye on the Champion. I do so in part by relaying how her sister is faring within the Circle. That is all."

Meredith continued to study him, but seeming satisfied, she nodded. "Come, we've business to see to."

"Lies! You forsook nothing!" The demon spit, "Your feelings for her as strong as ever and it ate at you. All you suffered because of her, all you desired, how you wanted her dead because of it! Yet, you could not cleanse your soul of her! You hid your shame! You still do! Knowing how unworthy of her you are and she has no idea! Your shame, your worthlessness culminated in finding her broken in that cell. For all your zealous piety, you might as well have put her there yourself!"

Another cry sounded. The cries were from Cullen. Those silent screams I had witnessed upon his face before entering his mind, had not been screams at all. They had been silent cries of anguish.
Anger was boiling in my gut. I needed to get to the Cullen here, to see how I could help him as Purpose had helped the last. I started walking, the even paving stones forming beneath my feet.

"Don't let it get to you," Purpose warned as he appeared next to me. "You've done well, remaining hidden, only observing as not to interfere with his memories."

"I do not believe he wants to change anything, to forget," I stated.

"And you would be right, but you're forgetting, yet again, Meira," His face was angry as his gold eyes looked around, resplendent in the armor of his imaginings, "You can shape the Fade just as much as the demon. Cullen needs to be reminded of who he is. The demon is doing the same as Pride did to you. Twisting your own thoughts and memories against you. For Pride, it was to take your best nature and corrupt it. What is this demon doing to Cullen?"

I mulled it over. "The opposite. It's taking the worst and convincing him to believe that is all he is: his worst self," I looked to Purpose who nodded. "What sort of demon is this? It's not pride, desire or despair."

Prudence appeared beside Purpose, her sapphire eyes intense as she quirked a grey brow. "And you've no thoughts on what could torment Cullen so? So much that he unwittingly created this, a demon, and allowed that same demon to grow fat off his turmoil?"

"But I've never heard of such a demon…or such a thing as creating a demon?"

Prudence looked around. "Just as limitless as mortals' emotions, so are we. All it takes is for a mortal feeling an emotion so strongly and sustaining it long enough that we are born. We survive by feeding upon what gives us form. What better way for a demon to create a food source than to summon within its prey that which gives it life?"

I looked to Purpose. "But…you did not do that to me."

He looked away, "I was under a contract. My life and power were not contingent upon your emotions. I was free to do to you as I pleased, so long as it caused you to eventually gave in to possession."

"Then what must I do here?" I questioned.

"If the demon is feeding off his belief in his worst self, what can you do?" Prudence challenged.

"Make him remember who he is," I paused, thinking of what the younger Cullen had said, "Or who he wants to be." Prudence nodded before disappearing again.

"Think, Meira, what happened in Kirkwall that would do that?" Purpose asked.

I thought over The Tale of the Champion. "When he stood up to Meredith." Thought of our conversations. "When he helped rebuild after." Thought of Cassandra. "When he left."

"Make him relive those moments," Purpose stressed.

"I have to find him first."

His gold eyes met mine, intense, as if willing me to understand. "What's a memory you both share that happened in Kirkwall?"

I clenched my jaw and breathed out my nose, knowing the answer and hating it. "Why is it always that? Always him?"

"It's what binds you two in this time," Purpose stated matter-of-factly, "A pivotal point in both your lives. Be wary, Meira, that memory may draw the demon's attention. Act as quickly as you can."

I sighed wearily. Closing my eyes, I slowed my breathing feeling out to Cullen. He was there, beneath the malice of the demon. I could sense them both, but could not reach where the demon was holding him. Yet, his spirit was woven into this place as equally as the demon's malevolent presence.
I brushed against him, pulling him to that memory. My eyes still closed, I felt the prison form around me. Those chains settling upon my wrists. Heard Cullen's rushing footsteps as he burst through the door.

"What was that?" the demon hissed, the malevolent presence searching.

Cullen walked towards me, horror in his eyes. His hands reached out and I grasped one, pulling him with me. Once I held his hand, I willed his mind to take him to those memories.
I watched as he stood in that shanty town again. He and a few templars were patrolling, searching for mages who had left the tower with Orsino. Meredith and Orsino had engaged in an explosive argument within the Gallows before Orsino had stormed off with other mages to get the Grand Cleric involved. Meredith had ordered him and the others to track any who had left and bring them back to the Gallows.
He stood in the market square searching as the ground beneath him began to quake. A great howl rent the air, causing him to turn. A magical pillar of crimson light shot into the sky, shattering the chantry that sat near the city's uppermost layer as the magic erupted. Instead of the remains falling, they were sucked into the air by a great vortex.
Hanging there a moment, forming a massive ball of debris, the entire city fell silent, as if taking a collective breath. The magic burst apart, hurtling the remains of the chantry across the sky before it rained down upon the city. Buildings toppled, fires erupted, people could be heard screaming in the distance.
I watched Cullen's honey eyes look upon the scene, his normally stony demeanor falling away. Fear, sorrow, disbelief and confusion played out upon his face. They stood there for I knew not how long, the fires and panic of the people only growing.

"Ser Cullen!" a templar called as he ran towards them, "Orders from the Knight-Commander. We are to return to the Gallows! She has called for the Right of Annulment! We are to kill any mages we meet along the way!"

Cullen turned in a flash, shock on his face, "By the Maker! Why?!"

"An apostate caused the explosion!"

"An…apostate?" Cullen questioned.

"Aye, ser. Anders."

Cullen's lips pursed, but he gave the other templar a nod. He watched as the messenger turned and ran back the way he came. Calling to his men, Cullen and the others ran through the market, only to be stopped.
A group of mages emerged from the shadows of the stalls. Evil smiles were upon their faces, eyes lit with dark rage.

"You may have razed our hideouts to the ground, may have turned the city against us, but there are a few who remain," one spoke, "We were told to look for the sign. We will not submit!"

They cut into their flesh, blood pouring upon the ground. Where crimson pooled, demons erupted. Shades and rage demons roared. The people who had been frozen staring up at the sky where they watched their chantry wiped from the face of Thedas, began to scream.
Cullen grabbed a philter of lyrium off his belt, I watched as he unscrewed the lid and drank the contents. Casting it aside, he unsheathed his blade. Rallying his men, Cullen raised his sword, the metal being bathed in white light as his eyes changed from their gold-flecked brown to burning blue. The others drew their weapons and charged.
Demons met their blades, Cullen summoning his abilities again and again. Light burst from him as he slammed sword and shield together, throwing the demons back. Small pillars of light erupted, when he raised his blade, stunning them. Sword and shield moved fluidly, extensions of his arms. Shield bashed, sword cut them down. But more demons came and they were already outnumbered.
The demons got away from them, hunting down the innocent people trying to flee. Cullen cut down another demon, only to watch as a child and his mother were torn apart by another. One of the mages laughed. A rage demon pinned Cullen down, ruthlessly attacking his shield as he kept it raised. His eyes did not leave the maleficar as he kept laughing, using the child's blood to summon yet more demons.
Cullen began to shake with wrath, the blue of his eyes burning to white. He called for the archers with him to take aim at the mages. As they took their stances, Cullen's shield blazed white, causing the demon to roar in pain as its skin sizzled at the contact. It backed away only for Cullen to smash its face with his shield before ramming his sword through it, pulling to slice it in half. The demon fell and at its demise, Cullen raised his sword to the heavens.
Pure white light slammed down upon them all, starting as a narrow pillar before erupting to encompass the whole of the market. The demons and mages were stunned, unable to move. It pulsed out in a wave as Cullen roared for the archers to fire before pounding his sword against his shield, a thin band of gleaming gold bursting out from him. The band sliced through demon, spell and mage alike. The demons screeched as they evaporated, spells dissipated and the mages collapsed as the arrows found their marks. In a single moment, he had wiped out the threat.
Teeth bared, breaths heaving, his eyes lingered upon the dead child. He turned to the innocent city-folk and yelled for them to take shelter in their homes. They took a few moments to help some who had been injured to safety before continuing on.
Cullen led his men through the streets, finding more apostates wreaking havoc. Innocent people were strewn about, dead. Corpses possessed by summoned demons. Abominations leaving carnage in their wake. Blood mages called forth more powerful demons.
Many of his men fell as they tried to take back the part of the city they were in, their focus on defending its people as they evacuated. Word was spreading through the common folk of what had happened. Rage burned through them as they called for mage blood, for justice. Getting out was their priority, but it was clear that once the initial danger was over, they would come for the Circle. Desperation and fear as they watched their city torn apart by magic driving them to blame those who shared the same curse as the one responsible.
They found a group of templars surrounding a mage from the Circle. She begged for them to leave her alone. They refused. In her fear, the Veil no doubt thinning in the aftermath of the explosion, she called a demon to her.
Cullen called for them to attack, but they were too slow as her body broke apart. Limbs stretched, skin tore, bones broke until an abomination stood before them. It charged, magic erupting wildly in its wake. Templars fell.
Cullen rushed the creature as it was distracted by others. He jumped, throwing himself atop the abomination where he drove his sword through its head and twisted. It writhed a moment before falling dead. Cullen called for them to fall in behind him as they charged through.
Blood mages, demons, abominations, Circle mages, all fought as they made their way through. Innocent people were caught in the middle, slaughtered for merely being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
With each battle, with each death, Cullen's anger turned to something else. One arduous battle after another, Cullen finally led what remained of his men to the Low Town docks. There he did not meet Meredith, but Orsino and some of the mages. Bethany was among them. At Cullen's approach, Orsino turned and stepped between him and the mages.

"Please, Ser Cullen, don't do this," Orsino pleaded, "This was not our doing. We did not want this!"

"Then why has the Knight-Commander called for the Right of Annulment?" Cullen questioned, his voice harsh.

"Because the people will demand blood. Demand retribution for the loss of the Grand Cleric to an apostate and his magic," Orsino stated, "For the act of one mage, she would kill us all."

Cullen looked at them all. There was fear in their eyes. Terror. Orsino was afraid as well as angry.

"The Knight-Commander ordered us to kill any mages we came across, Knight-Captain," one of the other templars stated under his breath, "What would you have us do?"

Cullen continued to look at the mages.

"Please, Ser Cullen," Orsino pleaded, "Don't let her do this. It isn't right!"

His grip tightening on his sword, Cullen clenched his teeth. "I will not defy the Order," Orsino and the others backed away, horror in their faces. Cullen loosened his grip. "But go, see to the other mages."

Orsino looked at him, his brow furrowing. "You're…letting us go?"

"For the interim," Cullen gave a nod, "Our priority should be Kirkwall. Demons, abominations and blood mages plague its streets, slaughtering its innocent people." He met Orsino's gaze. "Ready yourselves. Beseech the Maker."

"Then I pray we do not meet again, Ser Cullen," Orsino murmured before ushering the other mages onto a boat.

Bethany's brown eyes found Cullen's. He looked at her a few moments, his face unreadable.

"But ser, our orders were—" one of the templars began to protest.

Cullen turned to his men, "—the mages are returning to the Circle. We will fulfill our duties towards them there. Let us regroup with the Knight-Commander and see to our duties here first."

"There is no need, Cullen," Meredith's voice spoke as she and the remaining templars made their way out onto the docks. He turned, finding a discomforting gleam in her eyes as they stared after the mages floating away.

"Knight-Commander, have you truly called for the Right?" Cullen asked.

"I have," Meredith nodded, "the mages have returned to the Circle. We will meet them there. And it is there, they will meet their end."

"Surely, we should see to the city first? It is besieged by—"

"—Enough," Meredith cut him off with a wave of her hand. "This madness only ends when every mage threat has been removed. We set our blades to the Circle. We fight for the Maker, for Andraste, for her Grace! We will purge this city of the disease upon it!"

The templars were silent upon their boats, all simply waiting with bated breath for what was coming. The Right of Annulment meant the annihilation of the Circle.
Every mage. From the oldest to the youngest. It was their duty and they were sworn to carry it out. It did not matter if the Knight-Commander had called it for the actions of one apostate. The Grand Cleric and all heads of the local chantry were dead, leaving Meredith within the legal right to call for annulment. It had been called and the templars were bound to carry it out. Cullen looked to Meredith, questions in his eyes, but she kept her back to them all, her eyes unyielding as she stared down the Gallows.

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