A Templar Tee

The fire blazed in the center of the camp, its light reflecting off the tense faces of the companions. Cullen sat slightly apart, his shoulders hunched as he stared into the flames. Across from him, Alistair cleaned his sword with slow, deliberate movements, his tension visible in the sharpness of his motions.

Around the camp, the others were scattered. Sten sat stoically at the edge of the firelight, sharpening his blade. Leliana hummed softly to herself, though her eyes darted nervously between Cullen and Alistair. Adela leaned against a nearby rock, her arms crossed, her gaze flicking toward Duran occasionally.

Beyond the circle of firelight, Tamlen snarled and growled from where he was bound to a tree, the sound sending shivers through the camp.

The silence finally broke when Alistair spoke, his voice sharp.

"You know," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'm still trying to figure out what exactly you're doing here, Cullen. Are you just here to keep us all in line, or is this your idea of atonement?"

Cullen looked up slowly, his expression hard. "I'm here to fight the Blight. Just like the rest of you."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Alistair shot back. "Funny. I thought you preferred fighting people who couldn't fight back."

The air grew heavier, the crackling of the fire the only sound as the companions froze.

Cullen rose to his feet, his fists clenched. "Say that again," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Alistair stood as well, stepping closer. "You heard me. You were more than happy to help Gregoire slaughter innocent mages back at the Circle. And now you think you're one of us? Maker's breath, you're a joke."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Cullen growled, his hand moving to his sword.

"Oh, don't I?" Alistair said, stepping forward until they were inches apart. "You're not one of us, Cullen. You're just a broken Templar trying to make yourself feel better."

Cullen's sword was half-drawn when Sten's deep voice rumbled from the shadows. "If you wish to settle this, do so with steel. Words will solve nothing."

Leliana gasped. "Sten, no! This isn't—"

"Fine," Cullen snapped, pulling his sword free. "If he wants to challenge me, I'll oblige."

"Maker save me," Alistair muttered, unsheathing his own blade. "Let's see if you're as good at fighting as you are at making excuses."

The companions backed away as the two men squared off, their swords gleaming in the firelight. Leliana looked to Duran, her face pale. "You're not going to stop this?"

Duran frowned, crossing his arms. "Not yet."

Adela arched a brow at him. "Interesting leadership style. Letting your team beat each other senseless."

"They need to get this out of their system," Duran replied, though his grip on his axe tightened. "I'll step in if it goes too far."

Morrigan smirked from her spot against a tree. "How delightfully barbaric. Do carry on."

Cullen struck first, his sword slicing through the firelight. Alistair blocked the blow, their blades clashing with a metallic ring that echoed through the camp. The two circled each other, their movements charged with anger and frustration.

"You think you're better than me," Cullen snarled, pressing forward. "But you have no idea what I've been through."

"And you have no idea what I've been through," Alistair shot back, deflecting another strike. "Ostagar. Redcliffe. I've buried friends too, Cullen. But at least I don't use that as an excuse to make things worse."

Cullen's strikes grew wilder, driven by emotion, while Alistair's precision began to wear him down. Finally, Alistair feinted left, then struck, his blade knocking Cullen's sword from his hand and sending him stumbling to his knees.

Alistair stepped forward, his sword pointed at Cullen's chest. "Yield."

Cullen glared up at him, his chest heaving. Slowly, he raised his hands. "I yield."

Alistair stepped back, sheathing his blade with a sharp motion. Cullen retrieved his sword, his movements slow and deliberate.

"You're right," Cullen said finally, his voice low. "About everything. I've let my pain blind me. I've made mistakes I can't take back. But I'm here because I want to fight for something better. If that's not enough for you, then so be it."

Alistair hesitated, his anger fading. "You're not the only one trying to make things right," he said quietly. "And maybe… maybe I've judged you too harshly." He extended a hand. "Truce?"

Cullen stared at the offered hand for a moment, then took it. "Truce.

The camp was silent now.

Leliana sighed, shaking her head. "Fighting amongst ourselves… It's not what the Maker would want."

Sten grunted. "The fight is done. Words now have no meaning."

Morrigan chuckled softly. "I must say, you are a fascinating leader, Warden. Equal parts brute and philosopher."

Adela gave Duran a sidelong glance. "So, that was your plan? Let them pound out their anger and hope for the best?"

Duran shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

You're handling this better than I expected," she said.

"Someone has to," Duran replied.

In the shadows, Tamlen let out a guttural snarl, the sound a grim reminder of the challenges still ahead.