Knight's Bloom

by R2sMuse

Summary:

As the new Viscountess of Kirkwall, Marian Hawke needed all the friends she could get. So then why was Knight-Commander Cullen avoiding her? A story of how Hawke and Cullen navigate a new friendship in the aftermath of the Battle of the Gallows, leading to an explanation for why the Viscountess ultimately left Kirkwall.

Chapter 1: Old Friends

Varric leaned back in his chair as he finished his tale of the Champion of Kirkwall's rise to power. After hours of interrogation by the Seeker of Truth, he had come to his spellbinding finish, wherein the former refugee had saved the city from a mad despot and had taken the seat of Viscountess of Kirkwall.

"So that's it. That's the whole story."

The Seeker considered his words thoughtfully. "Then Meredith turned on the Champion. She was to blame," she finally concluded. She still sounded astonished, as yet again Varric's tale had refuted many of the stories she'd heard.

"Or that damned idol was. Or Anders. Take your pick," the dwarf replied.

"Even so, if the Champion had not been there . . ."

"Then, I suppose, Meredith would be ruling the city still."

"But the Champion is not in Kirkwall any longer," she pressed, still searching for a clue as to the hero's whereabouts in the three years since Meredith's death.

"So I hear!" he said innocently. "Isn't it strange how quickly fortunes can change."

ooXXoo

"Viscountess?"

It took Marian Hawke a moment to recall that Seneschal Bran was addressing her. Again. She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to the title, let alone the responsibility of restoring order to Kirkwall following the tragic events at the Gallows two months ago.

Has it been two months already?

It was still so hard to believe that her friend Anders had brought the city to the brink of an all-out war between the mages and their Templar protectors with his "no compromise" solution of destroying the Chantry—and the Grand Cleric with it. As usual, it had been left to her, as Champion of Kirkwall, to find the compromise solution anyway. She had worked with the Templars to restore order to the city while resisting Knight-Commander Meredith's call for the Right of Annulment and saving some of the Circle mages.

Former Knight-Commander Meredith, she reminded herself.

Meredith's charred and twisted remains seemed permanently fused to the flagstones of the Gallows Courtyard, almost like a warning about the Templar commander's extreme view of mages. And the dangers of magic, which ultimately had driven her mad.

We have to find a more peaceful way for Kirkwall.

A subtle cough drew Hawke from her thoughts and reminded her that Bran was still there.

"Ahem, Viscountess? The Knight-Commander is here to see you."

Oh right. "Send him in, please, Bran."

Bran returned in short order, announcing in his most obsequious voice, "Knight-Commander Cullen, Excellency."

The newly promoted Knight-Commander of Kirkwall strode into her office, stopping just in front of her desk. Cullen nodded curtly at her. "Viscountess Hawke. You requested to see me?"

Seeing him up close for the first time since that fateful day at the Gallows, she tried to pinpoint what seemed different about him. He stood at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back while his eyes looked at some distant spot above her head. The warmth she was accustomed to seeing in his eyes when they met seemed to have been replaced by cold duty.

Is that the difference?

With his shiny new commander's armor, Cullen still looked like the model of what a Templar should be: tall, broad shouldered, classically handsome. In fact, almost too perfect. But even that had been true since she'd known him. His curly red-gold hair was still closely shorn. His amber eyes were as keen as ever, even if they seemed to be studiously avoiding eye contact. As she studied him, she noticed some kind of red abrasion at his temple, but, aside from that, he basically looked the same. Whatever that indefinable difference was, it continued to elude her.

"Bran, please leave us."

Seneschal Bran paused for a moment and then quietly bowed himself out the room, shutting the doors.

From behind her massive desk, she watched Cullen for another moment before she smiled warmly. "Thank you for coming, Cullen. Please, sit down." She motioned to the seats facing her desk. When he hesitated, she repeated, "Please?"

With a rattle of plate armor, he complied. Now that he was sitting, she could see a few chinks in this new façade. His eyes darted around uncomfortably and for a moment he seemed unsure where to rest his hands, until finally he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

"You're looking well, Cullen," she began brightly, purposefully using his name again instead of his title.

Cullen's eyes narrowed slightly, and his brow wrinkled in confusion. "And, you are as well, Excellency. What would have of me?"

"Cullen, can we please just . . . talk? Like we used to before all this?" She motioned vaguely at her new coat of arms on the wall, but also at the Viscountess office in general. "It has all been happening so quickly, what with my investiture and your promotion. Every communication between us has been through eighteen different intermediaries and has been so . . . formal. Honestly, I just wanted to sit down and see how an old friend is doing in these difficult times."

She smiled again timidly, watching to see if he recalled this echo of an old conversation. He sighed and smiled ruefully as the warmth started to resurface in his eyes.

"You're right, Hawke, it has been some time. Rebuilding has taken an astonishing amount of my attention. It almost seems like another lifetime when you used to come visit me at the Gallows, trying to cover up some mad scheme or other you'd gotten involved in."

"Cover up? I was never covering up anything. My life was an open book." Her grin belied her innocent tone. "Well, except for, perhaps, some of those apostate mages I worked with. And, initially, the fact that I'm an apostate. And, that nasty business with Ser Alrik. But, you know, he was a really bad guy, and you Templars should have taken care of him on your own."

Cullen laughed, raising his hands as if in mock surrender and finally letting go of any formality. "You really are a piece of work, Hawke. Maker knows I should have taken you to task for any number of infractions over the years.

"But, your service to the Order was also commendable, which of course is why I supported your investiture as Viscountess." His eyes slid away from hers for a moment at this. "You're what Kirkwall needs right now."

"Well, I could say the same about you, Knight-Commander. Congratulations on the promotion. I like the new armor; it suits you." She smiled and then raised an eyebrow. "But . . . where's Meredith's fancy circlet?"

He rubbed at the abrasion on his temple in chagrin. "Well, I tried to wear it, for the men. But, honestly, it chafed."

She burst out laughing as he smiled sheepishly. He continued, "It's not regulation anyway. I think Meredith just wore it to symbolize her power over the city, as a parallel to the Viscount's circlet—which I notice you are not wearing either."

She grimaced. "There's only so much of this office I can take at once. The circlet is a part of the job I also consider optional, much to Bran's disapproval. Plus, it gives me a headache."

They shared another laugh, breaking through the awkwardness at last. He watched her for a moment, seeming to really look at her for the first time.

Relieved that they were finally reconnecting, she found herself blurting, "You know, I'm really glad we're having this talk." She bit her lip and wondered if she was sharing too much. "In a way, you're the only one who can really relate to my new . . . situation. I don't know if you feel the same, but I'm finding that all these new responsibilities, with the whole city looking to us to set things back to rights, is a bit overwhelming."

She saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes which encouraged her. "How is it that you seem to deal with it with such aplomb?" she asked.

He shrugged off the compliment, coloring a little. "Well, I don't know that I'd call it aplomb. I'd probably just call it . . . necessity. It is quite a bit to handle, but . . . honestly, Hawke, I don't see anyone better to do either of our jobs. So I think we're stuck."

He smiled at her warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners and rendering her momentarily speechless. Wait . . . was he always this handsome?

With eyes twinkling, he went on. "Anyway, aren't your companions still around Kirkwall? I thought I'd heard that the Hanged Man has a packed house every night, as your dwarf friend Varric retells the heroic tale of how the Champion of Kirkwall defeated a demon-possessed Meredith. In single combat. Using only a spoon and her sparkling wit?"

She laughed at the apt description of her friend. "Yes, Varric has been playing fast and loose with the truth, as usual, discounting the legion of people who helped that day. Including our dashing new Knight-Commander." She bit her tongue, hoping she wasn't getting too familiar.

She hurried on. "Unfortunately, I rarely see him these days, or any of my old companions, for that matter. Not a lot of time for adventuring when there are disgruntled bureaucrats to appease. Plus a number of my friends are . . . gone . . . now." She heard her voice catch, the sudden resurgence of grief catching her by surprise.

Unexpectedly, Cullen understood. "I'm sorry, Hawke, about your friend, Anders. You have my sincere condolences. But, there was nothing else you could have done. Not only did he deserve to be punished for his crime, I understand that he asked you to do it. You need have no shame for your actions. It was justice."

She laughed bitterly at the unintentional irony of his words. "Erm, thank you, but I think I'd really rather not talk about him, if you don't mind. It has been hard enough dealing with the daily reminders from the Chantry clean up."

She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure, but couldn't avoid seeing in her mind the gaping crater that now scarred upper Hightown. The explosion had been so energetic that few buildings in the vicinity had escaped some kind of damage.

"How is the clean up coming along?" he asked softly.

"As well as can be expected. Most of the rubble has been removed, so the engineers have a better sense of what they have to work with. The few remaining clergy are mostly settled in to the estate we commandeered as a temporary place of worship. But, it's all going to take time. Then, just wait until the Divine's official inquest arrives in a month or two." She snorted.

"Ah, yes. More questions about what happened that day. . ." He trailed off pensively.

"On a more positive note." She bit her lip apprehensively but made herself continue. "I also wanted to thank you for your support that day. I must admit, I was rather surprised when you stood up for me against Meredith when she ordered everyone to, um, kill me. Since I rather enjoy being alive, I wanted to make sure you knew that I appreciated that." She laughed awkwardly and then resumed worrying her lower lip.

"Yes, well, it was just the right thing to do," he said brusquely, looking away again.

He stared at the wall and then gave a bone weary sigh. When he continued it was almost like he was speaking to himself. "That's the only way I can plot a new course for myself, is to do what I think is right. I said I would never again question the purpose of the Order, and I do not. I know in my heart that its purpose is to protect both the people as well as the mages. The new Circle, and any Templar who intends to remain in Kirkwall, will understand that." The steel in his tone was unyielding and strangely, made her shiver.

He turned back to her with a stubborn set to his jaw, almost as if expecting her to disagree with him. Instead, when she looked in his eyes she finally saw it. That indefinable difference.

Cullen's eyes had always had a bit of a haunted look to them, presumably from his terrible experiences when the Ferelden Circle fell to blood magic and abominations. One could always see, deep in his eyes, traces of the horrors he had survived; torture enough to break most men. While those shadows would never fully be lifted, now there was a kind of serene confidence shining from his eyes. Like somehow he had gained a certainty of purpose she had not seen in him before.

And it looks really good on him.

"I see," she mused aloud, trying to break out of her brief reverie. "Well, you know, what a coincidence! My other nefarious purpose in inviting you here today was to talk about just that."

He gave her a puzzled look. "Go on."

"I know we've talked about our different philosophies of the mages' Circle for years now. I was thinking that our views are now not so dissimilar and that we might actually have an opportunity here to make a new start. It sounds like you've been thinking the same thing. So, what I want to know is: how can I help?"

ooXXoo

When Cullen left Viscount's Keep, he was startled to find that the sun had already set. He hadn't realized that he had talked with Hawke for so long. Her ideas for re-establishing trust within the Circle mirrored his own, and he hoped, with her support, he might succeed. What a different world Kirkwall could be if the Templars and the Viscount's office actually worked together. He was excited for what this new future might hold.

Their interview had only confirmed the good opinion he'd long held of Hawke. Since her days as a refugee, she had worked tirelessly to help the people of Kirkwall. From what he had heard more recently, her activities since Meredith's demise had been no less impressive. In contrast to the hands-off approach of her predecessor, Viscount Dumar, she had been knee-deep in the city's problems even before it was her official job. Working with the Captain of the Guard, the Champion of Kirkwall had quickly put a stop to the rioting and looting. It hadn't been long before the people, from Lowtown to Hightown, were all calling for her to step into the Viscount's long vacant seat.

After the short investiture ceremony, he had seen her regularly, but distantly. This had been their first private conversation.

He could now admit to himself that he had actually been avoiding a private interview, dreading a discussion of those events at the Gallows. Despite what he had said about knowing it was right to support Hawke against Meredith, he was still uncertain about his true motives that day.

One thing had become apparent. The experience had crystalized his thinking about the Order, finally putting to rest doubts that had plagued him since his days in Ferelden. Confronting directly Meredith's concept of the Order had unexpectedly made his own views clear—views that were fundamentally different from hers.

He remembered Meredith's response to the mages who had surrendered that day. She had insisted that the risk of them being blood mages was too great, no matter their true intentions.

"And if they hope to escape by playing innocent?" Meredith sneered. "Will you accept that responsibility, Cullen?"

"Yes," he countered, feeling the weight of that responsibility keenly. "I believe that's what being a Templar is about."

"And I say we are here to protect the people. We must be judges, jailers and even executioners."

Cullen sighed. That was when he had first defied Meredith, telling his troops to listen to the Champion's call for clemency instead of Meredith's call for the mages' deaths. He had been acting his own conscience, but the alacrity with which he had taken Hawke's side had worried him. Still worried him.

Soon after, Meredith had turned on Hawke, proclaiming that the Champion must now share the mages' fate. Cullen's response had been instantaneous, standing up for Hawke and relieving Meredith of her command.

He realized that he felt guilty about it because his path in that moment had become so clear. He had felt no indecision about turning on Meredith. Of course, Meredith had soon after lost her final grip on reality, turning on all of them. Nevertheless, he wondered: had he been intent on protecting the city or Hawke herself?

Lost in these recollections, he had not noticed the highwaymen closing in until they were practically upon him.

Cursing himself for his inattention, he drew his sword and shield and sized up their numbers as they slipped out of the many shadows dotting the Hightown square. The brigands were well armed and seemed intent on his death. The fight would be desperate, but he might still prevail.

As the group rushed him with weapons drawn, he invoked his Templar talents, stunning many of his attackers with a blast of spirit energy. While they reeled away, he methodically dispatched them one by one, using both his sword and shield as weapons.

He felt something trickle down his cheek and wondered if it was sweat or blood as he waited for the next wave to close on him. He didn't have to wait long as soon their number doubled, and then tripled.

Gap-toothed ruffians grinned at him as they inched closer, feinting at his sword hand. He prepared to rush those in front of him when suddenly he heard the thunderous crack of dozens of lightning strikes raining down across the square.

Without stopping to question serendipity, he used the distraction to his advantage and cut a swath through the highwaymen even as some dropped sizzling to the flagstones. Time seemed to stand still as his focus narrowed to only his immediate assailants, trying to make every strike count. Block and thrust. Dodge and counterattack. Parry and bash. Only distantly was he aware of other combat spells flying at the edge of his sight.

Before long, the courtyard had fallen silent. Cullen warily surveyed the carnage, trying to assess from where the timely spellcasting had come and whether that presented yet another threat. Then, he saw Hawke striding toward him down the steps that led from the Keep.

Her eyes also sharp and wary, she gave him a crooked smile. "Even Hightown can get a bit rough after dark."

He met her smile with a weary one of his own, finally letting down his guard, when his body shuddered and pain exploded from his shoulder.

He looked down to see the head of an arrow protruding from the armor over his collarbone. He turned in time to see the archer, who had been hidden behind a column, receive a bolt of lightning to the chest followed closely by a massive stone projectile that knocked him off his feet. The archer was dead before he hit the pavement.

"Cullen!" Hawke ran up and stopped in front of him. "Sorry. We missed that one. How are you doing?"

"I've been better," he said, grimacing in pain. He fingered the wound, feeling that the arrowhead protruded only partway from his shoulder. He was also bleeding profusely. "I need to get back to the Gallows to get this tended. I . . . thank you for your assistance, Hawke. I think I should be in much more dire straits if you had not happened along." His voice sounded much stronger than he expected, almost like he wasn't about to vomit from the waves of pain radiating from the wound.

"It was my pleasure. And incidentally, I happened along because you're right in front of my house. Why don't you come inside and let me take care of that for you."

"No, really, I'll be fine, if I just . . . sit for a moment." Abruptly his legs gave out and he felt shock starting to settle in.

"You're losing a little too much blood there, my friend. Come on, let's get you in." She grabbed his uninjured arm, drew it across her shoulders and leveraged him up. "You Templars and your, unf, heavy armor," she grunted.

Slowly, they walked toward the Hawke estate, with him leaning on her for balance. Hawke led them inside and into what seemed to be a study. With the sweep of her arm, she cleared one of the tables and gently lowered him down on to it.

"Well, you've definitely ruined your fancy new armor," she said distractedly as she examined where the arrow had pierced through his breastplate.

A dwarf quietly followed them into the room. He seemed to take the scene in stride. "Mistress, is there anything I can get for you or the gentleman? Hot water? Bandages?"

"Ah, Bodahn, yes, both would be very helpful. Thank you."

The dwarf left to do his mistress's bidding.

"I need to get that arrow out before any healing magic will work. I'm afraid I'll have to push it all the way through. Um, this is going to hurt."

Cullen gave her a tight smile. "Thank you for the warning."

She chuckled and then positioned herself behind his wounded shoulder. "Okay, on the count of three. One . . ." And with that, she immediately pushed the arrow through without warning.

Stars shot before his eyes as the nausea rose again. While his body reeled from this, she quickly broke off the arrow head and then pulled the rest of the arrow out of his shoulder from behind.

"Now I've got to get this armor off to see the extent of the damage. Don't move."

She nimbly began to remove his breastplate and adjoining pieces, easily finding every strap and buckle without needing to ask. He willed himself to sit still by wondering how a mage knew so much about plate armor. As the noisy pieces clattered systematically to the floor, the dwarf quietly returned with the supplies.

"Just in time, Bodahn. My thanks."

Hawke had finished with the armor and was ripping his tunic away from the wound. Cullen watched her in bemusement as she clinically mopped away the blood and peered at his now bare shoulder. She followed her examination with her hands, probing and pushing while he winced.

She smiled at him again. "Well, you're lucky. The arrow seems to have broken your collarbone, but not pierced any vital organs or arteries. May I use magic to heal it?"

She seemed anxious about this point, so he nodded quickly.

"Okay, give me just a moment." A look of concentration came over her face and he felt the warmth of her magic suffuse his shoulder. The pain subsided as quickly as it had begun, and she was already cleaning off the remaining blood from his now unbroken skin.

He looked up at Hawke as she worked, searching for something to say. "I'm not sure who taught you how to count, but I believe your numbers need some work."

Her laughter rang out. "Indeed. Well, I find it's best if you don't know painful things like that are coming. It's over faster, leaving you more time to be brave. Anyway, looks like you're good as new. Although shame about your armor. And your tunic."

That brought his attention back to the fact that he was mostly undressed, causing his damnable fair skin to redden in embarrassment.

"Yes, that should make for an interesting trip back to the Gallows. Alone and half-naked." He sighed at his lack of foresight in leaving his guard behind today.

Echoing his unspoken thought, she asked, "Shouldn't the high and mighty Knight-Commander of Kirkwall have a retinue escorting him?"

Feeling a bit defensive, he responded in kind. "I could ask you the same thing. What is the Viscountess of Kirkwall doing walking home alone, after dark. In fact, now that I think of it, what are you doing here at all? Shouldn't you be living at the Keep now?"

"Oh, that's not really home. I have . . . so much history here, I can't give it up." A shadow fell briefly across her face but was as quickly gone. "But, you're probably right. I should start using my guards more. I'm so used to having friends to watch my back, I . . . forget." She trailed off, suddenly sounding sad and alone.

"I suppose it is hard for us both to change our habits. But this should be a lesson to us!" He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Especially since I was told that, er, even Hightown can get a bit rough after dark." He ended with a wink, which succeeded in making her laugh at the echo of her earlier words.

"You know, I'm not sure your breastplate will fit quite properly now, but I'm sure I could find you a tunic at least."

Just then, Bodahn returned to clear away the mess.

"Bodahn, would you be so kind as to dig out one of Master Carver's tunics?" Hawke asked. "I think the Knight-Commander is in need."

Who is Carver? He had not heard that Hawke had married. Not that it's any of your business, he told himself.

"It seems I am in your debt again, Hawke. Thank you for the, uh, unsanctioned use of magic on my behalf. If we are to forge a better relationship between Templars and mages in Kirkwall, this seems like a good start."

She laughed again. "I do hope so, Ser Knight. Although, this is all my fault, really. If I hadn't kept you at the Keep for so long, you would have been home before nightfall."

"No, no, you were right; it is my own fault for deciding against bringing my guard with me. But, you did give me some food for thought today. I must admit, my mind was so much occupied that they almost took me unawares."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I think my brush with mortality has me at a bit of a disadvantage right now, but I would really like to talk with you more about your ideas about the Circle. Perhaps we could find a time. During the day, in my office, when I'm, um, more properly dressed."

Bodahn returned then, holding a careworn linen tunic that he proffered to Cullen. "Messere."

"Thank you." He slipped the tunic on. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly, which was unusual for him given his height and broad shoulders.

"Ah, I thought that would work." Hawke grinned, sounding pleased. "Carver was about your build. I'm glad it can be put to good use."

Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Who is Carver?"

"Oh, he's my brother. My, um, dead brother. I hope that doesn't bother you. I could never seem to discard his things, even after all this time. My house is starting to turn into a museum." She said the last with a rather bitter laugh, eyes drifting away.

Despite the morbid turn of Hawke's comment, her words strangely cheered him. "Well, I thank you for its use. It will no doubt protect me quite well." He gave her a quick bow. "And, I think I should be on my way so I trouble you no further."

"Oh, it's been no trouble, Cullen. You are welcome to bleed at my house any time," she joked as they walked to the door of the estate.

He stopped in the doorway. "I will try to avoid that in the future. If you don't mind, however, may I send someone for the armor tomorrow?"

"Of course. Or I could have it delivered to the Gallows."

"No, no, it's no problem for me to retrieve it," he insisted smoothly, wondering at his motives for securing an invitation to return. Then, before he realized what he was doing, he took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "My lady, thank you and farewell."

He looked into her startled eyes and then turned and left.

Chapter 2: New Friends

Summary:

Hawke and Cullen try to connect again after the previous night’s excitement.

As dusk fell over Viscount's Keep the following day, the busy hum of citizenry and bureaucrats that typically clamored through the halls began to fade. Hawke had finally gotten to the bottom of her stack of paperwork for the day and was trying to appreciate the empty spot on her desk that Seneschal Bran would just fill up again tomorrow. Looking out the window at the darkening sky, she realized this was her chance to go home before anyone else required something of her.

A polite knock at the open door preceded Bran walking in. "If you don't need anything else, Your Excellency, I'll be leaving for the day."

Hawke tiredly rubbed her eyes. "No, Bran, there's nothing else. Please have a good night."

Bran paused for a moment, as if searching for something to say. "The final troop deployment orders have been signed?"

"Yes. So the guard should be set to deploy to Prince Vael's assistance in Starkhaven."

"I shall deliver those to the Guard-Captain in the morning then." Bran paused again.

"Is there something else, Bran?"

He cleared his throat. "I trust you will be departing soon as well, Excellency? It is getting dark. I, um, understand there was some trouble in Hightown last night."

Ah, I see. "Hmm, news travels fast. Yes, I was just getting ready to leave. Good night, Bran."

"Excellency." He inclined his head and left, closing the door behind him.

She considered briefly whether or not to take a guard, thinking about the previous night's attack. The skirmish had not been that bad, although it was lucky for Cullen she had arrived. She smirked at the notion of the handsome Knight-Commander of Kirkwall cast as the damsel in distress. But then, an unbidden thought whispered at the back of her mind. If he hadn't been there, you would have met those brigands yourself. Alone.

The thought gave her pause. It was not long ago that she could not go anywhere without at least three of her companions tagging along, which had made her all but invincible. But her new responsibilities as Viscountess meant that she was almost always alone now, with her friends returning to their own lives and concerns. Alone she could be vulnerable. She wondered if she was becoming overconfident.

Or, maybe she was just overreacting. As she replayed the evening in her mind, she decided that Cullen had never been in any real danger, despite the seriousness of the wound. She had often healed worse, and Cullen had been a model patient, without any of the complaining she used to get from Fenris and Varric. But, in contrast to the more clinical perspective she could take when treating her friends, she realized now what a compromising position the Knight-Commander had been in, half-dressed and alone at her house.

At the time, she had been too focused on the healing to really notice his bare chest. His broad shoulders. His muscular arms. The faint crisscross of old scars across his flat stomach. Unfortunately, hindsight apparently had no such distractions, making her blush at how clearly she could recall the details.

They had known each other for years now, but they were not exactly intimate friends. In fact, the reason she had invited him to her office yesterday had been to connect with him less formally and try to get to know him better as a man instead of a title. Now, over the course of one evening, she had saved his life, taken off half his clothes and generally manhandled him.

Mission accomplished, she admitted with chagrin.

She quickly tried to finish her preparations to leave when she heard a soft knock at her office door. She sighed. Not fast enough. What else could Bran want?

She tried not to sound disappointed. "Come in."

The door opened and, as if summoned by her thoughts alone, the Knight-Commander stood on the threshold. He looked comfortingly familiar—and fully clad—in his former, standard-issue breastplate she had seen him wear for years upon years. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Hawke flushed, hoping none of her recent musings showed on her face. "Of course not, Cullen. Please, come in."

"I just left a meeting with Guard-Captain Aveline and thought I would stop by. Um, without a summons this time."

She laughed. "I'm glad you did. I was just thinking about you. Ah . . . wondering how you were feeling, of course."

"Rather better than I had any right to expect after last night's excitement. Thanks to you." He nodded his head toward her.

"I hope you made it home without any trouble?"

"Yes, I made it through the city without further incident. Then, I got to enjoy one of the advantages of being Knight-Commander: no one questions you, even when you arrive at the Gallows after dark, missing half your armor."

"Ah, such abuse of power! No one said anything about it?"

"No one until my assistant this morning had to find my old breastplate. I had intended to stop by your estate tonight to retrieve the blasted armor but saw the light from your office. Is this a habit of yours then, leaving the Keep after dark?" he asked archly.

"Recently, yes, I'm afraid I've been leaving rather late. Although, like today, it's usually an accident!" Her earlier doubts about her self-sufficiency resurfaced at the same time that she realized she was babbling.

Why am I explaining myself to him? Perhaps it was because it was so unusual to have someone worry about her safety for once, instead of the other way around. It's actually kind of nice, she suddenly realized.

"Well, Your Excellency, may I offer to escort you home? While I'm sure you intended to take guards to accompany you, I think you'll find that a squad of Templar will be sufficient to protect you." He sketched a quick bow, eyes twinkling.

"I see. So the Knight-Commander is a man who actually takes his own advice and has remembered his own retinue this time," she said playfully. "How . . . sensible of you." Sensible? She groaned inwardly. So much for her skills at diplomacy.

"Hmm, yesterday I was dashing, and now I'm . . . sensible. It seems I'm going down in your estimation."

"No, no, not at all," she protested, laughing. "Sensible is something I've aspired to for some time, but continue to fall short of. No, I—" Argh, stop babbling!

"It would be sensible of me to accept your offer, with pleasure. Just let me collect my things." She tried to cover her embarrassment by taking a moment to wrap her shawl around her shoulders and grab her mage's staff.

They walked together out of her office, and as expected, she saw his retinue milling about the Keep's foyer below them. As the Templars caught sight of them descending the stair, the soldiers quickly snapped to attention.

What would Malcolm Hawke think to see his daughter escorted by Templars? She snorted in laughter. What a mad world I live in.

"Something funny?" Cullen asked.

"Honestly, I was just thinking how odd fate can be, that I am now being escorted by Templars for the purpose of protecting me instead of arresting me."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Well, in principle, that's what the Templars should be doing all along."

She looked up at him, seeing how seriously he had taken her quip. "You have changed," she said, almost to herself.

His brow furrowed. "I hope that's a good thing?"

"Oh, yes, the winds of change are typically good."

"Especially in Kirkwall, I suppose. You know how the stench can get in some quarters during the muggy summers." He looked at her obliquely, as if waiting for her inevitable bark of laughter.

Indeed, she was beginning to like this Cullen.

As she continued toward the entrance of the Keep, she suddenly felt her skin crawl. Almost like someone was watching her. She paused briefly, looking around, but saw only the guards and a few stragglers being directed out of the closing building. Must be my imagination. She let Cullen guide her through the door and out into the Hightown night.

ooXXoo

Unremarked, a hooded figure stealthily detached itself from the shadows cloaking the Keep's balcony. His dark clothing made him difficult to distinguish from the surrounding darkness. Only his bright silver eyes stood out, coldly surveying the scene below him.

He saw the mage laugh at something the Templar commander said, while he walked deferentially beside her. Then suddenly the mage paused to look around the room but then resumed walking.

Finally, she senses my gaze.

As the oddly-matched pair reached the door of the Keep, the commander opened it for both of them and, briefly touching the small of her back, guided her out. Cold silver eyes took note of the cordiality that seemed to exist between these two powerful leaders. And natural adversaries.

This bears closer examination, he thought as he faded back into the shadows.

ooXXoo

Hawke and Cullen walked down the steps from Viscount's Keep in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"So, meeting with Aveline," Hawke started. "No trouble, I trust."

"No, nothing to be concerned about. As you know, I've been working on returning a lot of the guard's jurisdiction here in Kirkwall, after Meredith's consolidation of power. As part of that, I think it's important to keep the lines of communication open with the Guard-Captain.

"So, for example, today she was doing me the courtesy of notifying me that some of our former Templars have been ending up in the brig."

"Former?"

"Any Templars who have been known to be particularly unsympathetic toward mages I have . . . re-assigned outside of Kirkwall. Those who resisted the new assignment were stripped of their commission. As a result, some have been stirring up trouble with some anti-Circle and anti-Templar rhetoric." He grimaced. "And, apparently some anti-Cullen sentiment, as some are blaming me personally."

"Anything you need help with?"

"No, it's nothing significant enough to warrant the attention of the Viscountess. Nor the mighty Champion of Kirkwall, in case you were thinking of a more direct kind of help."

Hawke was mildly embarrassed to realize that she had in fact meant direct help, since these were the sort of problems she used to handle personally all the time. Guess that's not really my job anymore.

"Well, let me know if it becomes significant. I meant what I said yesterday that I would like to do what I can to help you succeed with re-building the Circle. It sounds like you've taken some important first steps."

"You know," she continued, "I've been recalling a conversation we had—oh, it must be several years ago now—where you speculated that greater education of the mages about the protective role of the Circle would help. I think that education is really the key. The most important thing the Circle can do is train mages to use their magic wisely. And, train its Templars to treat mages fairly and respectfully, I might add."

"You remember something I said from that long ago?" he couldn't help but ask.

She colored a bit but then shrugged. "I have a good memory. Besides, it was a good idea. I think you should try to re-characterize the Circle as a place of learning, instead of a prison. Of course, changing the name could be a good first step. And, maybe add some gardens and flowers."

"Are you seriously suggesting that if I plant flowers at the Gallows, the mages will be less likely to turn to demons and blood magic?" he said incredulously, the corner of mouth turning up.

"Well, I think first you should stop calling it the Gallows and start calling it the Circle Tower or Mage's Tower or Island of Learning or . . . or Garden of Hope. I don't know. Anything that doesn't suggest a mage is going there to be hanged or something similarly gruesome." She continued in a more serious tone, "Names are powerful."

"What you say has merit, Hawke. I was also in earnest when I said I would like to continue the conversation we started yesterday afternoon and . . . last night." He said the last a bit more quietly, blushing and glancing nervously at the knights following them. "Would you have any time this week to come to my office?"

"I'd like that. I'll check my calendar and let you know."

Arriving at her estate, Cullen ordered their escort to remain outside while he followed Hawke through the entryway.

Gleaming in a pile near the fireplace was Cullen's armor. Bodahn had cleaned it of the vestiges of the battle—all but the wicked rents caused by the brigand's arrow.

Cullen picked up the breastplate and examined the gaping holes. He chuckled, wiggling his finger through one of them. "Were the holes in my shoulder this big as well?"

"Do you really want to know?" she deadpanned.

"Hmm, perhaps not." He sighed. "Well, so much for my new armor of office. I hope this isn't an omen of things to come."

Not liking the somber tone he had suddenly taken, she quickly tried to lighten the mood. "An omen of what exactly? More occasions where you'll end up half-naked at my estate?" She immediately bit her lip. Maker's Breath, Marian. Entirely too familiar.

Luckily, he chuckled again instead of running out the door at her brazenness. "I hope nothing so dire will be inflicted on you, dear lady. You came to my rescue in that arena last night as well. Thank you again for your brother's tunic. I couldn't bring it today, but I will return it soon."

"Oh, there's no need for that, Cullen. I honestly can't believe I've held on to it after all these years. So, why don't you keep it, or discard it, or whatever."

"How long has it been, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Let's see, oh Maker, about six years now? Yes, I'd say it's high time I did some house cleaning." She paused for a minute, feeling odd hovering near the foyer. "Um, Cullen, would you like to come in and sit down?"

His face betrayed a moment's surprise. "Ah, yes. I would like that. Please give me a moment."

Cullen disappeared out the door, returning shortly followed by one of his guard who scooped up the armor and promptly exited.

She led him into the study, which had returned to its normal tidiness after the impromptu sickroom it had become last night.

Right on cue, Bodahn appeared. "Good evening, Messere. You're looking well, Knight-Commander. Can I get you anything? Some hot tea, perhaps?"

Hawke raised her eyebrows in query at Cullen, who nodded. "Yes, Bodahn, that would be lovely," she said.

They settled in the chairs before the fireplace while Bodahn returned with a tray and then promptly left them alone again. Cullen removed his gauntlets while Hawke poured the tea.

"Well, six years is not so long," Cullen began. "That's not long after I first came to Kirkwall, following my transfer from Ferelden's Tower. Didn't you also come during the Blight?"

"We did, Carver, Mother and I." And Bethany, she thought sadly, thinking of her sister who had died on their way. "Near the start of the Blight. We had to leave Lothering when it was first overrun by the Darkspawn. We had been here about a year when Carver and I went on that first expedition to the Deep Roads; the one where he died and we found that damn idol that drove Meredith insane. It's strange how one event can change your life forever." She sighed, falling silent.

"Certainly a change of pace to your days of politics as Viscountess, I'll wager."

She grinned, appreciating the change of subject. "True enough, although politics is fraught with perils of its own. I also think I may die of boredom some days now that things are returning to normal. Sebastian was right, that when there are no major crises to manage, I think pretty much anyone could do this job."

"Sebastian?"

"Prince Sebastian Vael. He was my lifeline when I first started this position. He was at my side, coaching me every step of the way. I'm sure I would have run for the hills screaming without him those first weeks."

"Ah, the exiled prince of Starkhaven. He has begun his bid to retake the throne? I heard that Kirkwall is sending troops."

"We are. I'm officially sending a contingent of Kirkwall's guard to Sebastian. I've also personally contracted with the Red Iron mercenaries for additional support."

"Mercenaries?" he said in surprise.

"I have some personal ties to the Red Iron, and their leader owes me some favors. Honestly, I think Sebastian is going to need all the help he can get. On a less personal note, I think it's in Kirkwall's best interests to help stabilize Starkhaven."

"Interesting," Cullen mused. "The balance of power in the Free Marches has always depended on the cities each working autonomously. Some might consider that meddling."

"My concern is that Kirkwall and Starkhaven may both be in jeopardy. Recent years have seen a number of destabilizing elements. The Qunari invasion in Kirkwall. The fall of our Chantry. The subsequent battle and the ensuing chaos. The leadership vacuum when the most powerful positions in Kirkwall were all simultaneously vacant. And, then there's the violent coup in Starkhaven, instigated with the help of a demon, and there's the weak usurper who now sits on their throne.

"With two of the three major powers in the Free Marches weakened, I worry that Tantervale, and even some of the smaller cities, may see this as an opportunity. I think we've taken the appropriate steps to restore Kirkwall, but we may need an ally. Starkhaven will as well."

She laughed at her own pedantic lecture. "That's a long-winded way of saying that a strong Starkhaven may be important for a strong Kirkwall. Of course, to be perfectly frank, some of this rationalization is post facto for me. Sebastian is my friend and I support his cause. But, it's nice to have my personal and professional goals aligned for once."

Cullen's brow wrinkled as he seemed to consider her words.

Does he disapprove?

"So, you believe that Sebastian Vael is the right man to lead Starkhaven?" he finally asked.

Hawke snorted. "Have you met Sebastian?"

"No, I have not had the pleasure. All I know is that he is a noble third son who became a Chantry brother but has since broken his vows to pursue vengeance for the coup that murdered his family."

"When you put it that way, it doesn't paint a very flattering picture. The thing to know about Sebastian is that he chooses to live his life by Andraste's tenets, whether or not he is technically bound by vows. More importantly, he is bound by duty. To the Chantry. To his family. To his friends. He is one of the best men I have known," she finished simply.

Which, of course, is why I've been in love with him for years now, she added silently to herself.

"I see," he said slowly. "Unfortunately, the Order cannot take sides during such a dispute of succession. We cannot risk being viewed as tyrants, placing our own puppets in these leadership positions."

"You mean like the Templars have avoided any involvement in selecting the Viscount of Kirkwall?" She beamed at him innocently.

"Well, yes, I know that it has been the historical tradition in Kirkwall for the Templars to . . . influence the Viscount's seat, but it is something I would like to move away from." He shifted uncomfortably. "In any event, Hawke, I think with or without Templar endorsement, the people would have seen you installed as Viscountess."

"I'm not so sure about that. I imagine it would be hard to rule Kirkwall if I had been arrested and imprisoned in the Gallows. Which brings me to something I've long wondered about." She leaned forward, and gave him a crooked smile. "Were you really intending to arrest me that day we fought Meredith?"

Cullen's eyes immediately dropped and then darted around in an attempt to avoid hers. Like the day before in her office, this seemed to signal his extreme discomfort. "I . . . I'm not sure what to say, Hawke. Indeed that had been our plan. You may not believe me when I say that I felt it was an extreme measure, but it was far less extreme than the alternative Meredith had in mind. I had felt that it was the best compromise, under the circumstances. Of course, circumstances also changed dramatically that day."

She leaned back in her chair, watching him. "Cullen, that's sweet. I'm flattered to know you'd rather see me clapped in irons than dead."

"I . . . well . . . I . . . Of course, I . . ."

She took pity and interrupted him. "Cullen, it's fine. It was a joke. I know that you had to walk a fine line with Meredith's extremism. I don't blame you. I mean, after all, I am an apostate, for all the freedom I've enjoyed."

She looked into the fire, imagining again the sight of Cullen stepping between her and Meredith. "I still remember it so clearly, though, hearing you say to Meredith, 'I thought we were going to arrest the Champion.'" She tried to mimic Cullen's deep tenor.

"It was all I could do to protect you," he said softly, looking anywhere but at her.

Her head snapped back to look at him in surprise as she took in his quiet admission, her mouth opened in a silent, "Oh."

She watched him for a moment, and then she canted her head to side trying to catch his eyes. When he finally glanced at her, she smiled gently and said, in an equally soft voice, "Then, I'd like to thank you again . . ." She held his eyes for an instant but he quickly looked away again.

Frowning, he cleared his throat. "I should probably return to the Gallows before it gets too late. I would hate to ruin another set of armor with a late-night brawl."

"Of course," she murmured, following him to the door.

He paused on the threshold as if searching for the right thing to say, but instead he nodded his head and departed.

Hawke watched the closing door, wondering what had just happened. Her mind whispered back, Maybe you've just learned that he likes you, too.

Smiling, she mounted the stairs to retire for the evening.

Chapter 3: Knight's Bloom

Summary:

Cullen is apprehensive about seeing Hawke again when she comes to the Gallows bearing a gift.

In the week since escorting Hawke home, Cullen's only communication with her had been a note she had sent scheduling a time to meet at his office. He wondered again if he could find any way to avoid the meeting. A meeting that had originally been his idea. He felt uncomfortable about his confession at her house, admitting to her—and himself—that in fact he had been trying to protect her from Meredith that day at the Gallows. That he had not just sided against Meredith but had chosen Hawke.

He thought about how angry he had been that Meredith would subvert the purpose of the Order to murder this woman who had worked tirelessly at their side to protect the city. He didn't know what it was about her, but he couldn't let her be destroyed.

This was why he had been avoiding Hawke for the last several months. Why didn't I just continue doing that?

He tried to occupy himself with the reports on his desk as he waited for her to arrive. After re-reading the same sentence four times, he gave up and looked out the window.

It was a beautiful, late summer day outside, without a cloud in the afternoon sky. He imagined Hawke walking from the Keep, dressed in one of the practical court dresses she favored that was so similar to the mage robes she had often worn as Champion. Her long dark hair would be swept up in a complicated twist on her head, giving her a refined air that contrasted with her earnest grey eyes and down-to-earth attitude. He wondered if she would be carrying her staff, boldly announcing that she was a mage, or if she would leave it behind in the interest of having a more circumspect visit to the Gallows.

Seeing his thoughts focus on her yet again, he finally surrendered to his fascination with Marian Hawke.

Examining their friendship over the years, he could admit now that he had always looked forward to seeing her. She was frequently at the Gallows Courtyard looking for work, companions in tow, but more often she had come alone just to talk. He enjoyed their discussions about politics and the Circle and the fact that she didn't shy away from the difficult questions when it came to mages. He had long admired her fairness, intelligence and bravery. And, of course, her beauty. The fact that she was a mage herself just made her all the more intriguing.

Inexorably his memory replayed the image of her standing triumphantly over Meredith's smoldering remains, eyes flashing as Hawke practically pulsed with power. Like some wrathful goddess, she had been simply awesome to behold. He had been so moved that he had knelt down before her, causing the sea of Templars surrounding them to bend their knee as well. He had officially pledged Templar support to her in that moment, but he realized now that he also had pledged something a bit more personal.

So where does that leave you? he asked himself.

"Cullen?"

Startled, he turned around to find Hawke standing in the door, looking just as he had imagined her except for the potted plant she was clutching in her arms. He noted that she had apparently opted against bringing her mage's staff. She gave him a quick grin, which he could not help but return.

"Hawke, please, sit down," he said warmly. Idly he noted that, now that she was here, his earlier misgivings about seeing her had abruptly evaporated.

She carefully placed the flowering plant on his desk and then sat down, smoothing the front of her dress nervously. Cullen was perplexed by the plant. Its long leafy tendrils were dotted with small blue flowers whose centers darkened to a deep royal purple. Clustered around the flowers were numerous large green buds that had not yet opened.

"Do you recognize it?" she asked.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Should I?"

"It's Knight's Bloom. It used to grow wild around our holding in Lothering. It's native to Ferelden, but seems to have taken well to the Kirkwall climate. A Fereldan farmer I know grows it just outside the city."

His confusion must have shown on his face, because she continued her explanation.

"The most unusual thing about the vine is that it blooms both during the day and at night. At night these little blue flowers close, and it opens large white flowers that have the most remarkable scent. It's a survival mechanism, so it can thrive in many environments."

She paused as if waiting for him to say something.

"Um, it's beautiful . . ."

"I thought you might like a little touch of home, and it might, er, look nice around the Gallows." She flushed.

Finally it dawned on him that she was following up on her suggestion that he plant more flowers to diminish the bleakness of the Gallows. He laughed long and hard.

Her shoulders slumped. "You don't like it," she said desolately.

"No, no, I think it's a lovely gift and the Gallows truly will be better for it. Thank you. I've never had much of a touch for gardening myself, but I can imagine some of the apprentices might find this an interesting new project. You know, it might even give them a sense of ownership of their new home in the Circle," he mused. "It was very thoughtful of you, Marian." Her given name rolled tentatively off his tongue as he used the familiar address for the first time.

She flushed again, dropping her eyes. "I imagine it could take quite well here. It's a notorious creeper, and you have so many . . . walls," she concluded lamely.

Seeing her discomfort, he tried to redirect the conversation. "Perhaps we can mention the idea to the new First Enchanter. I was thinking that you would be interested in meeting with her today, to hear about her plans for the mages' education."

"Her plans?"

"It's the First Enchanter's job to manage the Circle's affairs, along with her Senior Enchanters. We just keep the peace."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I think Meredith would be turning in her grave at that. If she had one."

Cullen shrugged. "Let her. Meredith overstepped her bounds long ago. It's important that there are checks and balances here in Kirkwall. It may seem unusual for me to relinquish some of her power, but I believe it's for the best."

A slow smile spread across Hawke's face, but she merely continued to listen intently as he described many of the changes he had begun implementing in terms of Templar training and his interactions with the mages. He had been working hard to instill in the recruits a respect for the mages, so that they saw themselves as caretakers instead of jailers. Cullen had also cracked down on the abuses, not the least of which was reversing Meredith's decision to allow the Right of Tranquility to be used on mages who had passed their Harrowing.

"They are small changes, for now," he told her, "but they seem to be improving morale among both the mages and the Templars."

She listened carefully as he spoke, rarely interrupting except to share an occasional insight. He was gratified to have such a rapt and knowledgeable audience, and so he quickly lost track of the time.

A distinctive knock on the door preceded his assistant entering the room. "Knight-Commander, the Viscountess's appointment with the First Enchanter is approaching. You wanted me to remind you."

"Yes, thank you, Neil. We will be along in a moment."

"My assistant," Cullen explained as he walked over to Hawke and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and soon they were walking down the long hallways towards the mage's Tower.

"Out of curiosity, whatever happened to Meredith's assistant, Elsa?" she asked.

"I believe she has returned to managing the store room in the Tower, like many of the other Tranquil. I felt it more appropriate to have an assistant who was more, shall we say, in tune with my activities."

"Oh, so, not as creepy?" She grinned.

"Er, yes, I suppose you could also put it that way. It seemed prudent to have an assistant who better understood that there are more than just facts to any situation. That we deal with people, who have lives and feelings."

"People . . . You mean, mages?" she asked in a deceptively sweet voice.

He laughed. "Yes, Hawke. Mages. I know you keep throwing that statement of mine back in my face, that mages can't be treated like people. I hope I've finally proven to you that my view on this has changed. In large part due to your unholy influence."

"Unholy?" she shrieked. "I'll have you know that I have been a good devout Andrastian . . . most of the time. It was something my mother worked very hard on, so don't malign her efforts." The twinkle in her eyes belied her outrage.

Cullen chuckled to himself at her reaction. She was always so earnest, and yet still had a good appreciation of the absurd and was quick to laugh. To his surprise he found himself, yet again, trying to draw out that easy laughter. He was not usually given to such frivolity, having a much more serious demeanor. Yet, when he was with Hawke, he was beginning to realize that he liked coaxing that merriment from her, as if he could lessen her many burdens for a moment.

He was brought up short when suddenly Hawke stopped. Her expression was strangely blank as she stared at the long courtyard they had just entered that led to the mages' Tower.

"It looks different during the day," she said cryptically. "Less foreboding."

After a moment, it occurred to Cullen that this was probably the farthest she had ever been into the Gallows, the last time being when she had faced off against the blood magic and desperation of the last First Enchanter, Orsino, in this very courtyard.

He gave her hand on his arm a gentle squeeze and smiled encouragingly. "I think you'll find a lot of things have changed here since then."

She gave him a tight smile back and then let him lead her forward into the Tower.

Walking through the Tower, the scene was starkly different from that during Meredith's tenure. Gone were the days of mages locked in their rooms each night and forbidden to congregate in groups greater than two. Mages walked, chatted, and laughed in the halls. Walking through the library, groups of apprentices were practicing minor enchantments under the beleaguered gaze of their tutors. He saw Hawke smile at a group of small children sitting in a circle and singing a folk song about the Chantry.

It reminded him of the happier days at the Circle Tower in Ferelden, before Uldred unleashed his depravity. He used to think that the Ferelden Tower's laxity had opened the way for Uldred to take over. But, after experiencing the opposite extreme under Meredith, he realized that for every Uldred there were many more Marian Hawkes, mages who were just people, wanting to live their lives. It was his impossible job to guard against those Uldreds, while allowing the Marians live their lives as peacefully and safely as possible.

"So what is the First Enchanter like? Is she from Kirkwall?" Hawke asked.

"Yes, she's a long-time member of Kirkwall's Circle. I think she was a good choice and so far, we seem to get on well. When she's not scolding me like an errant schoolboy. But you will have to tell me what you think once you meet her."

Hawke gave him a bemused look but didn't say anything further.

Soon they had entered the Senior Enchanters wing. As they rounded a corner, he saw the First Enchanter standing outside her office door, as if she knew they were approaching. Her silver hair was tucked in a tidy bun at her neck, and her hands were clasped gently in front of her as she waited. Her careworn face seemed to radiate a kindly patience, giving her the appearance of a beloved grandmother or favorite aunt.

"First Enchanter."

"Knight-Commander," she said in her strong voice that belied her soft exterior.

"Hawke, may I present First Enchanter Tilda Stormcorne. First Enchanter, this is Marian Hawke, Champion and Viscountess of Kirkwall."

Hawke put out her hand, which the First Enchanter took in both of hers. "You are well met, Viscountess of Kirkwall."

"It's nice to meet you as well, First Enchanter. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me."

"It is my pleasure."

Cullen turned to Tilda. "First Enchanter, the Viscountess is very interested in our efforts to rebuild the Circle and has a few ideas of her own. I think you two will have quite a bit to talk about. In particular, Hawke, you should tell the First Enchanter about your gift of Knight's Bloom. I will now leave you two the opportunity to become acquainted."

"You're leaving?" Hawke asked in dismay. Or, at least Cullen liked to think it sounded like dismay.

"This way you will have a bit more freedom to talk. Tilda, can you have someone bring Hawke back to my office when you're done?"

"Of course, Knight-Commander. The Viscountess will be in good hands. You may go." With that, the First Enchanter made a shooing motion with her hands, like she was sending a small boy outside to play.

Cullen smiled indulgently at his dismissal. He caught Hawke's amused eyes, gave her a brief nod of farewell, and then turned and left them together.

ooXXoo

Hawke watched him walk away down the hall and, unaccountably, felt abandoned.

Tilda was watching her carefully. "Why don't you come inside and sit down, dear. We'll have some tea and a nice chat."

Tilda sounded so much like her mother in that moment, Hawke found herself automatically obeying. The First Enchanter's office had a warm and homelike feeling that immediately set Hawke at ease. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the tea pot's steam swirled in eddies towards the ceiling. Tilda directed her to a pair of comfortable chairs some distance from the formality of the tidy desk set in the corner. The First Enchanter poured two teacups, passing one to Hawke, and then joined her.

"So you're almost as new to your job as I am to mine." Tilda smiled at her kindly.

"Yes, that's true. Although I hope it's not that obvious!"

"No, no. I think you've been doing a splendid job so far. Both you and the Knight-Commander. Unusual times for Kirkwall, though, to have such a monumental shake up of the leadership. Having to replace our Viscount, First Enchanter, Knight-Commander, and beloved Grand Cleric, all at the same time. This has no doubt drawn some attention. Perhaps unwanted attention. So I'm glad that things are starting to return to normal. Or, as normal as they can be in Kirkwall."

The First Enchanter's easy manner appealed to Hawke. "I do have some concern over this as well. I understand that the Divine is working to appoint a new Grand Cleric, hopefully in the next few months. I anticipate that we'll have more news after the Divine's inquest regarding the Chantry incident."

Tilda nodded. "Yes, terrible business that. What I find more curious is that there hasn't been much of an inquiry into what happened with Meredith, with the Knight-Vigilant in Val Royeaux apparently sending his blessing for Cullen's promotion but little else. It's like the Divine's focus is completely on the Chantry tragedy and so has overlooked the conflict between the mages and Templars that also occurred that day."

Hawke gave a humorless laugh. "Perhaps that's for the best. I still don't know how I would fully explain what happened . . . and I was there."

"Indeed, you were." Tilda looked at her keenly from behind hooded eyes. "Someday I would like to hear the story of what did actually happen. So, tell me, Hawke . . . what is Knight's Bloom?"

Hawke laughed again, this time in some embarrassment. She had thought her gift a brilliant idea until she had had to explain it to Cullen. Now it felt a bit foolish. "It's a flowering Fereldan vine. I was thinking that Cullen, um, the Knight-Commander, and I suppose you, or whoever else, might want to, um, plant it here. Around the Tower. It's quite hardy, and beautiful, and I thought it could make the Gallows seem less . . . formidable."

"What an interesting notion."

"Cullen suggested that this could be a project for new Circle apprentices. A way to give them some investment in their new home."

"Now, that's a wonderful idea. I'll talk with the Senior Enchanters. You and the Knight-Commander already seem to be working well as a team." Tilda's statement sounded more like a question she wanted Hawke to answer.

For all her grandmotherly exterior, this woman was wily. Hawke was starting to see now why Cullen thought her a good choice.

"I believe we all have our part to play," Hawke deflected. "It is in the best interest of Kirkwall to have all its leaders working well together. For once."

"Well said, my dear." Tilda settled back in her chair, cradling her teacup. "I understand you would like to hear about our activities here in the Circle?"

"I would. It seems the atmosphere is lighter already. Have these changes been difficult to bring about?"

"Some yes, some no. The Knight-Commander's influence has been vital. He is well respected by the Templars and mages alike. This, plus his new policy of weeding out the less agreeable Templars, has gone a long way towards improving morale. The boy's dedication to the core tenets of the Order have been tempered by a certain . . . fairness of late. And now he has the authority to enforce his views. It's a welcome change." Tilda's eyes watched Hawke carefully.

What does she want from me?

"I would love to hear about the steps you've taken. As I've also told Cullen, please let me know if there is any way my office can assist you," Hawke said in her most official-sounding voice.

Tilda inclined her head at Hawke, as if agreeing to give up her silent query for now, and then launched into a description of her efforts to rebuild the Circle. The number of mages in Kirkwall was at an all-time low following the battle with the Templars. Apparently there had been some talk of requesting transfers from Ansburg and Ostwick, but these negotiations had been slow. Tilda speculated that this was likely due to the perception of the region's instability as well as the Gallows' past reputation. Overall, the new freedoms Cullen had instituted allowed Tilda and her enchanters to re-visit their training curriculum and put renewed emphasis on their teaching.

"Perhaps the most significant change, that has had the most immediate impact on morale, is the Knight-Commander's relaxation of the communication restrictions on the mages. They are now allowed to keep in touch with their families outside the Circle, for now via correspondence. We're still in negotiations for in-person visits." Tilda smiled confidently as if she fully expected this negotiation to go her way.

"That is quite a change. I wonder why he didn't mention that part."

"Perhaps he doesn't consider it to be that significant. But, I think you and I know differently." Tilda gave her a knowing look.

Hawke was amused at how Tilda was trying to manipulate her to take the mage's view. "Or, perhaps it just slipped his mind among all the other changes he's put in place. But, I do agree that no longer being cut off from your family and loved ones would do much to improve one's peace of mind. Who proposed this idea?"

"Why, the Knight-Commander, I believe," Tilda said blandly, taking a sip of her tea and watching Hawke's reaction.

"How forward thinking of him," Hawke murmured, schooling her expression.

"I believe that so far all these changes have been very positive. We'll see how we may be able to continue, but the Circle is already a very different place from a few months ago," Tilda concluded. "If you don't have any further questions, Viscountess, then why don't I take you back to the Knight-Commander."

Hawke thanked her again as they walked through the Tower. As they approached Cullen's office, Tilda slowed to a stop before they reached it.

"Hawke, it's been a pleasure chatting with you. I think you're already building some strong partnerships here. In particular, I hope that your relationship with our Knight-Commander continues to flower."

Tilda then turned and continued on into Cullen's office, leaving Hawke to puzzle out her meaning as she followed in her wake.

"Ah, you return. I hope your visit was useful," Cullen said as Hawke entered.

"It was," Hawke replied, still baffled by Tilda's hidden meanings.

Tilda paused outside the door. "I shall return to the Tower then. Best of luck to you, Viscountess, and if you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask."

When Tilda was finally out of hearing range, Cullen tilted his head to the side. "So, what did you think?"

Hawke sat down and tried to decide how to answer. Overall, Tilda seemed compassionate, knowledgeable and savvy. This could make her a good ally, when she wasn't turning that savvy back upon you and trying to ferret out your secrets. "I like her. But, she has a lot more going on than I believe she says."

"I agree. She's one to watch, but I think her intentions are good. She has certainly been good for the Circle."

"She says the same thing about you."

"Does she?" he said with a laugh. "That is always nice to hear. It helps balance out the bad."

"What bad?"

He sighed, a tired look coming into his eyes. "Oh, just these blasted former Templars stirring up trouble again. And before you say anything, no, this is not something you can help with, except to listen to me complain about it." He ended with an intimate smile, which surprisingly made her blush.

"Well, you know, I know people who could have a talk with these individuals. I—"

"No, Hawke, please," he said, cutting her off rather brusquely. "It's something I can handle." He looked out the window. "But, it is starting to get dark. I trust you brought your guard today?"

"Why would I need a guard when I'm in a building filled with Templars?" she muttered, looking at the wall instead of at him.

Cullen shook his head. "Hawke, do you really have no concern for your own safety? Or, is this just a ploy to get me to walk you home again?" he said, his eyes dancing.

"That would hardly be necessary, Ser Cullen." She flushed, slightly offended by the suggestion that her lack of foresight was instead some kind of girlish lure. "I am after all the Champion of Kirkwall. I think I can handle a short boat ride by myself."

Irritated, she stood up to leave, but he was faster, coming around his desk and putting his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I know you are more than capable of taking care of yourself. But, can I please make sure you get home safely? If nothing else, think of it as a favor to me." He placed a hand over his heart and added a disarming smile, which made her stomach flutter in an odd way.

She was starting to regret having saved his life if he was going to meddle in her affairs, and continue to ruffle her composure, this way. "Well, I suppose it can't hurt to have the Knight-Commander owe me another favor," she said grudgingly.

"Please wait here while I make some arrangements. I will just be a moment."

He walked out and she sat back down to wait. As the shadows lengthened, her eye was drawn to the Knight's Bloom which had slowly started to open its white nighttime blooms.

This reminded her of Tilda's odd comment about her "relationship" with Cullen "flowering" or some such nonsense. She wondered if that was some kind of personal remark. Maker forbid, was the First Enchanter merely digging for gossip?

The large white blossoms slowly crept open, flooding the room with a sweet fragrance that reminded her of home.

"Astonishing."

She jumped, not realizing that Cullen had returned.

He was looking at the flowers with a bemused smile. "You know, that scent. I do recognize it now. On the nightwatch, in Ferelden. The northern side of the Tower was covered with these."

"I didn't know that," she admitted.

"Then it's a more perfect gift than even you could have imagined." Smiling, he motioned for her to precede him out of the room. "My lady, shall we?"

As Cullen and Hawke walked across the Gallows Courtyard, two Templars filed in behind them and followed them out to the Gallows' harbor entrance. She maintained the silence as they skated across the harbor toward the city, knowing that the proximity of the knights in the small boat made private conversation impossible. Instead she watched the sky darken to a deep royal blue. Looking down at the placid water, the first bright stars overhead were reflecting back at her.

Soon the boat gently bumped against the quay, and they all filed off through the docks district toward the Lowtown entrance to Hightown. As they walked, the Templar guard maintained a respectful distance behind the leaders.

"So, Knight-Commander, is this going to become a habit of yours—walking me home?" Hawke smiled to take the sting out of her words.

"To be honest, it doesn't sound like it would be a . . . healthy occupation for me. At least not for long."

"What? The city isn't as dangerous as all that," she scoffed.

"No, I meant that a certain Viscountess might have my head next time I suggest she needs to be protected."

"Hmm. You may have better instincts than I thought."

Hawke suddenly felt eyes on her, so turned automatically towards the merchant stands dotting Lowtown's square. Out of the shadows a strange pair of silver eyes watched her from within a dark cowl. There were no other distinguishing features she could identify in that quick glance, except the silver eyes. She must have stopped, as Cullen gently placed his hand in the small of her back and guided her towards the stairs leading to Hightown. When she glanced back, the eyes were gone.

They continued walking and Hawke quickly forgot the incident as she realized that Cullen had not yet removed his hand from her back. She floundered about for something to say while she tried to decide how she felt about that, her mind all too focused on the heat that radiated from his fingertips where they touched her.

"You know," she started, clearing her throat, "there's a story behind the name Knight's Bloom."

"Do tell." He turned to give her his full attention and his fingers ghosted across her back as he slowly removed his hand.

"It's Orlesian, of course, from the early days of the Ferelden occupation." She took a deep breath, trying to get her pulse back under control. "Apparently once upon a time a Chevalier fell in love with a mage. Their love was doomed since she was locked up in the Circle Tower, but after seeing her for the first time he just couldn't let her go. So each night he stole into the Tower to see her. He entered by climbing up the vines outside her window, using the bright white night blooms as his guide in the darkness."

His eyebrows shot up. "Hawke, is the gift then your subversive way of providing an escape route for all the mages in the Tower?"

"You know. . . I hadn't actually thought about that." She chuckled. "I guess I don't think of the vine really being such a successful escape route, since of course, everyone dies in the end of the story. The lovers were discovered. He was killed. She was sent to the mage's prison at Aeonar, where she went insane and killed herself. Usual Orlesian melodrama."

"Hmm, romantic."

She gave a lusty sigh. "Yes."

"And, depressing."

"Well, most mage love stories are."

Cullen gave her sidelong look. "Well, of course," he replied matter-of-factly. "One lovers' quarrel, and zap, the romance is over." He watched her with a faint smirk as she tried in vain to stop giggling over the picture he had just conjured.

"Zap?" She snickered. "I hadn't really thought of the, erm, romantic hazards of dating a mage."

"Well, you have to think of these things when you're a Templar, you know," he said in an exaggeratedly grave and pompous tone, but with eyes twinkling.

While he clearly had meant it as a joke, his comment immediately sobered her.

"Right," she murmured in a small voice. "I'd almost forgotten."

His face crumpled in disappointment, obviously realizing what he had implied. His mouth opened and closed several times, but he couldn't seem to find the words.

They slipped into an uncomfortable silence for the remainder of their walk, the clanking of armor from her Templar escort loud in her ears.

Before long they had arrived at Hawke's estate and Cullen walked her to the door. The silence stretched while they both fidgeted.

Finally, Hawke sighed. "Thank you for accompanying me, Cullen. I . . . should try to be more careful. I'm sorry you had to go out of your way."

"It's not a problem, Hawke. I feel like it is part of my duty to a certain extent."

"Duty. Of course," she said woodenly, nodding.

He visibly winced at his choice of words. "Hawke, I—" Cullen he glanced at their escort and lowered his voice. "Look, we have been friends for years now. I know I might have been a bit wary of us becoming . . . closer, but fate seems to keep throwing us together. We can fight against that. Worry about what it means that you're a mage and I'm a Templar. But, frankly, I don't want to. It doesn't matter to me. You've never been a part of this Circle. You're not part of my mandate. You are . . . different . . . special . . . and you always have been. I guess what I'm saying is, I want us to continue being friends." His eyes darted around her face, watching her carefully.

"I am glad we're becoming better friends, too, Cullen. But, I know that could make things . . . awkward for you. I want you to know that I'll understand if you need to pull away. Just . . . promise me that we can always be honest with each other. Okay?"

His face broke into a grin. "Well, I just hope you can handle the honesty when I tell you that I'll have no compunction to smite you if I see any zapping coming my way."

"I'll have you know that I do not zap!" she retorted in mock indignation. "I mostly fry, with some minor singeing. Plus, I doubt you'd see it coming."

They stood there, foolishly grinning at each other, until Cullen gave her a slight bow. "Until we meet again, my friend. Good night."

She watched the Templars recede into the night for a few minutes before she turned and went inside. "This just got complicated," she said to herself, biting her nail.

Chapter 4: Together Again

Summary:

Hawke learns of several new threats and decides to get the gang back together to investigate.

Hawke was trying her best not to fall asleep as the Minister of Finance droned on about Kirkwall's tax base. She managed to stay awake by trying to decide which would be funnier—seeing his single eyebrow stand on end after a bolt of lightning or seeing his endlessly moving lips suddenly freeze solid. She was tending towards the freezing, since Cullen might be justified in calling the lightning bolt "zapping" and that could not be allowed. Thinking of him made her smile, unfortunately encouraging the Minister who then launched into a more detailed explanation of his ten-year projections. She was starting to seriously consider her freezing idea when she saw Aveline hovering outside her office door.

"Minister, thank you very much," Hawke interrupted. "I found your presentation enlightening and I would hope you could leave some of those details with Seneschal Bran."

She walked towards him and gently led him out into the hall before he could start to object. Bran took his cue, directing the Minister into his own office, and gave the Viscountess a harassed look over his shoulder before closing his door.

Aveline grinned at the show. "Not quite at your most diplomatic today, Hawke?"

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Thank the Maker you showed up, Aveline. I was about to break several of my own personal rules if I had to listen to any more. Do you want to sit down?"

"I only have a minute as I'm heading out to the barracks' staging area. Walk with me?"

"Certainly." Hawke's curiosity was piqued.

"I'm actually heading to final inspection for the troops we are sending to Starkhaven, and I've had an interesting . . . development."

"Development."

"An addition, really. A last minute addition to our ranks of a number of . . . Templars. Knight-Captain Leon called them a temporary transfer to bolster our ranks after our losses during the Gallows battle, but it was also made clear to me that these particular soldiers were to be sent to Starkhaven. Only, under your banner."

Hawke silently worried her lower lip as she considered this unexpected revelation.

"Well?" Aveline asked impatiently.

"Well, what?"

"Well, are you going to tell me what's going on? Why the Knight-Commander is suddenly committing troops to assist Sebastian, despite trying, badly, to obscure Templar involvement?"

Hawke continued chewing her lip, wondering these things herself. "Honestly, Aveline, this is the first I've heard of it. Cullen told me that the Order cannot get involved in such disputes."

"Did you ask him to get involved?"

"No. No, I just happened to mention that we were getting involved. And why. I never thought . . ."

Aveline stopped walking and waited for Hawke to finish her sentence. When she wasn't forthcoming, Aveline said, "Never thought what?"

Hawke flushed and stammered, "I . . . never thought that he actually bought my arguments as to why Kirkwall should support Starkhaven. Especially when I admitted that many of my reasons are actually personal."

Aveline frowned at this. "And yet he's getting involved anyway. Curious. And, I hear he's been seen in your company quite a few times recently." She gave Hawke a sharp look. "You're playing a dangerous game, Hawke."

"What? What are you talking about? I'm not playing any kind of game. And, anyway, who told you this?"

"Knight-Commander Cullen is the head of a massive, disciplined and well-armed military force whose sole purpose is to imprison and destroy people like you. Not to mention the fact that this very military force seems to have no qualms about circumventing, and even replacing, Kirkwall's civilian government whenever it sees fit. Perhaps you need to be a bit more careful around him."

"Cullen isn't like that," Hawke said sullenly, seeing the core of truth in Aveline's words. She felt the Guard-Captain's eyes bore into her but couldn't meet them directly.

Finally, Aveline sighed and continued walking. "Hawke, just . . . watch your back. I'm not sure even my best men could successfully storm the Gallows and spring you from prison if it came to it."

Hawke grinned. "I'm glad to hear that at least you would try!"

Aveline shook her head, smiling in resignation. "Well, the upside of all this is that Sebastian will have more troops. Who knows . . . maybe he'll succeed. Then you'll have a Prince to contend with." She glanced over at Hawke.

"I hope so . . . For his sake, of course!" She flushed as Aveline laughed at her. Sebastian had always hinted that he wouldn't consider really pursuing any kind of relationship with her until he had finished his bid to take back Starkhaven. It was still hard for her to imagine that really happening.

They had arrived at the staging area, which was filled with the noise and clutter of battalions of troops preparing for their overland journey.

"We can talk more another time." Aveline gave Hawke's shoulder a brief squeeze and then turned to go.

"Aveline, wait. Can you come by tomorrow? I'd like a briefing on this business with the ex-Templars Cullen says have been stirring up trouble."

"Just a briefing, Hawke?" Aveline cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know, this is not like the old days when we used to just wade in to problems like this and solve them on our own."

Hawke flushed. She knows me too well. "Yes, just a briefing. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Will do." Aveline strode off into the chaos.

Hawke walked slowly back to the Keep the long way through the city, glad to have a few minutes to herself.

She had many mixed feelings after her talk with Aveline. She knew Aveline was right—about everything—but she just couldn't find it in her to be wary of Cullen. He seemed too . . . forthright about everything. But then, why hadn't he told her about the troop transfer. She wondered if she should ask him about it, and if so, how. She ruled out dropping by his office. It was too far away and inconvenient a location for "I was in the neighborhood" to be a plausible excuse.

She was still considering different scenarios for confronting Cullen when she felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up, causing her to pause and search for the source of her unease. It took her a few minutes until finally she found it.

In the shadow of a far pillar, familiar silver eyes watched her, this time in a face that she could see within the dark hood. She did not recognize him but took an instant dislike. In fact, his predatory gaze made her blood run cold. The expressionless silver eyes were set in a shrewd, narrow face with an aquiline nose. His nondescript clothing and hood were entirely black, but with no insignia or affiliation she could see.

Assassin? she wondered in panic.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached behind her shoulder for her staff but then remembered she had left the Keep without it. Venhedis, she cursed to herself, borrowing from Fenris's colorful vocabulary. She raised her hands, steeling herself for defensive casting without her staff as a focus.

The man with the silver eyes watched her come to these realizations before he inclined his head as if in greeting and then slipped back into the shadows. Before she knew it, he was gone, almost vanishing into thin air.

Her whole body went cold with dread. I am in danger. Her eyes continued to scan the square for threats, feeling vulnerable with no one at her back. She wondered if she should continue on to the front of the Keep, or return to the staging area, which was slightly closer.

"Viscountess?"

Hawke practically jumped out of her skin and almost set the new Templar Knight-Captain on fire. He must have realized this, as he immediately apologized. "I'm sorry. Serah Hawke, are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Hawke looked at him, wracking her brain for his name. Leon. "I'm fine, Knight-Captain. Thank you for your concern. What brings you to this part of the city?" She tried to sound calmer than she felt.

"I was just seeing our transfers settled, Excellency. I, uh, understand they'll be shipping out to Starkhaven, soon."

His clear blue eyes attempted to be guileless—and failed. "I have heard this as well. It's so nice to have additional support to send to our allies." She gave him a fake smile, mind and pulse still racing.

"May I . . . see you back to the Keep, Viscountess?"

"Yes. Yes, you may. Thank you." A few minutes ago she would have resented the suggestion, but now she welcomed it. She decided not to question why a Templar captain would make such an overly solicitous suggestion and instead embraced her fortune.

In the short time it took to reach the Keep, Hawke had learned several things from Knight-Captain Leon. The first was that he was an idiot. Whatever reason Cullen had promoted him into his old position as Knight-Captain, it surely was not Leon's wit. It took little effort to piece together all the things he didn't want her to know about the troop transfer. She learned that Cullen had in fact designated Templars to go to Sebastian's aid. That by transferring to the guard beforehand they would technically be part of the Kirkwall contingent, thereby removing any official Templar involvement. Finally, she learned that this deception was primarily intended for the world beyond Kirkwall, but also for her in particular. According to Leon, Cullen had not intended that she know about any of this—which was foolish given how close she was with Aveline and how obvious Leon was being about the whole arrangement.

Why didn't he just tell me?

She curtly dismissed Leon at the Keep's entrance, guessing that he would report back to Cullen on her safe return to the Keep.

So many peculiar puzzles for her to muddle through today. The Templars. The strange silver-eyed man. That was the bigger puzzle. What did he want? He clearly was watching her. But why? She had been pursued by assassins before, but they did not usually announce themselves in this way. Well, except for Zevran, she corrected herself, recalling the flamboyant former Antivan Crow and ally whom she had been duped into pursuing one time.

She hated to admit it, but Cullen was right. She needed to start being more careful.

As she approached her office, she heard the steady drone of the Finance Minister still in Bran's office. In panic, she grabbed her staff and her wrap and decided to leave early for the day, tiptoeing back out.

In spite of the crowds in Hightown's busy daytime streets, Hawke was soon home. The incident with the silver-eyed man had put her on edge and she had found herself constantly looking over her shoulder. The safety of the estate was a welcome respite.

"You're home early, Messere," Bodahn said as she entered. "Some letters arrived while you were out. I put them on your desk."

"Thank you, Bodahn. I'm going to go draw a bath in case anyone needs me."

A short while later she was soaking in blissfully warm bubbles that smelled of lavender. She sorted through her mail, choosing only the most interesting letters with which to disturb her bath. This limited it to two: a letter from Sebastian and a letter that seemed to be from Cullen. She read the one from Sebastian first.

Dear Hawke,

I was delighted to receive your last letter. It sounds like your tenure as Viscountess will be quite the success, provided you continue to quell your impulses to cause bodily harm to some of the bureaucrats. Like I have said before, you only need to follow your heart, which is good and noble, and you will do just fine. Kirkwall is lucky to have you.

I also wish I could have stayed in the city longer, but Starkhaven needs me. I feel that my moment of reckoning is finally drawing near. After all these years, my family will soon rest with the peace that the rightful heir sits on the throne again. I do hope to see you again soon. The sooner I can resolve this, the sooner that may be.

Thank you again for your support in this endeavor. It does, and will always, mean the world to me.

Yours,

Sebastian

She smiled and then couldn't help herself but to try to divine all the various meanings behind him signing the letter "Yours" and that she would "always" mean the world to him.

You are pathetic, she told herself with a giggle.

Next she turned to Cullen's letter, curious as to why he would write instead of coming by. With more eagerness than she expected, she began reading.

Dear Viscountess Hawke,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I have made a discovery of the utmost importance regarding the recent ex-Templar activity in Kirkwall. As you know, following my dismissal of a number of my most loyal Knights, they have begun agitating in the lower city. I have just learned that they will hold a secret meeting at the next full moon, at midnight in the ruins of the Chantry. I thought you might want to launch an investigation of this activity and perhaps even observe this meeting yourself.

I know not what they may be plotting, but I am sure the Champion of Kirkwall can easily handle this.

Best Regards,

Knight-Commander Cullen

There was something very odd about the letter. Although it was signed by Cullen, it was so formal. Almost like the last three weeks had not even happened. Of course, this was an official-sounding letter and so he may want to maintain that formality in any written correspondence that might be read by others. But, such a letter would likely have been sent to her office, not her home. Plus, last time they spoke, he had seemed rather adamant about her not getting involved in this matter. Something wasn't right.

ooXXoo

"This is the first I've heard of such a meeting," Aveline said the next morning as she scanned Cullen's letter.

"Aveline, why don't you tell me what you do know? I've only been hearing bits and pieces of this."

"It's as Cullen has told you. He has dismissed a number of Templars recently who are known to be . . . more sadistic when it comes to mages. Typically these were seasoned veterans who were formerly among Meredith's most favored knights. They were given the option of reassignment elsewhere or losing their commission; apparently a number chose the latter. In protest, or to stay in Kirkwall, or both? I don't know. The fact of the matter is . . . Cullen has made a lot of enemies. Well-trained and zealous enemies.

"Some have stirred up the normal kind of trouble. Drunken brawls, mostly. But, those we've had in custody have also spouted some unusual rhetoric. Very pro-Meredith and anti-mage. Almost like she was some kind of . . . messiah. This is why I brought it to Cullen's attention. I don't know what he's doing about it, but I would have expected him to share knowledge of a meeting like this. I mean, with both of us."

Hawke frowned. "I'm thinking we should proceed with attending this 'secret' meeting, but prepare for it to be some kind of trap. I think it may be the only way of learning more."

Aveline gave Hawke a knowing smile. "When you say we, you don't mean the Viscountess and her Guard, do you? You mean, the Champion of Kirkwall and her merry band of misfits."

"It's the most effective way for us to proceed. Don't worry, Aveline. I don't think we'll be too rusty!" Hawke laughed. "Although, I do wish Isabela and Fenris were still here. I'd like our odds better."

"Wherever that pirate has sailed them, I'm sure they've stirred up enough trouble of their own," Aveline said half-seriously.

"True. Can you do me a favor and talk to Varric and Merrill? See if they'll come? We'll plan to meet then at my house just before midnight."

"Will you tell Cullen?"

"Not just yet. I honestly don't think this letter is from him, but I fear there may be more going on than he's been telling me. On several fronts," Hawke said sternly.

"Hmm, why do I get the feeling I should pity him?"

ooXXoo

The ruins of the Chantry certainly made for dramatic scenery. Since the rubble had been removed, the large smooth crater provided the perfect open space for a gathering. However, no amount of scrubbing had been able to wash away the grey soot that stained every building in the vicinity. In the light of the full moon, the blast site had a depressing uniformity of color that, when combined with the stress fractures and cracks in the surrounding buildings, made it clear that this tragedy could never be fully erased.

As Hawke and her friends approached she saw a stack of printed pages sitting near what used to be the landing before the Chantry.

"More manifestos? You've got to be kidding me." She started to flip through one. "Hmm, apparently they're calling themselves 'the Righteous.' Not terribly original . . ."

Reading through, she got very still as she finally noticed something. The only person mentioned by name was her. Not Cullen. "Aveline, in any of the ex-Templar ravings you've witnessed, did they ever malign Cullen specifically?"

"Now that you ask, no, not specifically. They were clearly angry at their dismissal at his hands, but I suppose they talked more about the threat to Kirkwall."

Hawke gave a bark of laughter. "Yes, well, apparently that threat is me. There's no mention of Cullen in here anywhere."

She began to read aloud, "Stop the evil usurper Hawke. Restore the Templar Order to Chantry rule. Bring Andraste's word back to Kirkwall." She glanced at Aveline, who rolled her eyes.

Varric chuckled. "That's some piece of fiction. Always need an effective bad guy, and Hawke, you could be one of the best. You should be flattered."

"You know, Hawke," Merrill chimed in, "maybe I can take some of these to my house when we're done. I've just about run out of Anders's manifestos and they make such good kindling."

"We'll need some for evidence, Merrill, but by all means, burn the rest!" Hawke laughed as she continued reading to herself. "Interesting. So, Meredith was the good guy, and I'm responsible for killing all the mages. Oh, and blowing up the Chantry."

Varric shrugged. "Typical artistic license. It's much tidier to wrap up all the enemies into one person. It's easier for the audience to invest emotionally."

Hawke snorted. "And, apparently, this was all part of my nefarious plan ever since we all came from Ferelden—together." She sighed and tucked a copy into her pouch. "I think it's time we put an end to this secret meeting."

They crept forward quietly but need not have bothered. The meeting was in full swing, and the speakers were loud enough to obscure any noise they might have made.

It seemed it was a recruitment meeting, and someone was basically preaching the nonsense from the manifesto. He was even still wearing his Templar uniform, although it was badly in need of repair. His audience was trained on his wild gesticulations as he used every proselytizing trick in the book. Outside of the speaker, though, it was hard to tell who the other leaders of the Righteous might be.

Hawke listened for a bit longer, hoping she would hear some of their strategy instead of hype, but it was more like a sermon on how Kirkwall had fallen so far from the Maker. Apparently with the Chantry gone, she had been able to seize all power in Kirkwall and was running both the city and the Templars. It preyed on similar fears to previous groups she had encountered—fear of foreign refugees, fear of the Qunari—but it was a new experience for it to be fear of her, the new scapegoat. Once it seemed like they were getting to the end, she decided it was time to move in.

As they moved around the periphery of the meeting, another movement in the shadows caught her eye. She stopped warily.

"Someone else is here," she whispered. She tried to make them out in the dim light, when finally she saw a glint of plate mail. And red and black skirting. "Damn, it's Cullen."

She had no idea how this was going to affect her plan. Or rather, her lack of plan. She decided all she could do was ignore Cullen for the time being. There was a large open area before her, which would take a bit too long to cross before someone intercepted her. So, first, she deployed her friends around the other side of the gathering, where they would be under cover for longer. Then, if they had to engage the Righteous, it wouldn't matter if she was so exposed.

She took a step out into the light, waiting a beat for the lead speaker to notice her. He gave a shout when he did and, although everyone scrambled to their feet, they didn't charge her. Curious.

"Strangely, my ears were burning." She gave them a saucy smile. "Like someone was talking about me behind my back. I thought I would find out who it was."

The speaker walked forward. "Champion, so kind of you to accept our invitation," he said in an oily tone.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I'll enjoy seeing what the Knight-Commander does to you for forging his signature."

The speaker took another careful step towards her and then pointed at Hawke, yelling, "Destroy the usurper!"

On her signal, Varric send a wide volley of bolts into the crowd, sending them scurrying for cover and pinning most of them down. Aveline charged in behind it, laying about with her sword and shield in a deadly rhythm. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a wave of Cullen's Templars engage the remaining Righteous followers. With the melee centered on Aveline and the Templars, Merrill called down a wall of fire on their position further corralling the fanatics.

Hawke added her own lightning storm to the mix and soon electricity and fire licked throughout the Chantry crater. The elemental magics were debilitating many of the Righteous swordsmen and causing others to start to retreat to the edges where their archers were now issuing volleys of their own. Hawke started forward to use some of her shorter range spells; however, that was when she finally realized why no one had charged toward her across that big empty space. Her next step was right on top of the glyph of paralysis waiting for her.

As her body seized up mid-step, there was a bright flash around her indicating the glyph had been activated. Next thing she knew, an ex-Templar stepped from the adjacent shadows. With a murmured blessing, he struck out at her with holy fire, sending a massive blast of spirit energy that drained all her mana and made her bones shudder and ache. Clearly, they were waiting for this, as several more ex-Templars emerged behind him, each smiting her as well.

With each wave that hit her, she felt her heart contract a little, beating out of time, and her stomach cramped up until she would likely be vomiting if she could actually have moved. Instead, she stood there in agony, unable to fight back or even turn her head to see where her companions had gone or who might be closing in on her. Next she felt a sharp blow to her head and a wave of darkness reached up to take her. The last thing she saw was an armored figure looming over her—with its back to her. Then she knew no more.

Chapter 5: A Good Smiting

Summary:

In the aftermath of the encounter with the Righteous, Hawke and Cullen begin to confront the difficulties with becoming friends.

As Hawke came to, all she could recognize at first was a cacophony of light and sound. She started to make out the images before any of the noises made sense. Soon she could see Cullen standing before her, apparently shouting at someone, while Aveline was trying to tie a bandage around a cut on his bicep. With his chest bared, she could see that the cut was accompanied by a deeper wound on his ribs, right where the gap in his armor would have been.

Hmm, Cullen, half-naked again I see, she thought to herself before she could understand anything else.

Aveline herself had a rather deep cut on one brow that kept dripping blood into her eye. She brushed the blood away impatiently, speaking over her shoulder to Orana while the elven serving girl trembled in wide-eyed distress. Varric was sitting in a chair with a large steak held up to one eye that seemed to be doing its best to turn a dark purple. His nose was about twice the size it should be. Hawke wondered why no one had healed any of these wounds yet.

Where is Anders?

That crushing thought was enough to snap her out of her stupor. Anders was gone. No one was healing them because that was her job alone now. She struggled to try to sit up, which brought on a wave of nausea. Then, suddenly, the sounds in the room all came rushing back at once.

"What are you doing? Don't move her! She's still bleeding."

"Cullen, in the name of all that is holy, will you stop moving so I can tie this off?"

"Bodahn, you better get that dog out of here. If he tries again to eat my steak, Bianca will make a pin cushion out of him."

"She's waking. Hawke, can you hear me?"

"You should get her some chamomile. It should help with the aftereffects of the smiting— Damn you, woman, I am fine!"

"Cullen, stop moving now before I knock you on your ass! We'll need more bandages and perhaps a needle. Orana! Orana? It's all right, dear. You can do this. Can you please go fetch me some bandages and a needle and thread?"

"Oh watch out, she's going to— Orana, can you also fetch a bucket and mop, please!"

Hawke's stomach was soon empty, but that didn't stop it from continuing to heave. There was a cold cloth on her forehead, which seemed to be held in place by Merrill but couldn't contain the steady drip of blood from her head. She tried to stay as still as possible while her stomach tried to settle. When she finally felt like she could sit up straight, a cup was pushed to her mouth.

"Drink this. Slowly."

Chamomile. Thankfully it was actually helping. The cramping started to ease and she could start to feel her mana trickle back in. She took a deep breath, and drank more of the comforting tea. Now that she was more centered, she looked around again. Everyone seemed to be watching her closely.

"Did we win?" she asked weakly.

It was quiet for a moment before everyone started to laugh. Everyone except Cullen, who was as still as a tightly coiled spring, ready to explode.

"I suppose you could say we did, since we all survived," Aveline said. "But it was touch and go for a while with you. We think your heart might have stopped . . . once or . . . twice. Without Cullen with us . . ." She gave a shaky laugh. "I guess we're rustier than we thought."

"Oh," Hawke said softly, mechanically rubbing her chest over her heart. "Well, give me a minute to recharge, and then I can do some healing. Bodahn, can you get one of the lyrium potions from my bag please?"

Merrill gave her a worried look, wringing her hands. "Hawke, are you sure that's such a good idea? I've never seen anyone go through something like that . . . so many times . . . in quite that way. It was . . . horrible."

Hawke expected Cullen to chime in on this, since he should be the expert. But, he remained silent, arms crossed, watching her with baleful eyes.

"Honestly, I don't know, Merrill, but I need to try. Thank you, Bodahn."

The lyrium made her tingle as it went down, refreshing her body, mind and soul. She hadn't realized how completely devoid of mana she was until it was replenished. She gave her body a moment to equalize, taking several centering breaths. She then closed her eyes and reached out to the whole room with a group heal. It took all the mana she had and brought back some of the nausea, but when she opened her eyes, everyone looked much better. She put her fingers to her own forehead, feeling the blood but no wound.

"Everyone better?" Hawke asked hoarsely. She saw nods around the room. Aveline was scrubbing the blood out of her eye and Varric's eyes and nose had gone back to their normal size and color. She sighed in relief. "Good."

With that she saw Cullen abruptly spring forward, his momentum bringing him to her side in an instant.

"Now that that's taken care of, if you will all excuse us?" Cullen said in a cold, business-like voice to the room. He then grabbed Hawke's arm and dragged her out of the main hall and into the study.

He shut the door behind them before he rounded on her. "Hawke, what were you thinking?" he demanded.

She blinked at him for a moment, confused in the face of his fury. "What was I thinking? I was thinking there was a problem I needed to solve." She glared at him. "It's what I do," she added coldly.

"Why would you show up at something that was so obviously a trap?" he snarled. "I was taking care of this problem. As I told you I would!"

"Why would I not? Circumventing an obvious trap can be very informative. How else was I going to learn what was going on? You weren't telling me anything!"

He stepped closer, looming over her. "Circumventing? Marian, you almost died!" he shouted.

This brought her up short and all she could do was stare at him for a moment. "But I didn't," she said softly.

The sudden silence in the room was jarring. Finally, he tore his eyes away and stepped back.

She took a deep breath and then released it slowly. "Why didn't you just tell me what was really going on? I thought you were in danger. I wanted to help."

"I didn't want you to have to get involved. Especially since it was clear they were after you."

"So this is another one of those things I don't need to know . . . like the troop transfer going to Starkhaven?" she said heatedly.

His eyes snapped back to hers. "I— Hawke, I can explain."

"I'm sure you can. Perhaps you can explain how this is an example of how we're being so honest with one another. Cullen, I thought you and I were starting to work together. I thought that's what we both wanted for Kirkwall. But, instead you're already shutting me out."

"I'm not shutting you out. I just . . ." he trailed off, looking away again and avoiding her accusing eyes.

"Just what?"

"I . . . didn't want anyone to think that you were affecting my judgment."

"What? Why would anyone possibly think that?" She threw her hands up in exasperation.

He was quiet so long she wasn't sure he was going to answer. He was still looking at the wall, his face beginning to flush, when he started to speak.

"Look, I only decided to commit troops to Sebastian Vael's bid for the throne after talking to you. Maker forgive me, I'm going against protocol and choosing a side because . . . because I want to support you and your chosen cause. I was trying to work with you, only I thought it better if that were done with the smallest number of people knowing or . . . judging. Including you.

"And, this." He laughed bitterly, motioning with a vague sweep of his arm. "You'll probably murder me when you hear it, but I didn't want you to know the Righteous were targeting you, because I was trying to protect you. I felt I could solve it before you ever had to bother with them. Besides the fact that it is my problem to solve, since I turned these men out in the first place.

"So, combine all this with everything that happened with Meredith. I . . . Hawke, if anyone knew that I chose to side with you against her and began to put two and two together, they would assume these manifestos are right. That you now hold sway over both the Viscount's seat and the Gallows." His volume had increased throughout his rant to the point where he was practically yelling. At her or at himself, she couldn't tell.

Hawke wasn't sure how this made her feel. Hold sway over the Gallows? Absurd. If only she had such influence. Although deep inside, she thrilled at the notion that she could possibly have such an effect on him.

"Cullen, you've got to stop trying to protect me all the time," she said in a quiet voice. "I didn't get where I am today by people holding me back. Yes, I admit; I am not invincible. But, I'm in more danger if I don't have all the information I need."

She sighed wearily. "As for the rest . . . I don't know. I know that you and I are on the same side. I . . . I think we make a good team, and we're better off working together than separately. If that makes us seem weak, then so be it. That manifesto be damned."

Cullen took a deep breath and she could see the tension leave his body for the first time since she had awakened. "Marian Hawke, I think working with you is going to be the death of me. You were so still after they smote you . . . I . . . I didn't think your heart was going to take it."

"Well, lucky for me I had my trusty Templar by my side." She was certain now it was Cullen she had seen shielding her body right before she lost consciousness. "Besides . . . I hear everyone needs a good smiting now and again," she said provocatively, eyes dancing.

His eyebrows went up slightly at this and his mouth crooked into a half-smile. "Been saving that one up?"

"I don't get to practice my Templar humor very often." She gave him a cheeky smile.

He looked away, seeming to smile in spite of himself, and then fixed his attention on the now unnecessary bandage around his arm. After a moment, he carefully removed it, and then poured some water from a nearby pitcher into its cleaner sections. He approached her and without a word began slowly to clean the blood off her forehead and cheek, holding her still with his other hand on her shoulder.

There must have been much more blood than she had realized because he was running the cloth in soothing circles around her face for some time. The feel of it was mesmerizing and made her want to close her eyes and just focus on the sensation. Instead, she watched the intent expression on Cullen's face. It was like he was engaged in an activity of pressing importance that required the utmost care. He was standing so close to her she could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest, just inches away.

After a few minutes, he seemed to snap out of his reverie when his eyes quickly darted to hers and he took a sudden step back, releasing her.

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "I . . . think that was most of it."

"Thank you," she offered hesitantly.

He was still standing so close she had to look up at him. He gazed down at her, watching her closely as if he had just discovered something unexpected. Equally absorbed, she found she couldn't look away from those searching eyes.

She swallowed nervously. "It, um, looks like your broken armor was an omen after all . . . here you are, undressed . . . again." She tried to sound lighthearted, but it came out too tentatively.

"And, I had hoped not to inflict that on you again. My apologies." He gave her a half-hearted smile.

Despite the joking, the tension in the air would not dissipate.

She tried again. "Ah, perhaps I should ask Bodahn to find you another of Carver's tunics."

He nodded distractedly. "That would be helpful."

But, neither of them moved, still studying each other intently, as if they couldn't seem to break the spell that held them.

A sudden knock at the door made them both jump. Then, she heard Aveline through the door. "Hawke, we need to talk."

Hawke glanced again at Cullen before she opened the study door. "Yes, we do. Why doesn't everyone come in and sit down."

"Bodahn," Hawke said, "can you please find another of Carver's tunics for Ser Cullen?" Aveline gave Hawke a strange look at this but didn't say anything.

Everyone settled in to the study as Hawke pulled out the fake Cullen letter. "So, in the interest of getting everyone on the same page, Cullen, this is the letter you allegedly sent me earlier this week."

He looked over the letter quickly. "Interesting. So, it was sent by someone who knows that you and I have talked about this matter, but doesn't seem to know that I would not be this . . . stilted in a letter to you. Maybe another discontented Templar still within our ranks? Rather good facsimile of my signature, though."

"Exactly what I thought," she said, giving him a small smile. "So what did we learn tonight? We learned about the story they're spreading, but not much else it seems. Did I miss anything good while I was . . . out? Is anyone in custody?"

Varric leaned back in his chair and shrugged his barrel-like shoulders expressively. "Well, a lot of them ran away and a lot of them died. We were doing rather well until you decided it would be fun to impersonate a statue."

"Oh, Varric, I don't think it looked like Hawke was having any fun at all," Merrill interrupted. "In fact, I think she looked like she was in immense pain."

"Daisy, it's my story; I'll tell it my way. So, as I was saying, statue. Someone hit you pretty hard over the head, Hawke, but before they could kill you, Lover Boy here swooped in to save you." Varric motioned at Cullen, who blanched. "Then, all his mindless Templars followed suit, letting the main body of the Righteous get away. Of course, the guys who had foolishly taken on Hawke were now very dead.

"After a minute or two, Hawke, your paralysis wore off, but that's around when you stopped breathing . . . the first time. So Lover Boy started pounding on your chest and breathing air into your mouth. Or, that's what he tells us he was doing." Varric smirked wickedly, glancing at Cullen whose face had gone from white to red. "But . . . whatever, it seemed to work." Varric leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying drawing the story out.

Hawke noticed that every time Varric said the words "Lover Boy," Cullen visibly flinched. Ah, Varric and his nicknames. Poor Cullen.

Varric laughed. "At this point, the Templars didn't know what to do with their leader so . . . incapacitated."

"Now see here, dwarf!" Cullen finally said in an offended tone.

Varric held up his hand calmly. "My story. So, Aveline started ordering them around, and I think they actually arrested a few people. Then, she sent them back to the Gallows with their prize. Once you were breathing, Lover Boy picked you up and we all ran back here as fast as we could go, with one small interruption when you stopped breathing again. Once we got here and started to get patched up, you were probably out another twenty minutes or so."

Hawke tried to absorb all this while Bodahn discretely came in and handed Cullen a new tunic. She chided herself for feeling disappointed when he put it on.

She looked around the room. "Well, it sounds like we'll know more once those men are interrogated. In the meantime, we should probably all head home and get some rest. It will be dawn soon."

ooXXoo

As the full moon started to set, the Chantry ruins were deathly quiet. The moonlight bleached everything of color, except the blood marking the stones, which became almost black. The night's earlier battle was played out in the dark tracery crisscrossing the broken flagstones in high relief. His silver eyes followed the bloody trails, trying to divine their patterns when something caught his eye.

He drew back his dark hood to get a better look. His aquiline features were limned in the ethereal moonlight, contrasting with his dark clothing which seemed to absorb all light that fell onto it. He reached down to where something was caught among the blood and broken flagstones and came away with a copy of the Righteous manifesto fluttering in his grasp. He tucked it away in his satchel, focusing again on the blood.

He took a deep breath, feeling the ancient magic stir within him. All around him, he suddenly felt hearts pumping with blood, lifeblood spilling, death. He turned his head left and right, seeking, until . . .

Ah, there.

He stepped over to the edge of a large open area and focused in on one of the smaller pools of blood. After all these years, mage blood was so easy to identify he barely needed to cast anymore. He dipped his index finger in the pool of congealed blood while he felt inside his tunic for the amulet.

Drawing it out, he dabbed a small drop of blood in its center, on top of a minimalist engraving of an open eye on top of a sunburst. He murmured a few words and the black eye suddenly lit up. The red light then spread through the eye symbol to the sunburst surrounding it. When the light reached the edge of the triangular amulet, the entire talisman flashed a bright red and then went out. After a moment, the amulet gave off an almost imperceptible red glow that gently pulsed. Satisfied, he tucked the amulet back underneath his dark jerkin.

That should make things a bit easier.

ooXXoo

Cullen hung back while Hawke bid her friends goodnight and soon they were alone in the foyer.

She was quiet for a moment and then said, "I'm sorry about Varric; he means well. I for one am really glad you were there tonight." She gave him an ironic smile. "I think you and I may be even now."

Cullen could not think of a good way to say it, so he decided to just jump in. "Hawke, please do not take this the wrong way, but I'm worried about you . . . sleeping alone tonight."

"Now, Ser Cullen, is that any way to proposition a lady?" Hawke joked.

She would try to make this difficult. "I mean nothing improper, Marian. Your body has had quite a shock, and while your heart has been stable for some time now, it is conceivable you could have another episode. If this were to happen while you were sleeping . . ." He trailed off, not wanting to voice the inevitable result.

She just stared at him, so he continued. "I . . . wanted to offer to . . . watch over you tonight. Just in case. I think once you are up and about in the morning, the danger will have passed. But until then . . ."

"Do you really think it might happen again?" Her hand crept up over her heart and she sounded a bit frightened.

Well done, Cullen, he thought in reproach. "It may not. I honestly don't know. But I would rather err on the side of caution. I think, as long as I am here, you will be safe," he tried to reassure her.

"And, you don't mind? You must be as tired as I am."

"No, I don't mind. This is what friends do. Why don't you go upstairs and get settled. Let me know when you're ready to retire, and I can . . . I don't know, bring up a chair, or something." He laughed uncomfortably, trying to get past the extreme awkwardness of the situation.

"Well, I already have a comfortable chair up there for you. Hmm, although on second thought, maybe it should be an un-comfortable chair, so you don't fall asleep on me." She nodded sagely with a twinkle in her eye.

"Whatever you think is best," he demurred.

He watched the flames in the hearth fire while he waited for her, and the main hall darkened around him. After a time he heard her clear her throat and looked up to see her standing on the shadowy balcony above him, tightly clutching the edges of her robe together in one hand. Silently, he joined her upstairs and then followed her into her bed chamber.

Cullen felt like a trespasser even though he had Hawke's permission to be there. When he paused on the threshold, her mabari raised its head from where it lay at the foot of her bed, ears flicked forward. The dog sniffed the air, looked at Cullen steadily, and then laid its head back down. Oddly, Cullen felt slightly better now that the war hound had also given its permission.

He walked to the fireplace, intentionally turning his back on Hawke and her massive canopied bed, and began banking the flames for the night. The room fell into shadow and he waited to hear the slide of fabric and the creak of the bed before he turned around again.

She was lying on her side under the covers watching him, her eyes brightly reflecting the remaining light. He slid a large armchair over near her bed so he could clearly see the rise and fall of her breathing. He put his elbows on the arms, his fingers steepled in front of his face.

"Will you be okay?" she asked.

"Of course. Hawke, get some rest. You need it."

"You're sure? You won't fall asleep on me? If you do, I'll be very . . . cross." She tried to sound stern, but her yawn at the end ruined the effect.

"It's just a few hours 'til dawn. This is nothing compared to the nightwatch at the Circle Tower. No Templar worth his sword would fall asleep on such light duty as this," he teased.

She smiled and then rolled on her back and closed her eyes.

After a few minutes, her eyes flipped open again. Staring at the canopy she said in a small voice, "Cullen, how much do you think people really know about what happened with Meredith? I mean, besides the few of us who survived the encounter with her. Seeing the story in that manifesto and then the interest I sensed from the First Enchanter, I wonder now if there's more confusion than I thought."

He considered this for a moment. He had wondered as much himself in the three months since that night. He had been deliberately vague about Meredith's corruption and madness in his report to Val Royeaux. Although Meredith had her failings, she had been a respected and dedicated leader and had many allies. He thought it was in everyone's best interest to assume she fell to the mages as part of the mayhem of the battle. He felt he owed her that much.

"I honestly don't know," he said. "Hawke, I wouldn't worry that people will start assuming that ludicrous manifesto is an accurate description of reality. I think you would be hard pressed, for example, to find many in Kirkwall who considered Meredith a messiah figure. But do people really know what happened? Probably not. And, it's probably better that way. Walking statues and flying abominations are a hard sell, even for someone with Varric's abilities."

She was quiet again and he hoped she was drifting off when she continued. "So you don't think we were being tyrannical when we overthrew Meredith? When we slaughtered all those mages who wouldn't . . . surrender?" Her voice had an affecting catch at the end which pulled at his heartstrings.

Now I see where this is going. "So, what you're really asking is, do I think you were the bad guy that day? No, I honestly don't. The path to righteousness is never straight and narrow. If Orsino had surrendered, if Meredith had backed down, many more lives could have been saved. You resisted the Right of Annulment as best you could. You saved as many mages and Templars as you could. You made hard choices. But, Hawke, as usual, you were the only thing keeping Kirkwall from destroying itself. The city owes you a debt of gratitude and I'll stake my oath on that."

She turned her face toward him again, gave him a wan smile, and then closed her eyes again.

It warmed him to think that, in this darkened room, she would open up to him about her fears this way—especially since it allowed him the opportunity to try to allay them. He wasn't sure if he succeeded but at last he heard her breathing slow to a regular rhythm.

ooXXoo

Hawke woke up slowly, feeling the previous night's ordeal finally take its toll on her body. She tried to stay still as she took inventory of the aches and pains. Eventually, her eyes opened to the warm sun slanting across her face, and she saw a glowing figure standing almost dreamlike before the flickering fire. She blinked trying to get her eyes to focus properly and at last made out Cullen, watching the flames while he seemed to be in the final stages of dressing. Entranced, she watched his long fingers buckle on his vambraces, adjust his skirting, and then start to wrap the long red Templar sash around his waist with practiced care. The bed must have made a noise as he suddenly looked up to find her watching him.

"Good morning." She gave him a muzzy smile.

"Er, good afternoon," he corrected, finishing with the sash. He returned to sit in the chair next to her bed. On the side table next to him were an empty tea cup and a pile of documents. He saw her puzzled look, so explained. "I sent word to the Gallows this morning that I would be occupied here for a time today. Neil sent over some things that needed my attention and a change of clothes. How do you feel?"

"A bit sore, but good. No, um, episodes last night?"

"No, it seems my concern was unwarranted. You slept quite soundly, I'm pleased to report. But, now that you're awake, I'm afraid I'll have to depart." He started to gather his papers. "I did want to ask whether you would like to be present for the interrogation of the Righteous followers that were apprehended last night."

Hawke considered this for a minute, imagining how distraught Bran would be today with her unexpected absence. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have the time today; however, I'd like Aveline to go, if possible." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up to stretch.

"Of course . . ." he said, trailing off as his startled eyes fastened on her clearly visible curves.

She colored and quickly grabbed her robe, realizing too late she was just wearing her flimsy nightgown. Okay, fully awake now.

"Let me walk you out," she murmured in embarrassment, hurrying out to the stairs. She stopped halfway down as she saw Cullen's assistant Neil talking with several knights in her foyer. Her hand crept up to hold the two edges of her robe together at the neckline. Templars have taken over my house.

Cullen met her on the stairs. "I forgot to mention; it's been rather busy here this morning. But, don't worry, we're all headed out." Neil looked up at them, and Cullen gave him a commanding nod of his head towards the door. Neil inclined his head and ushered the Templars outside.

They continued to the door, where Cullen gave her self-conscious smile. "Sorry. There has been quite a bit going on today, with some training issues coming up. But, I wanted to stay 'til you awoke."

"Cullen, please, there is no need to apologize. I'm ashamed to have taken up so much of your time and care. I need to find a way to make it up to you."

"Well, I might know of one." His eyes narrowed shrewdly and a smile played on his lips. "Have dinner with me. There are some things I'd like to talk over with you."

This made her curious, but she nodded. "Of course. When? Where?"

"Well, that's the thing. I'd invite you to the Gallows, but we're not exactly designed for . . . entertaining guests. At least, not comfortably. I was thinking it might be better . . . here."

She laughed. "So, I can make it up to you by inviting you to dinner here?"

"Yes."

"So, when shall I invite you?" she asked gamely.

"Perhaps . . . at week's end? Preferably before the Chantry inquest arrives."

"Well, Knight-Commander, it sounds like a date. I feel so forward for asking," she said with an ironic twist of her lips.

He frowned at her with mock severity. "Indeed, Hawke, very forward. But I accept the invitation all the same. Thank you." He nodded in parting, giving her a quick grin. "Until then." He then strode out into the bright Hightown sunlight, with his squad of Templar on his heels.

ooXXoo

When Hawke arrived at the Keep that afternoon, the vestibule outside her office was full of people waiting for her attention. By the time night had fallen, she still hadn't gotten to many of them, but Bran thankfully sent the rest away for another day.

She sat with her head down on her desk when she heard Aveline's voice. "Still breathing, Hawke?"

"No. So I can't talk to anyone else today." She wearily raised her head and saw Aveline grinning at her and carefully shutting the door.

"So," Aveline started with a mischievous glint in her eye, "wasn't it kind of our new Knight-Commander to take such good care of the Viscountess of Kirkwall today? I hear he was at her estate all night and most of today. . ." Aveline purposely used the most vapid and gossiping tone she could muster.

"Oh, don't you start! He wanted to make sure my heart didn't stop beating. Not terribly romantic, that."

"Hmm, sounds like it depends on your definition of romance." Aveline smirked.

"Oh, Aveline, don't make me worry for you and Donnic," Hawke said in a pitying tone.

"Funny. So, what ever happened to the notion of being careful around Cullen?"

"You mean your notion of being careful around him," she corrected archly. "If Cullen hadn't been there last night, I probably would have died. Besides, far from being romantic, I had a whole contingent of Templars camped out at my house today. While I slept."

"Still, Hawke." Aveline expression turned serious. "These are not the typical interactions between the Knight-Commander and the Viscountess. People are talking. And, the way he has . . . cared for you is . . . something." Aveline almost sounded wistful at the end.

"I know," Hawke said with a small smile.

Aveline sighed. "It's not that I don't like Cullen. He seems to be a very good man. But he's a Templar. And their Knight-Commander. Such duty doesn't allow for romantic entanglements ."

"You married a Templar, Aveline."

"Which is why I know what I'm talking about. And, I am not a mage. Or the Viscountess of Kirkwall."

"Well, there's nothing really going on anyway. We're just friends."

"You keep telling yourself that . . ."

Changing the subject, Hawke asked, "So, did you get a chance to interrogate the Righteous today?"

Aveline rolled her eyes and made a rude noise. "Fine. Ignore me. But, yes, I did, and as expected, we didn't learn much. We have two in custody, both relatively new to the group. Typical small-minded thrillseekers with a grudge against authority. The authority this time being you."

"Did you ask if there was any kind of plot against Cullen?"

"Yes, and they claimed there was not."

"Do you know how or where they were recruited?"

"These two were dock workers and were approached there. Bears investigating, but it's a thin lead."

"Anything about who is leading them?"

"No, no names, and only vague descriptions. The man who was speaking at the meeting apparently wasn't very high up in the food chain. Probably why his plan was so poor."

"Well, not so poor; almost got me," Hawke muttered, rubbing her chest again. "What did Cullen think?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Aveline said pointedly.

Hawke chose to ignore this. "I would appreciate it if you would look into their recruitment. Anything we can learn will be helpful." She pursed her lips and then continued, "Aveline, while you're here . . . how are the security plans for the Chantry inquest?"

"They're moving along. I have assignments made, in collaboration with Knight-Captain Leon, for protecting both the new Chantry compound and the meeting room here in the Keep for their deliberations. We should be ready for any trouble."

Hawke frowned at this. "Do you expect any?"

"Nothing concrete. But, we want to be prepared for anything."

"Agreed." Hawke nodded.

She realized that being together as a team again last night was making her nostalgic. "So, Aveline, how is Donnic?" Hawke asked. "It feels like we haven't spent time as just friends in too long."

"He's well." As usual, Aveline's face softened as she spoke of her beloved husband. "Now that Fenris is gone, he has foolishly taken to playing cards with Varric and Merrill each week at the Hanged Man. But, at least now I'm invited to play, which I actually do from time to time. You should think about joining us one of these days."

"I'd like that. Maybe I will, if I get the time. Thank you again. For everything."

"Hawke, just . . . be careful," Aveline said and then left.

Hawke considered Aveline's warnings in light of her upcoming dinner with Cullen. She had joked about it, but she wasn't sure if it really was a date. Nor if she wanted it to be. This new friendship was nice, but it also made their professional relationship a bit awkward. She certainly didn't want the gossips picking up where that blasted manifesto had left off, claiming she was having an inappropriate influence on the Knight-Commander. It sounded like he didn't want that either. Then there was the fact that she was a mage, which just made everything not only complicated, but . . . impossible.

Just friends. Yes, that's probably better.

Notes:

FYI, my interpretation of Hawke going "pro-Templar" in DA2 Act 3 included her enjoining Meredith and Cullen to allow the mages to surrender. So, I'm spinning this as Hawke did not actually support the full "kill 'em all" Right of Annulment, but instead was trying to "keep the casualties to a minimum," in her own words. *shrug* In my story, this inevitably will cause some confusion about what really happened. Thanks again for reading!

Chapter 6: Just Friends

Summary:

Dinner with Cullen is followed by a mysterious encounter.

Hawke looked at herself in the mirror again for what seemed like the thousandth time and then scolded herself for it. You're just friends, she told herself again. It doesn't matter what you look like.

Cullen would be arriving for dinner any minute and here she was agonizing over something as stupid as her appearance. The dress had become her favorite, primarily because it was practical, but it also made her feel a bit more feminine than all her tabard-looking mage robes over the years. She liked how the dark midnight blue of the dress contrasted with her light grey eyes. Plus, the slender fit of the dress, with its bare shoulders and simple lacing at the bodice, meant it was wonderfully comfortable. For a change, she had decided to wear her hair down, but now she wasn't sure.

You're just friends. He already knows what you look like.

She heard Bodahn greeting someone, meaning that he had arrived. He just wants to talk. She started down the stairs and then stopped in shock when she saw him.

He wasn't wearing his armor. It was the first time she had seen him in normal street clothes, and he looked so different she might not have recognized him at first. In his uniform he always seemed larger than life, like he had stepped from a storybook about handsome knights in shining armor. Dressed in an elegant but simple red tunic and well-fitted dun trousers tucked into supple leather boots, he looked much more down to earth and therefore much more dangerous to her tenuous self-control. His armor had given him an untouchable quality, whereas this outfit seemed to invite the opposite.

He looked up at her where she had paused on the stairs and immediately gave her devastating smile that made her palms start to sweat.

Maker give me strength.

She realized she was openly staring at him and so hurried down the remaining steps. As she approached him, he held out to her the bottle of wine he was holding.

"I thought I should at least bring something, seeing as how I essentially invited myself over," he admitted with an uneasy smile.

Strangely enough, seeing that he seemed to be as nervous as she was helped her to relax. "Cullen, I'm glad that you did. Please come in. Orana has been cooking up a storm today, so I think we are in for a delight. Why don't you take a seat in the study and I'll get Bodahn to open this."

She soon returned to find him standing before the fireplace examining the odd Tevinter statue hanging above the mantel. She noted with curiosity that her dog had positioned himself next to Cullen, but apparently not out of any protective instinct, since he was thumping his tail on the ground while Cullen idly scratched his ears.

"You know, for all the times I've been in this room, this is the first time I've noticed this. What is it?" Cullen said.

Hawke laughed, "It's funny you ask, because I don't know. I honestly don't recall where I got it. My friend Fenris thought it might be one of the old Tevinter gods. I should probably get rid of the creepy thing. I always feel like it's watching me."

"It's definitely unusual. I guess every other time I've been in this room I've been too preoccupied to see it."

"I suppose that's true." Her thoughts immediately turned to the emotional confrontation they'd had the night he had saved her life. "Our friendship has had no end of harrowing moments."

"You haven't felt any lingering ill effects from the smiting, have you?"

"No, I've been tired all week, but that could be for any number of reasons."

"I'm glad to hear it. I hadn't wanted to scare you at the time, but like your friend Merrill said, I've also never seen anyone go through that so many times in succession that way. Or, at least, not and survive."

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "Well, that at least explains why you were so worried."

"You could say that." His voice was so soft she almost didn't hear him.

Just then Bodahn came in, intoning, "Dinner is served, messere."

They entered the estate's formal dining room, where dinner had been laid out. Instead of placing them at either end of the massive table, Bodahn had laid their places adjacent to each other at one end, allowing for more intimate conversation.

"You've given me an excuse to actually use this room," she joked. "I'm sure Bodahn and Orana are cursing me for causing more work now in having to clean it."

"It is much nicer than the dining facilities at the Gallows, which only include the mess hall or your private room. I thought it would be much easier for us to talk here than with hundreds of ears listening in." He laughed.

She was glad to see that he seemed much more comfortable now.

"So, Cullen, was there something in particular you wanted to talk about tonight? I must admit I've been rather curious," she said, sitting down.

"Yes, but maybe it should wait until after we've eaten."

"Hmm, mysterious. Should I be anxious that it's a topic that requires a full stomach?"

"No, nothing to be anxious about. I—" He paused. "Well, now I've made it sound much more dire than it warrants. It's just not as pleasant as . . . chatting with you."

Hawke took a sip of wine instead of answering, waiting to see if he would continue.

He sighed. "I wanted to strategize with you about the Chantry inquest. I'm concerned that certain questions will come up about that day, since, as you noted the other night, not everyone seems to have the details. I thought it might be important that you and I were on the same page."

She laughed. "You're right, not nearly as pleasant!"

"So this is part of the reason why I thought it would be better to talk here."

"Part of the reason," she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

He colored a bit and took a drink from his own glass.

"Well, I think that's a good idea, on all counts. Let's wait until after we've eaten." She grinned. "So, on a more pleasant topic, have you gotten a chance to do anything with the Knight's Bloom I gave you?"

"Actually, yes. You were right, it has taken well to the Gallows. In fact, I have wanted to ask you the name of the Fereldan farmer who grows it so we can obtain more. Some of the apprentices have shown a real affinity for nature magic and gardening, and so the vines are on their way up the Tower as we speak." He glanced at her with a crooked a smile. "I'm told that at the rate they're growing, the mages should be able to use them to escape in about five or six months."

"Oh I'm glad to hear that. I mean, that they're growing, not that the mages might escape. Not that I think they will!" Oh dear, I'm starting to babble like Merrill.

"You know, Tilda thought very highly of you after your meeting. She wanted to know when I would be seeing you again, as she would like to talk with you about some training issues."

"What did you tell her?" she asked with a frown.

"Just that I was having dinner with you, so I said I would mention it. Why? Is it a problem?"

"No, no, I'd be pleased to do what I can. I just find her a bit too curious about our . . . working relationship. She seemed very interested in it when we spoke." She still couldn't shake the feeling that somehow Tilda wanted something from her, but she wasn't going to give voice to such a hunch.

"Anyway," she continued, "I don't know why she would want to talk to me. I'm not exactly the best person with whom to discuss mage training."

"Well, you have been rather successful with the, er, non-standard training you've had. Maybe she's interested in how your experiences might help the Circle."

"I don't know. It doesn't feel quite right to bring a famed apostate to the Tower to talk about how she successfully flouted the Chantry and the Circle throughout her career."

He seemed to consider this for a moment. "I must admit, the Templar in me would no doubt find that a rather useful bit of information. I am personally curious as well. But I suppose I can understand your reluctance."

"Hmm, Cullen, did I just hear you admit that there's part of you that doesn't constantly think like a Templar?"

He laughed, looking perplexed as he realized what he had said. "I suppose that is true." He reached over and refilled their wine glasses. "That must be the part that is trying to imagine a young Marian Hawke discovering she has magic for the first time."

"Oh." She chuckled. "That's something I haven't thought about for some time." She looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall. "Let's see, it was rather early, actually. I guess I was about five or six. Apparently I had accidentally dropped a toy in the pond near our house. I was so upset that I froze the pond solid and walked out to retrieve it. Of course, it was now frozen into the pond itself so it required my father melting the ice to get it out."

Her eyes lost focus as she pictured again her parents' reactions. "I remember he was very proud of me. And, I remember my mother . . . cried." She sighed. "It took some time for it to thaw out completely."

He looked at her in understanding, and then the corner of his mouth quirked up. "You know I had a similar experience once at the Tower in Ferelden. One of the apprentices accidentally froze one of the baths solid . . . with someone still in it. Needless to say, it was rather a mess to sort out."

With the wine quickly disappearing, their conversation rippled out further into their personal stories, inevitably synchronizing with the timeless rhythms of courtship. She learned that he had been a foundling, raised in the Denerim Chantry, and so he had been pledged to the Order from a young age. He learned about her itinerant childhood spent on the run following her father's flight from the Kirkwall Circle, until they finally settled down outside Lothering. She learned that being a good swimmer was an important skill for Templars who would live in a Tower surrounded by water, and that Cullen was one of the best, winning every competition during his training. He learned that when Hawke was ten years old she rashly decided she was going to be an actor and so ran away with an acting troupe–until her father had tracked her down in Redcliffe and dragged her home. They learned that they both loved to read, although Cullen was partial to histories and Hawke preferred fiction.

When they reached the end of the meal, it was with some reluctance that they moved back into the study with the third bottle of wine.

ooXXoo

Settling into a comfortable chair before the fire, Hawke regretfully turned back to business. "I suppose we should talk about the inquest, although honestly, I would much rather hear about the further training exploits of Cullen the wonder-Templar. Was there anything you weren't good at?" she teased.

"Of course," he said readily, "I can't cook." He smiled, but then his face got thoughtful and he shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I . . . I just always felt like I had to work a little harder than everyone else to get the same recognition. I guess it became a bit of a habit."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that . . . being a Chantry ward didn't exactly give me a leg up in the world."

"Ah," she said in understanding. After a pause, she continued, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can't cook either." This made them both laugh.

"So, the inquest," he started. "Have you received much information about this visit? I have heard very little."

"All I have been told is that they have questions, not about what or for whom. Seneschal Bran is rather vexed, actually, since he hasn't been able to make out any kind of an agenda or anything so organized. We're just waiting on their pleasure."

"I imagine they'll want a first-hand account from you of what happened that day when the Chantry blew up."

She shrugged. "What little I know. The explosion was as much a surprise to me as anyone. Everyone knows that there was tension between the mages and Templars in Kirkwall." She paused. "You know, at one point, Elthina sent me to talk to a Chantry agent who thought the Resolutionists were behind all the mage unrest. They were known to be in Kirkwall at the time and apparently violence in the pursuit of mage freedom is their trademark. Given all Anders's . . . secrecy in those last days, for all I know, he was in league with them." Her voice grew colder. "As his friend, I don't know if I'll be implicated in his actions or . . . what."

"The fact that you carried out his sentence should be vindication enough."

Hawke closed her eyes as remembered pain lanced through her. That doesn't excuse it. Her mind's eye again pictured Anders declaring he would be a martyr as she rashly sought justice for Grand Cleric Elthina and the many people Anders had murdered that day. Justice. That word no longer meant the same thing to her. But like so many times before, she had to accept the fact that there was no way she could take back her actions now.

She opened her eyes when she felt Cullen squeeze her hand in sympathy.

"Then you helped restore order to the city. You protected the citizenry from the mages who ran amok that day. You helped protect the innocent, both in the streets and at the Gallows. You need to focus on the good you did."

She smiled her thanks. "I'm just hoping that the Divine views what happened here as the end of the mage problem as opposed to a . . . beginning. Elthina was worried that she might declare Holy War or something on Kirkwall if it got out of hand."

"Are you certain?" He sat forward in alarm. "I know Meredith had gone around Elthina and sent to Val Royeaux directly for the Right of Annulment, but that shouldn't cause such an extreme reaction."

She nodded. "The Chantry agent we spoke to told us so, in no uncertain terms. She even warned that Elthina should leave the city for her own safety."

They both fell silent at the prophetic ring of those unheeded words.

"You're lucky you weren't in the city that day as an actual witness. Hopefully you won't have to answer for much."

"Actually, I've been wondering how much they will want to know about what happened with Meredith afterward." He shifted uncomfortably. "Hawke, you should know . . . in my official reporting of the incident I . . . didn't mention the idol and her madness. I said that she was lost in the battle, not that you had to kill her."

This surprised her. "How will you explain the new Meredith statue in the Gallows courtyard?"

"Who knows what strange magics erupted during the battle? We're still not sure what happened . . ." he prevaricated.

She nodded slowly. "I . . . suppose that works. I certainly have no idea what really happened to Meredith when she . . . turned to stone, I guess?" She paused. "Can I ask why?"

"Meredith and I had our differences. A great many differences, it turned out. But, she was devoted to our duty and served the Order well for many years before all this. I . . . didn't want it to be known that she died in such an . . . ignoble way. She deserved better."

Hawke personally thought that was debatable, but understood his good intentions. "So, trying to protect Meredith, too?" she asked, shaking her head fondly.

He looked away and shrugged. "It just seemed best for everyone."

One of these days, she hoped that Cullen would try and put his own interests ahead of everyone else's. All she could think was that, in his attempt to do the right thing, he hadn't fully thought this through. Letting Meredith's madness be known was by far the easiest way to justify some of their actions that day. Plus, lying to the Order inevitably was going to get them in to trouble.

"Don't you think people will have heard about that final battle, though? Varric certainly hasn't been quiet about it."

"Hawke, there are so many accounts of what happened that day, the true story frankly sounds rather far-fetched. And, from what I hear, even Varric's story doesn't follow reality that closely. Besides that, no one really knows except for the few of us who survived it."

She thought about this, and despite her misgivings, knew that she would support him anyway. "Okay. I suppose the fewer fingers pointing at either you or me, the better, anyway."

"Thank you, Hawke," he said with a frown.

She smiled at him crookedly and tried to lighten the mood. "So while we're comparing notes, anything else we should get straight? For example, were you going to arrest me that day?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Well, let's focus on the fact that you were working with the Templars to protect the city, so . . . no, let's gloss over that point, too."

"Hmm, I think I like this revisionist version of history a bit better."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably and gave her a pained look. "Hawke—"

"I'm sorry." She chuckled wickedly. "I don't think I can ever really gloss over the fact that you almost threw me in your dungeon. It's just too much fun to see you squirm about it."

"You are a cruel woman."

She laughed and then poured the last of the wine into their glasses. "So, what else? Are we friends in this version of history? Or is that 'having too much influence on you'?" she asked half-teasingly. She was actually quite curious about whether he still had such concerns.

He raised his glass to her. "Hawke, I think we would be friends in any version."

She touched her glass to his and then looked up to meet his eyes. "I would like to think so."

Eyes locked, they both drank. She ran her tongue over her lower lip nervously and had to look away from the sudden intensity in his gaze.

Just friends, she reminded herself, feeling her pulse quicken.

Trying to break the tension again, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "Well, friends, except perhaps in the version where I'm languishing in your dungeon."

"Hawke!"

She just giggled.

"If you don't stop teasing me about this," he growled, "you may get your wish. I still have that dungeon and I know how to use it."

"Oh, promises, promises," she retorted with eyes dancing. She was starting to realize that she probably shouldn't have had that last glass of wine. Or, four.

He might have realized the same thing, for all at once he got serious. He reached out and took her hand, his touch electrifying to her already unsteady heartbeat. "Marian, despite the fears I shared the other night, about you having too much . . . influence over me, I think our friendship is a good thing for Kirkwall. But, above all . . . I think it's a good thing for me. I would hate it if I ever had to pretend that it's not important to me."

She had no idea what to say, so she just nodded.

He lightly kissed the back of her hand and then stood up. "It's probably time for me to make my way back to the Gallows. Thank you very much for dinner. And for a lovely evening."

They walked to the door in silence. As he stepped outside, he turned back. "Oh, and by the way, you looked beautiful tonight."

He was already long gone when she whispered into the night, "So did you."

ooXXoo

Preoccupied with Cullen's parting words, she stepped out into the quiet of the square before the estate. The wind sang softly through the trees and she saw the last quarter moon starting its rise. The breeze was still warm even though the first autumn leaves had started to fall. The night had a restless feel that matched her mood, but after a few moments she recognized that there was also something else. Again, the feeling of being watched. Searching the square in panic, she caught the flash of silver eyes upon her and then recalled the assassin.

She thought of calling the guards who were now consistently stationed outside her door, mere yards away, but hesitated. Like the time before, the man with the silver eyes made no threatening moves toward her. She could hardly distinguish him from the shadows in which he stood, but he seemed to be just watching. Before she knew what she was doing, she was approaching him.

She stopped about ten feet away, and now could see that he was lounging against a pillar with arms crossed.

Rather nonchalant for someone intending to murder me.

He was again dressed all in the deepest black, from nondescript hood to soft leather boots. Other than his peculiar silver eyes there were no other distinguishing features about him, except perhaps that the style of his jerkin was a bit old fashioned.

Screwing up her courage, she said, "Nice night for a stroll."

He remained silent. Watching.

Okay, so much for the subtle approach. "What do you want?" she demanded.

Again he did not respond, which succeeded in unnerving her more than any overt threat might have. She started to tap into the deep well of her mana and was about to call over the guard, when he finally said, "Do Templars now come and go at all hours of the night? The mage keeps strange company."

What in the Void? He almost sounded like he was talking to himself, with a strange lilting cadence she couldn't place.

"Look, friend, I don't know what you're about, but I think it's time you moved it along." She tried to sound as authoritative as possible, but even she could hear the small tremor in her voice.

"Not exactly friends, we think," he said slowly, like he was figuring something out.

Still studying her, he uncrossed his arms and steepled his fingers together in a distinctive triangle before his face. This revealed a curious feature about the odd man at last. The backs of his hands were completely covered in tattoos. Not pictures, but words written in a long looping script that she couldn't easily make out.

"Okay, time to leave." She drew on her power, letting electricity trickle down her arms in a brief, final warning. She moved to redirect the energy towards him when suddenly she felt a wave of spirit energy slam into her, dispelling her magic, draining every ounce of her mana and physically knocking her to the ground.

Dazed, she scrambled to her feet but saw that he was already gone again. The shadowed square was now empty. Her heart was racing and every inch of her throbbed in pain, reminding her of that night she fought the Righteous. She started to back up warily toward her estate, feeling completely outmatched by this mysterious stranger.

As she neared her door, the guards finally took notice that something was amiss. "Viscountess, are you all right?"

"Yes." She tried to catch her breath. "But please be extra vigilant tonight. Good night."

She fled inside and straight to her room, crawling under the covers with her clothes still on. Exhausted, she tried to process what had just happened.

Assassin? Mage? Templar? Who could this man be? He still hadn't tried to kill her, which probably would have been easy tonight given the ease with which he had drained her. And knocked her on her ass. Then there were the strange things he had said. Was he stalking her? Hunting her?

Still confused, she dropped off into a troubled sleep where silver-eyed enemies chased her and unfamiliar hands wrote out familiar, looping words she couldn't quite recognize.

ooXXoo

Hawke woke up later than usual and had a hard time dragging herself out of bed. She felt lousy and wondered if it was a result of the wine she had drunk or the smiting she'd received last night. She decided it was probably both. She dressed slowly and was getting herself ready to leave for the Keep when she heard voices downstairs.

Emerging from her room, she saw Aveline had just arrived.

"Hawke," Aveline said. "You look terrible."

"Good morning to you, too. You know, funny thing is, I feel terrible."

"Any particular reason?" she said in a deceptively disinterested tone.

"Probably just the extra glass of wine I should not have drunk last night. Guess that happens when your tolerance goes down. I'm getting positively boring."

"Right. Well, let me walk you to the Keep."

Soon they were walking through Hightown, and Aveline was unusually quiet.

"All right, Aveline, out with it. My head hurts too much to deal with you being coy."

"I got a strange report this morning from the guards coming off the night shift at your house. I couldn't tell what happened, but it raised a flag for me. Is everything okay?"

"Oh! Honestly, I thought you were going to give me a hard time about having dinner with Cullen."

Aveline smiled. "That comes later. Right now I want to know what happened after he left. Assuming he did leave this time . . ."

Hawke gave Aveline a dirty look. "Why, what did this report say?"

"Now who's being coy?"

"Fine. I had sort of a . . . strange encounter last night."

"That much I gathered. Were you in danger?"

"I . . . well, I don't know. I think so." Hawke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her throbbing eyes. "It's kind of a long story."

"Then, why don't we go to my office, I'll feed you some tea, and you can tell me."

ooXXoo

An hour and two cups of strong black tea later, Hawke's headache had diminished to a dull ache. She sat nursing a third while Aveline tried to absorb the strange tale of the silver-eyed man.

"You know, Hawke, the tattoos you mention sound vaguely familiar to me, but I can't right now recall why."

"Well, I hope you can, because so far it's the only clue I have. The whole thing is just so . . . bizarre, I don't know what to think. A solid lead would be comforting."

"I can imagine," Aveline murmured. "Perhaps I should increase the guard at your house?"

"No, I don't think more guards would have made a bit of difference last night."

"Maybe a bodyguard? Someone who is always with you?"

"Maybe . . . but again, I doubt this person would have been with me last night. All I did was step in front of my house."

"You'll just have to be more diligent in not going anywhere alone. Just until we figure this out. And, we will figure it out, Hawke."

Hawke nodded disconsolately.

"What does Cullen think of all this?" Aveline finally asked.

"He doesn't know. I . . . I honestly don't even know if I'm overreacting. Until I know more of what I'm up against, I'd like to keep this between you and me for now. Cullen would just . . . I don't know what he would do." She sighed, imagining the range of inappropriate reactions he might have, from laughing at her wasting his time with such an ill-defined threat to locking her in his dungeon for safekeeping.

"If you prefer," Aveline said, uncertainly. Then she smiled. "So, is now a good time to scold you about dinner, then?"

"No!" Hawke got up to leave. "I'll just imagine the lecture instead. I have to get to my office."

"I feel like I've been saying this too much lately, but Hawke, please be careful," Aveline said seriously.

"I'll do my best."

Chapter 7: An Inquest

Summary:

The Chantry inquest arrives bringing uncomfortable questions and some new players to Kirkwall.

Hawke didn't have time to worry any further about the mystery man, since before she knew it, she was standing on the Keep steps with Cullen and First Enchanter Tilda waiting to officially welcome the Chantry inquest members. In the distance they could finally make out the opulent procession of Orlesian clergy approaching up the long stairways from the lower city, surrounded by a sea of porters and liveried servants.

Given the formality of the occasion, she had opted to wear her circlet of office. The fact that it was already giving her a headache was something Cullen was enjoying immensely—evil creature that he was.

"Why are you laughing? Aren't you going to wear yours, too?" she had asked him as they walked outside together.

"Since Meredith's circlet was never part of the official uniform, unlike yours, I have decided to never wear it again." He had been entirely too cheerful about this fact. "But, you should keep yours on. It goes well with your scowl."

As she watched the procession arrive, she twitched the circlet again trying to release the pressure points.

"Stop fidgeting," Cullen whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending a tingling shiver down her spine. She glared at him, which only caused him to smile more.

Leading the procession was a woman clothed in sumptuous Chantry robes. Hawke assumed she must be Mother Christiane, with whom she had been corresponding. The Mother's pale blue eyes darted about, seeming to take in the drab dwarven style of Viscount's Keep and the modest courtiers murmuring around them with a disdainful wrinkle of her nose. Her robes were of standard Chantry design, but somehow also more lavish, with small embellishments and ornate details never seen on Kirkwall Chantry robes. Or Fereldan robes either, from what Hawke could recall. She figured the woman must be middle-aged, but she looked very youthful with elaborately-styled auburn curls piled on top of her head and elegantly applied cosmetics obscuring her face.

Hawke didn't know who she was expecting for something as mundane as an inquest, but no one this . . . ostentatious.

The woman sashayed up the remaining steps to greet them. "Viscountess Hawke, I presume," she said in a strong Orlesian accent.

"Mother Christiane." Hawke inclined her head. "Welcome to Kirkwall. I hope your journey was pleasant."

Christiane tittered strangely at this. "Ah, it was not, but then it is over now, no?" She tittered again. "And, this must be the Knight-Commander. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance." She was practically simpering at him.

"The pleasure is mine, Your Reverence," Cullen said cordially with a nod of his head.

Hawke was a bit taken aback with the woman's odd behavior, so tried to redirect Christiane by introducing Tilda.

After the pleasantries, Christiane turned back to Hawke. "The Divine is very saddened by the news that her dear friend Elthina has gone to the Maker's side. We hope that our visit here can sort through the details so that we may move forward to the more agreeable task of rebuilding a new Chantry for a new Grand Cleric. And a new future for Kirkwall." The Mother sounded as if she were reciting lines from memory.

"Has a new Grand Cleric been chosen?" Hawke asked.

"She has. I am pleased to tell you that Grand Cleric Augusta Terreneau will be joining you in approximately two months' time. So we have not much time to make ready, no?" She tittered again and then looked back down the steps at her retainers and clapped her hands. "Let me introduce my people, and then perhaps we can go inside and recover from climbing these horrid steps."

The Orlesian entourage was ushered inside the Keep to where Bran had arranged for a formal banquet. As people chatted and settled in to the banquet room, Hawke considered the implications of Christiane's pronouncements. Kirkwall's new Grand Cleric would be here in short order. Plus, it sounded as if part of Christiane's job would be to prepare for that arrival. She wondered if perhaps that was why the Divine had sent this popinjay instead of the arbiter she was expecting.

With a sinking feeling, Hawke wondered now how long she would be entertaining this group.

ooXXoo

It wasn't until several hours later that Hawke could finally relax, with the last of the Orlesian contingent leaving for the Chantry compound following the lengthy and irritating dinner. She was exhausted from all the posturing and courtly compliments that had filled the ridiculous affair and was more than ready to drag herself home. But she knew she could not leave yet.

She caught Cullen's eye and subtly nodded her head in the direction of her office. He nodded and started to follow her. As they passed by Tilda, Hawke asked softly, "Care to join us?"

Tilda gave a quick smile. "Yes!"

The threesome settled into Hawke's office and she circumspectly shut the door while dragging the horrible circlet off her head and rubbing her temple. They were all silent for a moment, each with a thoughtful look their faces.

Into the silence, Tilda said, "Oh my."

Hawke and Cullen broke out laughing at Tilda's understatement.

"None of that was quite what I expected," Cullen said, with a frown.

"Nor I," agreed Hawke. "My guess is this means they're here to stay, or at least until the new Grand Cleric arrives."

"I think you're right. It seems we have the Divine's gaze once again. For better or for worse," Tilda said.

"Have either of you ever heard of this Augusta Terreneau?" Hawke asked. They both shook their heads no. "We should see what we can find out. This inquest, however, becomes more and more of a puzzle."

"Sister Helena seemed to be rather sharp," Tilda noted, referring to the serious, dark-haired woman who had asked the few sensible questions during dinner. "I got the impression that she might be here more for the inquest than for the redecorating or whatever nonsense Mother Christiane seemed to be worried about for the new Chantry."

"I got a similar impression." Cullen nodded. "She seemed a bit more . . . curious about what really happened here."

With a gentle knock on the door, Bran came in but then backpedaled in surprise. "I'm sorry, Excellency, I didn't know you were occupied."

"No, please, come in, Bran."

"I have the preliminary schedule for the inquest. Viscountess, I thought you would want to know that you are to meet with them first thing tomorrow morning." He handed the schedule to Hawke. "It seems they are calling witnesses tomorrow, and then they want to meet with the engineers and builders the following day."

"One day . . ." Cullen mused. "That's a bit short for fact finding."

"Indeed, Knight-Commander," Bran replied. "But they have also reserved the right to, ahem, change the schedule as they see fit."

Hawke could tell that this fact bothered Bran, who prided himself on being in control of such things.

"Thank you, Bran. I'll try my best to be on time tomorrow, then," she promised. He gave her skeptical look and then departed.

ooXXoo

Cullen was concerned about Hawke's interview with the inquest, so made up an excuse to visit Aveline at the Keep in the morning. Aveline was perceptive enough to know it was a ruse, but was too polite to say anything at first. Finally, when he started having difficulty following their conversation as he watched the clock in the corner, she suggested kindly that he wait for Hawke on the balcony where he would have a clear view of the inquest room door. He gave her a grateful smile, giving up the pretense of their meeting, and hurried to the balcony.

He didn't have to wait long. Soon, he saw Hawke exit the inquest room with Bran at her side and a perplexed look on her face. She didn't seem to be in custody, so that must be a good sign. When she caught sight of him, she immediately walked over to join him at the balcony. They stood side by side for a minute, looking out over the milling people below.

"How did it go?" Cullen asked in a low voice.

"They wanted a description of what happened that day. A more detailed description of the explosion itself. Our estimate of the damage. How many people had been killed. What the necessary budget will be to rebuild. How much new staff we will need. Whether we have enough local talent or will need engineers from Val Royeaux," she said in a bemused voice.

"What?"

Hawke looked up at him, puzzlement writ large on her face. "They didn't ask me anything about why it happened. It's as if . . . either they don't care, or they think they already know."

Cullen felt a chill go through him. "What does this mean?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea."

ooXXoo

The inquest spent about a week collecting information about the Chantry explosion, most of which focused on the aftermath of the event and how to rebuild. This resulted in many meetings with the remaining Chantry clergy, the engineers, builders and city planners, and mostly involved bureaucrats like the Finance Minister. Hawke was relieved that she had only a minor role in most of these proceedings. Nevertheless, she was counting the days until it was all over.

It had become clear that the Orlesian delegation did in fact have dual purposes. Some of them, such as Mother Christiane, were here for the foreseeable future for the task of shoring up the Chantry presence in Kirkwall and preparing for Grand Cleric Augusta's arrival. Others, led by Sister Helena, were in Kirkwall only for the inquest and official fact finding, and they would be departing after the week was out.

Together with Cullen, Hawke continued to puzzle over the "facts" the inquest was charged with finding. They had heard enough inadvertent references to the Resolutionists to begin to guess that this fringe group was being blamed for the Chantry tragedy. However, outside of these clues, typically made in passing conversation with the Chantry delegates, no one was sharing any official findings or conclusions.

They couldn't tell if the Divine would be satisfied that things had been resolved in Kirkwall or not. As the last days of the inquest approached, they began to be cautiously optimistic that they had avoided any truly uncomfortable questions, until Cullen was invited before the inquest on its last day.

ooXXoo

Cullen could not shake his feeling of unease as he entered the inquest room that morning. He was directed to sit at a table which had him facing the inquest members. Mother Christiane and Sister Helena were joined by four other Sisters whom he had met at some point but whose names escaped him. Christiane was smiling, but the other Sisters looked grim.

The night before his interview, he and Hawke had puzzled over the many implications of this meeting. They had sat for hours over their mostly uneaten dinner at Hawke's estate, trying to guess what the inquest might have learned that made them suddenly want to talk to him. Hawke had also suggested that perhaps this had been the inquest's plan all along, to meet with him last, but they couldn't fathom a reason why this would be the case.

With these lingering questions clouding his thoughts, Cullen sat down.

"Thank you for meeting with us, Knight-Commander," Christiane began. "We know you are very busy man, so thank you for taking the time."

"I will do all I can to help, Your Reverence."

Christiane gave him a big smile, but at this point Sister Helena brusquely took over the questioning.

Helena got right to the point. "You were Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard's second-in-command at the time of the Chantry incident, were you not?"

"I was, Sister."

"When did you first come to Kirkwall?"

"Approximately seven years ago. I was transferred from the Ferelden Circle, around the end of the Fifth Blight."

"And, you quickly moved up the ranks, becoming Knight-Captain quite early, did you not?"

"I did," Cullen answered.

"We understand that the Right of Annulment had been requested by Meredith. The Divine was on her way to approving it when the mages destroyed the Chantry and rose up. Do you know what Meredith's plan was that day for quelling the rebellion without the Right?"

He felt himself treading into dangerous territory. It was going to become difficult to preserve Meredith's memory while trying to explain why he would have disobeyed her order of annulling the whole Circle, let alone why he had relieved her of command. He hoped the conversation wouldn't come around to that.

"With so many mages attacking us and the citizenry, there was no path but to destroy all who stood against us. I can only speculate that if it had been warranted, the Knight-Commander might have proceeded with the Annulment in any event; however, we found a way to still quell the rebellion without going to that extreme. A number of mages were saved."

"That is good to hear, Knight-Commander," Christiane gushed. "The Right is always such an extreme measure, no?"

Ignoring Christiane, Helena stared at him unnervingly for a beat. "I see," she said. "And, yet, Meredith still fell."

He tried his best not to look guilty, but instead sorrowful. "Yes, the battle was at times desperate and some strange magics were at play that we still cannot explain. We could not save the Knight-Commander." He was proud of himself that his entire statement was technically true.

"Do you now have a rough sense of how many of the mages were involved in the Chantry plot? I presume they were all routed that day."

"It was my understanding that it was just the one mage, Anders. And, yes, as you know, he was executed by the Champion."

"One mage?" Helena scoffed. "How little you seem to actually know of what happened that day, Knight-Commander." She then resumed her passionless questioning. "How would you describe the relationship between Marian Hawke and Knight-Commander Meredith during the days leading up to the Chantry incident?"

"The Viscountess?" The question caught Cullen by surprise. "The Champion of Kirkwall had long been a supporter of Meredith's, especially in matters dealing with former First Enchanter Orsino. Viscountess Hawke has been nothing but a friend to the Order." That seemed safe.

"But Meredith and Hawke were not always in agreement," Helena pressed, saying it more as a statement than a question.

Cullen wasn't sure what she was getting at, since publicly Hawke had never crossed Meredith until that last day. "I don't know that I can say whether they agreed on every occasion." He furrowed his brow in confusion. "I wasn't privy to their every conversation. But, publicly the Champion was not in conflict with Meredith."

"Despite the Champion's standing as a well-known apostate?"

"To my knowledge, Meredith respected her and her standing as the vanquisher of the Qunari and Champion of the people. It was Meredith who bestowed that title upon her."

Cullen finally started to worry. Is this all about Hawke? Is she in peril? But before he could learn any more, suddenly the interview was over.

"That will be all, Knight-Commander. Thank you for your time." Helena started writing in her notes. A clear dismissal.

Mother Christiane said some insipid pleasantries to him with her usual titter before he could escape the room. He immediately strode to Hawke's office, but stopped on the way when he felt eyes on him. He turned and found Christiane watching him. She smiled, blushed, and then turned away.

Cullen entered the vestibule to Hawke's office, giving Bran a cursory nod before walking in without ceremony. He found Hawke pacing. She stopped mid-stride and rushed over to him as he closed the door carefully.

"So?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

"I am still not sure what to think, but I believe our concerns were warranted. There is something amiss. I just don't know what it is. What was perhaps most telling is that they asked not just about Meredith, but also about you."

Hawke seemed to let this sink in before she said anything. "Tell me."

Cullen quickly recounted his interview, including some of his thoughts on the questioning.

"So it seems that they do have their own theory for who was behind the Chantry conspiracy. Do you think they know something we don't?" she asked.

"They may. I also think that they've heard some of what happened at the end with Meredith and it doesn't add up with the official story. So they're examining the holes. Of course, Varric's stories of Meredith's possession by crazy ancient magics probably aren't helping matters." He grimaced, knowing that that part would never change, except perhaps to get more fantastical.

Hawke chuckled at that, likely thinking the same thing, and then sighed. "Well, I think we just need to focus on the fact that we didn't do anything wrong." But, they both fell silent, knowing that this fact would not help them if the Divine made it an issue.

ooXXoo

That night Sister Helena was finishing her packing in preparation for her departure the next morning when a strong knock came on her door.

"Come in," she called, knowing already who it would be.

As expected, in walked Mother Christiane with a forbidding look on her face. Gone were the affectations she had employed with the Kirkwall people, and in their place, the cold implacability she showed to her inner circle. Without preamble she said, "So you'll tell her it is as she expected?"

"Yes, Your Reverence," she said deferentially, a sharp contrast to the disdain with which she had treated the Mother in public. "We will do our best to give her the true picture of happenings in Kirkwall. That they are all covering up what happened that day at the Gallows. Despite all the conflicting accounts, it seems that apostate woman, Hawke, did overthrow Knight-Commander Meredith. It also seems that, whatever his role in that, Cullen does indeed support the apostate. The Circle appears to be back under control, but that control is tenuous."

Christiane gave a brisk nod. "If Her Grace asks about the need for the Seekers at this time, you can tell her we think it would be premature. Kirkwall seems to have no idea what is coming, so she will have time to make her plans once she is settled here."

"Yes, Your Reverence."

"Have a swift trip home, Sister, and Maker watch over you," Mother Christiane said in clipped tones. She then swept out of the room.

Chapter 8: Interlude

Summary:

Two months pass while Hawke prepares for the Grand Cleric’s arrival and tries not terribly hard to quell her increasingly complicated feelings for Cullen.

The next two months passed by in a blur for Hawke. The Chantry rebuilding hit a frenzied pace as the new Grand Cleric's investiture approached. Thus, if Hawke wasn't dealing with mundane building issues, she was planning for the investiture ceremony. If she wasn't planning for the ceremony, she was managing vague Free Marches politics, as the region's dignitaries attending the investiture would also be meeting together in a rare assembly accompanied by a gala ball. If she wasn't planning for these events, she was catching a few hours of sleep. This left her very little time to worry about other issues, such as the Righteous, the silver-eyed man, or Cullen.

Aveline's investigation into the Righteous had gone exactly where they had expected—nowhere. With no additional leads, all they could do was keep their ear to the ground and wait for another move. This uncomfortable waiting was made worse by the fact that Hawke continually had one eye over her shoulder for the silver-eyed man. But, in spite of her caution, she didn't see him again either. After a while, she and Aveline had begun to wonder if he had even left Kirkwall, although they tried to maintain their security measures just in case. Since nothing else had happened, Hawke still hadn't told Cullen about the strange man; she just let him assume that she had finally taken his advice to heart about being more careful with her safety.

Cullen. She tried not to think about her confusing relationship with that man. When she did think about it, she realized that they had reached a kind of plateau in their friendship.

Their intimate solidarity during the inquest had blossomed into a very real and strong friendship, such that it began to feel odd if she didn't talk to him at least every day or two. He was a frequent visitor at the Keep and her estate, and before she knew it, he had become one of her closest friends. Why then did she continue to agonize over the status of their relationship?

She knew the answer to this, of course. No matter how many times she reminded herself that they could never be anything more than friends, her pulse would betray her whenever she was around him. A smile from him and her heart was pounding. A stray touch from his hand and suddenly she was blushing and stammering. It was pathetic.

Plus, it was maddening that she had no idea what he was thinking either. For all his overtures toward becoming better friends, he seemed oblivious of the effect he had on her. Plus, he claimed he had come to terms with the fact that she was a mage, but what if she were to just lean over and kiss him, as she'd been tempted to do on so many occasions? Would he kiss her back? Would he smite her? Throw her in that illusory dungeon that they had so often joked about?

In any event, it was foolish to consider these things, since neither of them was free to pursue a relationship together. They had a perfect storm of circumstances conspiring against them. Not only were Templars generally discouraged from having lasting relationships, with exceptions being granted only rarely, these restrictions presumably would be even more stringent for a Knight-Commander of the Order. Moreover, a formal alliance between the Knight-Commander and the Viscountess of Kirkwall was such a political bombshell it would likely result in her removal anyway. Of course, this was all on top of the fundamental impossibility of a union between a Templar and a mage. One would think that any one of these factors alone would have been enough to quash her feelings for him.

Her dilemma with Cullen was never clearer than the day she returned to the Gallows for the first time since her initial visit to his office.

Shortly after the inquest departed, Hawke found herself at Cullen's door without a good reason for being there. He was looking out the window, lost in thought and idly toying with a tendril from the Knight's Bloom she had given him, which was sitting on his windowsill.

Without preamble, she asked, "I thought you said that you had planted the Knight's Bloom?"

He turned around slowly, seeming to have difficulty recalling his attention, until he saw her. His solemn expression quickly transformed with a warm smile, but there was still a shadow around his eyes.

"Hawke! Um, yes, we did. We used cuttings from it, but this one seems to . . . prefer growing in my office," he said with an ironic twist of his lips. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was going to tell you that I just happened to be in the neighborhood, but you always seem to know when I'm lying. So, the truth is, I'm escaping," she said cheerily.

"Escaping?"

"Gah! Another zoning conversation with Mother Christiane. I just couldn't do it any more today. So, I ran away."

Christiane had been pushing to annex more and more land to the Chantry and had shown a surprising tenacity for someone who typically seemed so vapid. Hawke was beginning to wonder if she had underestimated this woman, and what such a mistake might cost her.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she instead focused on Cullen's unusually somber mood.

"Cullen, are you okay?" she finally asked. "You seem . . . out of sorts."

He sighed. "It has just been a rather tragic day here. One of the apprentices failed his Harrowing this morning. Then on top of this, a seemingly standard retrieval of a new mage discovered in the alienage resulted in the deaths of three Templars as well as the boy, who lost himself to a demon in his panic. He was only seven years old."

Hawke didn't know what to say. His face looked so haggard as he spoke, she could tell these deaths weighed on him personally. "Oh Cullen, I'm so sorry."

"It's just a never ending cycle, I suppose," he said cynically, his voice sounding hollow. "More mages will come in to their powers tomorrow. And we will struggle to replace the gaps in our ranks. Yet again. We fight a losing battle, every day. Some days just seem . . . harder. "

She was quiet for a moment, trying to think of what she could do to help him. "Well, it sounds like you might need to escape, too."

He smiled tiredly. "A nice idea, Hawke, but not possible."

"On the contrary," she insisted, "I'm serious. You need a break. Come with me."

"Hawke, I'm needed here, especially on a day like today."

"Cullen, if there is one thing, perhaps the only thing, I've learned being Viscountess, it is that you shouldn't underestimate the people who work for you. They can and will survive without you for a few hours. And, you need to get away. Especially on a day like today."

He started to argue again, but she walked around his desk, grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. He was so surprised, he didn't resist.

"Cullen, as your friend, I insist."

He tried to say something else, but she put her finger over his lips. "No. Come."

And with that, she grabbed his hand and started leading him out of the room. But, as they stepped into the hall, they were immediately intercepted by Cullen's assistant, Neil. She gaped at him, dropping Cullen's hand and feeling like they'd been caught doing something naughty.

"Knight-Commander? Viscountess?"

"Yes, Neil," Cullen said hesitantly, "I'm going to be gone for a few hours on Kirkwall business. I should return by this evening."

He then took Hawke's arm firmly and strode out. He walked so swiftly, she actually had a hard time keeping up but she didn't say anything until they were on the boat skimming away from the Gallows.

"Feeling better yet?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and then let it out. "No."

She was beginning to think this wasn't one of her brighter ideas, when finally he looked over at her with the beginnings of a smile. "So where are we going?"

"The Wounded Coast," she said immediately. "There's a place I want you to see."

"Okay . . ."

"Don't worry; it's not far. The walk will do us good, and no one will be able to find us."

As they walked down the road toward the coast, she tried to draw him out with random small talk. She was only mildly successful, but at least he had stopped answering her questions with monosyllabic responses. After a time, she led them off the main road on to a poorly maintained path that ultimately ended at a disordered jumble of boulders that one might optimistically call a hill. She smiled as she saw his expression getting increasingly more skeptical. But he didn't say anything, hopefully trusting that she was leading him somewhere worthwhile.

She wove among the boulders until she found the small cave opening. Now that she saw it, she wondered if he would fit through it with his massive armor on. Even she had to stoop down, and it was also very narrow.

"Hmm, okay, I think you'll have to take off your breast plate and pouldrons to fit through."

"Seriously, Hawke?"

"Trust me. Please?"

Despite his misgivings, he removed the cumbersome metal and then unsheathed his sword, holding it in his hand as he followed her into the tunnel. She heard him curse once behind her as he followed her into the dark tunnel which had a gentle slope upward. Finally, she scrambled out the exit into the bright sunlight, trying to get her eyes to adjust quickly so she could watch his reaction.

He maneuvered his way out of the tunnel with a frown and then stood up, eyes blinking and squinting. Once his vision had cleared he stopped short and a small, wondrous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took in the panorama.

They stood on a ledge high up on a cliff side in a small semi-circular bay. To their right, they had a seemingly endless view of the deep blue ocean stretching out to the horizon. To their left were the dramatic cliffs of the Wounded Coast, rising like a jagged wall from the foaming spray of the waves breaking upon the rocks. Interrupting the uniformity of this wall was a tall waterfall roaring and tumbling inexorably into the turquoise water below. They were close enough to the waterfall that tiny wafts of spray periodically drifted toward them when the wind shifted.

She waited for him to take everything in, biting her lip in anticipation and hoping he would think their trek worth the effort. He took a deep breath, and then another. She could almost see the tension visibly draining out of him.

Finally, he looked over at her, and his brow furrowed. "This was quite the expedition, Hawke. How could you possibly have known this was here?"

"My dog decided to flout his disciplined mabari training one day and took off after a rabbit, which led him down this tunnel. I think he got stuck out here, so I ended up having to go in after him. It's um . . . quite something, isn't it?" She was still not quite sure what he was thinking.

He gave her a long look before answering. "Yes, quite something."

"I . . . was thinking that, at least for me, it helps to come here and remember how manageable my problems can be in the face of . . . this." She gestured out at the view. She took a deep breath herself as she looked out at the view. "It's just so vast and so . . . indescribably magnificent. It helps me put things in perspective and feel for a moment like the Maker is closer than we might think."

"Truly magnificent," he echoed. She glanced at him and realized that he watching her.

"So . . . was it worth it?"

He laughed. "Yes, Hawke. I was wondering for a bit if you were looking for a place where no one would ever find my murdered corpse. But this is quite awe inspiring. I've never seen its like."

She moved to the edge of the ledge and sat down, legs swinging over the side. She set her satchel down and then patted the ground next to her. "Come and sit. We can have some food as a reward for our exertions."

He eased himself to the ground next to her, which was no doubt easier without his heavy breastplate. He looked much more relaxed than she had expected. In his red tunic, with mist from the waterfall clinging to his hair, he might have been any man taking an idyll in the sun. Only his naked blade sitting next to him, close at hand, spoke of his never-ending duty.

He looked warily at the crashing rocks below them. "So I guess you're not afraid of heights?"

"The mighty Champion of Kirkwall? Perish the thought." She laughed. "Actually, to be honest, I do feel a certain degree of fear sitting here, but I . . . enjoy it? Does that sound crazy? I guess I like being afraid of something normal for once, like gravity, instead of things that go bump in the night."

"Only a little crazy. But, don't worry; I won't tell anyone," he teased with a smile.

"I hope you're not. Afraid of heights, I mean." She opened her bag and pulled out the small loaf of bread and cheese round she had brought.

"No. But then, there are few things that truly frighten me anymore."

"Oh ho, what a brave Templar!"

He blushed and dropped his eyes at her teasing. "No, I didn't mean . . . What I meant was that, after the Tower in the Ferelden, it takes quite a bit to alarm me. At least . . . when I'm awake."

"You still have nightmares from . . . what happened?"

"They've diminished with time, but I think now they may never go away. I think perhaps what was most scarring was that I saw not only the worst of what demons can do, but also what humans can do to other humans. We are capable of such atrocities."

She noticed how he was speaking of the mages who had imprisoned him like any other person—a horrible person capable of extreme evil, but a person nonetheless.

He gave himself a small shake. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to dwell on the past."

"I don't mind. The point of bringing you here wasn't just to escape but to help you unburden yourself. Today must have been very difficult," she murmured, frowning.

He was quiet for a long time, the haggard look coming back as he was clearly thinking back on the events of the day. Eventually he said softly, "Five lives were lost today on my watch. One of them only just starting his life. We did everything right. Everything followed protocol. And, yet it still happened."

"Accidents will happen, Cullen. You can't ever fully predict people and how they'll react to certain . . . circumstances."

"Nevertheless, it is my responsibility when these things go awry. My duty to find a better way."

He was quiet again, amber eyes trained on the horizon. "I fervently believe in my sacred duty as laid down by Blessed Andraste herself. But I . . . I see the families broken, the lives lost, the fear we engender, and sometimes I wonder if some aspect of the way we're implementing Her words could be better."

He glanced at her, flushing. "I know; it's blasphemous to even say that aloud. I continue to strive to make the Tower a place of peace, learning and safety, and yet tragedies like today still occur. It makes me feel like I'm failing in my duty."

"Cullen, you're not failing. Kirkwall's Tower has seen a marked improvement under your watch. The First Enchanter has said so on a number of occasions. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. The reason the Circle exists is because the use of magic is rife with life and death situations. You can't hope to control every situation. You can't protect everyone."

He was silent, watching the billowing spray from the waterfall with a small furrow between his eyebrows.

Trying to find some way to reassure him, she continued. "And, I don't think it's wrong to ask questions. That doesn't diminish your faith or your commitment to duty. The Maker works in mysterious way. I think my friend Sebastian would say that perhaps the reason this happened today was so that you can ask these questions and maybe work harder next time to make a mage's transition to the Tower or through the Harrowing easier. I . . ."

She paused when she saw that he had turned and was studying her closely. Hoping he wasn't offended by hearing someone like her talk about the Maker, she flushed. "I'm sorry I'm making a muddle of this. I wish I had the right words." She sighed. "If Sebastian were here, he could offer you much more comfort than I ever could."

He gently took her hand from where it lay in her lap. In a low voice, he said, "I find that very hard to imagine."

Then the steady look he gave her literally took her breath away. Heat, longing, comfort. All these feelings came to her as she looked into his eyes, and she wasn't sure if they were coming from him or her. Above all was a surprising vulnerability she had never seen before that made her want to make everything right for him.

She stared at him, enthralled, feeling the warmth of his hand where it surrounded and protected hers. A roaring started in her ears that soon drowned out the waterfall. As the rest of the world receded, all she could see was him, noticing odd details like the way one wayward curl of red-gold hair tucked behind his ear and the tiny droplets of mist that flashed on his eyelashes as his gaze darted from their joined hands, to her eyes to her lips and back. She felt herself starting to lean in to his warmth, drawing ever closer.

Suddenly the loud cry of a hawk startled them. She looked up to see her namesake float by on the thermals that swirled in the small bay.

She glanced back at Cullen, seeing his gaze also on the hawk, but the moment was gone. She wasn't sure if she was relieved about this or not, but noticed that neither of them moved to unjoin their hands, which sat on the ground between them with fingers loosely intertwined.

They stayed that way for a while longer, chatting about sundry topics and eating, until the sun's progression cast the ledge in shadow and told them it was time to return home.

That afternoon was one of Hawke's last truly peaceful moments before the Grand Cleric's arrival. As her schedule became more hectic, she found herself frequently pulling out the cherished memory and watching again the mist clinging to his hair as he laughed and lingering on the feeling of his hand on hers.

ooXXoo

A second bright spot during those hectic times occurred a few weeks later, when she finally heard news from Starkhaven. Hawke had walked downstairs that morning, preparing to head to the Keep, when Bodahn bustled up to her in excitement. She gave him an inquiring look as he tried to catch his breath.

"Messere . . . you won't believe . . . the messenger just . . . came with the news. Master Sebastian has retaken Starkhaven!"

She was shocked. "Already?"

He handed her a slip of paper. The missive was short but gave her the details she needed. Apparently, involving the Red Iron had been a better idea than she had realized. Instead of the extended pitched battle everyone expected, the Red Iron's more guerrilla-style tactics had made short work of Goran Vael and his supporters, infiltrating the keep from within while Kirkwall's troops assaulted from without. It was over quickly and with few casualties.

She sighed with relief. It was over. Sebastian must be so pleased. She immediately sat down to write him a note, delighted that she finally would be able to direct it to the actual Prince of Starkhaven.

After that, Sebastian had gotten his affairs in order rather quickly and was already making plans to attend the Grand Cleric's investiture and the assembly. Hawke was looking forward to seeing him, which gave her an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure how her feelings for Cullen were going to fit in with her long unrequited feelings for Sebastian. She hadn't had to reconcile the two emotions yet, since she hadn't seen Sebastian for almost five months. But now, not only was he coming back to Kirkwall, he likely would be meeting Cullen as well. She found the notion of them in the same room together filled her with dread, but unfortunately, she didn't have much of an opportunity to examine this response—at least, not until Sebastian had actually arrived, at which point it was really too late.

Chapter 9: Maelstrom

Summary:

As we begin Act 2, some new arrivals in town create more challenges for Hawke and Cullen.

Kirkwall was a sight to see the week of the Grand Cleric's investiture. The city had probably never been so clean, festive and full of life. The start of winter had been so mild it seemed the whole city was outside to enjoy the wonder and delight of the celebrations. One could almost ignore the ghastly statues everywhere and pretend the City of Chains wasn't built on eons of slavery and misery. It of course helped that Hawke had made the days around the investiture a city holiday.

Throughout the week there were official delegations coming in from all over the Free Marches, from cities large and small. Each new group seemed to try to outmatch the previous in the extravagance of their tall ships, processionals and liveried entourages that rolled into the city.

Then, there was the arrival of the Grand Cleric herself. It seemed that the procession of Orlesian clergy and marching Templars spread back for miles, reaching from the top of Hightown all the way down to the docking ships. At its head, dressed in grand robes and walking up the steps at a slow, stately pace was the new Grand Cleric herself. The people had lined the streets for hours to afford even a brief look. So beloved was the former Grand Cleric Elthina that everyone was excited to see who the Divine, in her infinite wisdom, would have chosen to succeed her.

Hawke had déjà vu as she stood on the steps of the Keep with Cullen, Tilda, and Mother Christiane to officially greet the new Grand Cleric. Hawke was again wearing her damnable circlet, and Cullen was again laughing at her misery and whispering in her ear to stop fidgeting. However, this time the streets surrounding the Keep were filled with a throng of people wanting to catch their first glimpse of Grand Cleric Augusta. Hawke felt like she was at the calm center of a maelstrom, and wondered when it would sweep her up and pull her under.

When the Grand Cleric finally arrived at the Keep, she stopped at the bottom of the steps to look out at the crowd and wave regally. The frenzied cheers peaked, becoming almost deafening, while she stood still for a moment allowing the adulation to flow around her.

Very dramatic, Hawke thought. She caught Cullen's eyes, which were already dancing in silent laughter.

Augusta Terreneau had the same presence and gravitas of former Grand Cleric Elthina, but there the similarities ended. Elthina had a gentle grace and warmth that was apparent in every expression and movement. In contrast, Augusta's motions seemed decisive and mechanical. As her steel grey eyes swept around the crowd, they were cold and calculating. Moreover, despite her benevolent smile, she somehow appeared to disapprove of everything she saw.

Slowly, the Grand Cleric made her way up the final stairs towards them, with an escort of initiates trailing behind her.

As Augusta drew close, Mother Christiane ran forward. "Welcome, Your Grace, to Kirkwall. Grand Cleric Augusta Terreneau, please, allow me to present to you Viscountess Hawke, Knight-Commander Cullen and First Enchanter Stormcorne."

Hawke's welcome was frozen on her lips as Christiane stole her moment. Recovering, she smiled at the Grand Cleric, but as she started to speak, Augusta turned instead to Cullen.

"Knight-Commander," Augusta said in a ringing voice. "I have heard very good things about your record and ability. Meredith was a dear, dear friend. I look forward to working with you. I am sure you have been quite rudderless since she and Elthina departed this world. That we shall soon remedy."

"Your humble servant, Your Grace," Cullen said, inclining his head.

Incredibly, Augusta then turned to Tilda, saying only, "First Enchanter."

"Your Grace," Tilda replied with a respectful curtsy.

At last, the Grand Cleric turned back to Hawke. "And, you must be Hawke. So unusual to see a mage in such a position. It must be quite exhilarating for you."

Hawke had no idea what to say to such a rude pronouncement. "I live but to serve, Your Grace," she said diplomatically. "I hope your journey was not too taxing?"

Augusta ignored this pleasantry. "Indeed. Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. It seems perhaps Kirkwall has forgotten some of the commandments of the Maker. Something else we shall remedy." She gave Hawke a smile that did not reach her flat eyes and swept past them into the Keep.

I have gained an enemy today. Hawke felt herself shiver and wondered if the maelstrom was finally ready to pull her under.

ooXXoo

Amid all the pomp and circumstance of the official arrivals, came a small and swift entourage that arrived only two days before the investiture. With almost no advance notice, Hawke was still stumbling outside when Sebastian Vael, the new Prince of Starkhaven, arrived at the Keep. Sebastian still wore his signature white armor, but it was now accompanied by a rich looking green cloak and a simple gold circlet on his head. Sebastian had always been the image of a Prince to her, but seeing him crowned made her a bit weak in the knees. He took the steps two at a time, while his retinue followed him at a more stately pace.

His blue eyes were bright and sparkling and, when he reached her, he gave her a big grin and a sweeping bow. She laughed and couldn't resist throwing her arms around him in delight after all these months. Instead of the usual reserve he had always maintained with her, this time he returned her embrace, also laughing, and then took her hand in both of his.

"Marian Hawke, you are a sight for sore eyes." He beamed at her and continued to hold her hand.

"Sebastian, I just can't believe it. I'm so happy for you. Prince of Starkhaven at last. Your family would be so proud."

"I surely hope that might be so. But none of this would have been possible if not for you. Your Excellency," he said expressively with his charming brogue. For some reason this made her blush.

It was at this moment that Cullen joined them, apparently having observed the entire scene of the Prince's arrival. He did not look terribly happy, with his eyes trained on their joined hands and his mouth set in a grim line. He strode up to them, but said nothing, as if waiting for Hawke to introduce him.

She quickly pulled her hand from Sebastian's grasp, and turned to him. "Knight-Commander Cullen, I would like to introduce you to Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven."

They shook hands firmly, and Sebastian was the first to speak. "The pleasure is all mine, Knight-Commander. I understand that some of my thanks should be directed to you, since certain . . . shall we say, resources seem to have been made available to the Kirkwall guard shortly before they arrived to aid me in Starkhaven. You have my eternal gratitude and that of Starkhaven."

"Actually you are mistaken, Prince Vael. All the credit, and thus thanks, for your sweeping victory should go to Viscountess Hawke. The Order played no part in your ascendance to the throne." Cullen seemed to be serious, evincing not even a hint of irony, and thus sounded almost rude.

Sebastian, however, did not let this ruffle him in the slightest. He instead looked at Hawke warmly. "Well then I will reserve all my official gratitude for you then, Hawke. I will do my best to make it up to you someday." There was a promise in his eyes that spoke of more than official thank yous.

Hawke tried to think of something to change the subject and lessen the tension and disapproval she felt radiating from Cullen. "I hope your travels from Starkhaven were uneventful. You've arrived only just in time. The assembly will start tomorrow and the investiture the day after."

"We actually made quite good time. We've had so much to do that I could only spare a few days away this week. But I'll be ready for the assembly tomorrow. It will be quite an education, I believe, for us both. Have you attended such a Free Marches assembly before, Knight-Commander?" he asked.

"I have not," Cullen said evenly. "I am not aware of one occurring since I came to Kirkwall."

"Yes, I think my parents had only attended maybe one in the last fifteen years. Does the Knight-Commander typically attend these meetings?" Sebastian asked innocently.

Hawke gave a laugh that was only slightly forced. "I don't know about typically, but this year he certainly will," she interjected quickly, already feeling Cullen bristle a little. "You know, I'm a little cold. Why don't we go inside and get out of the wind."

ooXXoo

Shortly after they entered the Keep they ran into Aveline, who also congratulated Vael. Cullen watched the three old friends chat and surreptitiously tried to measure up this Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven.

He hadn't expected someone who was so young and handsome and so . . . familiar with Hawke. He knew that they were friends and that Hawke thought highly of him. It hadn't occurred to him until now that there might be something more there than friendship. Unaccountably, this thought put him on edge. He found himself profoundly conflicted, feeling the instinct to leave and avoid watching them together, but at the same time not wanting to let them out of his sight.

He still wasn't exactly sure what was going on between himself and Hawke, but he was certain this was going to be a problem. Over the last few months, his admitted fascination with her had grown into something he would probably call devotion, if he were in good humor. Since today he decidedly was not, he instead opted to call it loyalty. They were very loyal friends, and it bothered him that he didn't know what was going on with this . . . Prince. It bothered him all the more that he himself had helped Vael regain that title.

Their conversation caught his attention again when he heard Hawke ask, "So, Sebastian, are you sure you'll be okay staying here at the Keep? As I've said, you're more than welcome to stay at the estate again."

"No, Hawke," Vael demurred, "thank you for your offer, but with so many of my people to look after, we couldn't possibly impose on you. We'll be just fine here for the few days that we're in town."

"Well you'll have to come to dinner tonight then. I've already sent word to Varric and Merrill. Aveline, you're coming with Donnic, right?" Aveline nodded. Then Hawke looked at Cullen. "Cullen, of course you'll come, too."

"Unfortunately, I am otherwise engaged this evening. But I'm sure you'll all enjoy catching up without me," Cullen said politely. The last thing he could imagine enjoying would be joining their little group and feeling like the outsider all night. Hawke looked puzzled and a little crestfallen, which simultaneously made him feel guilty and yet a little pleased.

"Hawke, that sounds wonderful, and I would be delighted to come," Vael said smoothly. "But, now Excellency, if I might have a word in private." With a twinkle in his blue eyes, he smiled confidently at her.

"Of course, Sebastian." She nodded at Aveline, gave Cullen a small smile, and then led Vael toward her office.

Cullen didn't like the almost predatory expression on the Prince's face as the man followed Hawke down the hall. Cullen wondered if perhaps he should stay until this private interview was over. To make sure all is well, he explained to himself.

As Hawke walked away, she looked back over her shoulder once, caught his eye for a moment, and then continued on. Interpreting that as a tacit request to wait for her, he ordered his retinue to return to the Gallows without him. Then, he settled in to wait near the balcony.

Observing this, Aveline walked over and nodded her head. "Knight-Commander. You're not returning to the Gallows?"

"Not just yet, Guard-Captain. I . . . have something I need to discuss further with the Viscountess."

Aveline gave him a piercing look which made him feel like a schoolboy telling tales. After a moment she said, "Cullen, some advice. Hawke appreciates straightforward talk. And, I'm willing to bet, that's what she's getting from Sebastian right now." She nodded again. "Knight-Commander." She then strode off to her own office.

Cullen stood there gawking after her, bewildered as to her meaning. She doesn't think . . . I don't really . . . What could they be talking about in there?

ooXXoo

Hawke sat down at her desk, motioning Sebastian to sit down across from her. Sebastian closed the doors behind them and then turned to her but remained standing.

"Hawke," he began, as if choosing his words very carefully. "You know that your support has meant the world to me. For years I've worked toward this day, to have finally avenged my family and to have set the kingdom to rights again. It's been you that has made it all possible, from your help dispatching the mercenary assassins, to uncovering the origins of the plot, to pledging Kirkwall's support to retake my seat. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Sebastian, I don't know if I can take credit for quite so much. Despite what Cullen said." She gave him a wry smile. "Above all, it has been your perseverance and dedication that has made you succeed."

"Hawke, you're too modest, but then that has always been one of your strengths." He smiled warmly.

"Sebastian, stop, or you'll make me blush. Please, sit down, tell me how you've been, how the campaign went. What is it like being Prince after all this time?"

He hesitated but sat down. "I imagine being Prince is about what it was like for you becoming Viscountess. It's definitely a different view, but many of the challenges are familiar. You seem to have really found your footing here."

"Well, I try. There are certainly days when I think it would be easier out in the back alleys, fighting our way through sneering villains in black hats."

He laughed. "Yes, it was comforting to face villains who distinguished themselves with obvious sneering and evildoing. In politics the villains are a bit harder to recognize."

"Very true. But, I learned quite a bit from you on how to manage some of that. And luckily, now I have Cullen to help me see through a lot of the masquerade."

Sebastian gave her a searching look but seemed to reconsider what he was about to say.

He paused and then his brow furrowed a little. "Hawke, there are strange tales afoot beyond Kirkwall about what happened here with Meredith and the Circle. There seems to be a growing sense that you started it all in an attempt to grab power. That you deliberately killed Meredith and Orsino, and then tried to destroy all the mages. What is most strange is that this rumor is whispered in backrooms, like it was all a conspiracy that was covered up."

She sighed. "Lovely. I wonder where all that is coming from?" she said sarcastically.

"Why? Do you know?"

She told him the story of her run in with the Righteous and their silly manifesto. "You should have seen us limping away afterwards, though, Sebastian. It was a little pitiful seeing us so out of practice." She chuckled in some amusement.

"I find it somewhat surprising that a group that sounds so . . . amateurish could spread their message so successfully."

"I don't know that I'd call them successful," she countered. "We haven't seen anything from them since then."

"On the contrary, I think they've been more successful than they may even have intended. Conspiracy theories are amazingly resilient, Hawke. Because the story sounds like it was officially covered up, I think there is very little you can do to counter something like that."

His comment filled her with trepidation, but she said lightly, "Well, I'll just have to get Varric on that."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "So how is Varric?"

"He's good. And, of course, as freewheeling with the truth as ever." I presume, she silently corrected herself since she also hadn't seen him in a while.

After a pause, she asked gently, "Sebastian, how are you? I mean, really?"

The smiling prince wavered before her question and suddenly she was looking again at the man whose world had been devastated when the Chantry was destroyed. Although he already had intended to leave behind his vows and return to Starkhaven, the loss of his home of more than fifteen years had brought a brutal finality to that decision. It had been a week before he could even say Elthina's name without a resurgence of the simmering fury he had carried following the death of his beloved mentor.

He seemed to really consider his answer before he said slowly, "I am well. Seeing Starkhaven restored has done much to ease my mind and soul. I find I'm feeling quite optimistic about the future again."

During her first days as Viscountess, Hawke had been grateful for his tutelage, not so much for herself but because it had given him purpose through those dark times. She had been apprehensive about letting him leave for Starkhaven alone, but planning the campaign had provided him with the focus he had needed. Seeing him now, she concluded that it really had done him a world of good.

"Will it be hard seeing a new Grand Cleric in Elthina's place?" she asked.

"No," he said steadily, his clear blue eyes at last free of the pain that had clouded them whenever the Grand Cleric had been mentioned after her passing. "While I do not believe it was Elthina's time, I know she is at the Maker's side. I am at peace with those events now, as I know she must be. As she would want me to be.

"The new Grand Cleric is a bit . . . different, though. I've heard of Augusta and some of her views. I would watch out for her, Hawke. It seems she has a certain zealotry in her that may not take kindly to a mage in such a position of power."

"Great. And, here I had hoped I was just imagining the fact that she had already threatened me."

"She threatened you?"

"Well, not in so many words. Our interaction was short, but . . . let's just say, full of malice." She smiled crookedly. "Cullen sensed it, too. He thinks we're in for more trouble." She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to dispel her growing headache.

"Hawke, is there something else going on? You seem like you're under a heavy burden. More than just this concern about the Grand Cleric."

She grimaced. "You know, Sebastian, it's funny you say that. I am also in the middle of a rather vexing mystery. I think . . . I think I may have been marked for assassination."

"What? Who are they? Crows?" he asked in concern.

"I don't know." She sighed. "It hurts my head to start thinking about it, because mostly all I have is a feeling. A bad feeling. I used to see this man. This one man, dressed all in black with these strange silver eyes and tattooed hands. Over and over. At first I thought he was a stalker, but there's something about him. I can't put my finger on it, but I'm . . . Well, I'm . . . a little scared."

"Has he tried to harm you?"

"Not . . . significantly. He drained all my mana once, which suggests he might be some kind of former Templar or something. But, otherwise, all he has done so far is watch me. It's unnerving more than anything else."

"What measures have you taken?"

"Nothing much. Aveline has assigned me a guard, and I actually try to take them with me most places I go. Other than that . . . I don't know what else I can do except be vigilant. The last time I saw him was about two months ago, so maybe he's lost interest."

Sebastian walked around the desk and sat down on the edge of it, taking her hands.

"Hawke, do you need me to stay? I could take a respite in Kirkwall for a few weeks. Watch your back like the old days. Help you get to the bottom of these nefarious plots."

"Ah, thank you for the offer, Sebastian, but I couldn't let you do that. Not so soon after finally gaining your throne. Your people need you much more than I do, I'm sorry to say. I really appreciate it, though. It's nice to know I still have your unconditional support." She squeezed his hands and then withdrew hers.

"Marian, you know you have more than that," he said in a low urgent voice. When she looked back at him, he caught her eyes in a riveting gaze. "Do you want me to stay?"

Silence reined as the words fell between them. Is he asking what I think he's asking? Too shocked to respond, her heart started to thud in her chest.

"I believe we have some unfinished business, you and I." His expressive lips twisted into a half smile. "Part of why I came here was to finish those conversations."

"I . . . I . . ." she floundered. I'm not ready to have those conversations yet!

He smiled kindly, standing up. "We don't have to have them now. But, we will before I leave," he promised, as if reading her mind. He executed a courtly bow. "I should get my people settled. I will see you tonight."

ooXXoo

Cullen waited a few minutes after Vael left before he entered her office. She was staring at a blank page on her desk, her quill hanging loosely in her hand, forgotten. She appeared deeply lost in thought, with a slightly anguished look on her face. Angrily, he wondered what Vael had done to upset her.

He knocked on her door softly to try to recall her attention. When she finally became aware of him, she flushed a little.

"I just wanted to make sure all was well," he said uncertainly, sitting down in the chair undoubtedly just vacated by the Prince.

"Thank you, I'm fine. This whole week is just so . . . overwhelming. The joy of seeing old friends is only barely balancing out the fact that the Grand Cleric has declared war on me."

"Hawke, we've been over this. We don't yet know if it is as bad as all that. Maybe the Grand Cleric just needs a chance to get to know you," he tried to joke.

She smiled wanly and then gave an ironic bark of laughter. "Right! Just wait until she does. Then I may actually get to see that dungeon of yours. Or worse." She paused. "Anyway, I wish you would reconsider joining us tonight. I'd really love to have you there."

"I'm sorry, I can't. I told Leon I would review some details about the investiture," he said almost regretfully and then made a mental note to remember to inform Leon of this appointment. "Even if I could, I wouldn't want to interfere in your reunion."

"You wouldn't be interfering, Cullen. You know you're always welcome among my friends. And, I honestly think that . . . you would like Sebastian once you got to know him. You two are actually rather alike in many ways."

He just smiled, unsure how to respond to that. If they were alike, then that's probably why they were unlikely to get along, in his opinion. Ever.

"Is there anything else we should talk about before the assembly tomorrow?" he said, changing the subject.

"Not that I can think of. Aveline has been working overtime, getting the guard and your knights in their place for security. The agenda is set, barring any more last minute additions. I just hope it won't be as boring as I expect," she said, laughing. "You'll be here before it starts, right?"

"Of course. I can't let your nerves get the best of you before your first big assembly."

"Thank you," she said with feeling. "Well, I hope your meeting with Leon tonight doesn't keep you too late. If you're done early . . . you know you could still come by."

"I'll see what I can do," he lied.

Chapter 10: Requited

Summary:

Hawke and Sebastian have . . . the talk and the Grand Cleric makes her first move.

Dinner that night at Hawke's estate was a merry affair, harkening back to her days as Champion. She had forgotten how much fun it was to have the group together, as everyone tried to catch up Sebastian on Kirkwall goings on. Varric told his usual tall tales. Merrill drank too much and giggled even more. Donnic and Sebastian discussed the Starkhaven campaign, strategic move by strategic move. Aveline watched over their folly with a maternal eye. A game of Wicked Grace eventually ensued, which meant that Varric would go home a little richer. It was almost like nothing had changed.

Hawke looked at the clock against the wall again and realized that it was now unlikely Cullen would show up. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, since he had sounded very reluctant about coming, but she had hoped he would change his mind.

I guess some things have changed, she thought in chagrin. There she was with some of her best friends in the world and yet wishing that Cullen was there.

Sebastian stayed behind when everyone else left, giving them a chance to talk alone.

"Hawke, are you all right?" he asked. "You seemed a little distant tonight." Apparently only Sebastian had noticed that virtually every tale told that night, for once, had not included her.

"Oh, no, everything's fine. I was just thinking that it had been too long since I'd seen everyone together like this. It was like old times again. I think you need to come back to Kirkwall more often!"

"Not that I don't appreciate the invitation to return more frequently, but why don't you see everyone else more often?" he asked curiously.

"It's complicated, Sebastian. My life is different now. We're not running through the streets of Kirkwall together anymore, righting wrongs and telling witty one-liners. I can't just . . . go down to the Hanged Man and spend time like we used to do."

"Hawke, your life is not so different. Look at tonight. Perhaps there are fewer barriers than you think. I . . . I was talking with Aveline, and she told me that she's a bit concerned about you. She says the only people you really see these days are her and the Knight-Commander."

It bothered Hawke that they had been talking about her. "That's not true. I spend day in and day out surrounded by people talking at me and needing things from me. If anything, I need more time to myself."

"That's not quite the same thing. And, you know that. I just wanted to remind you that despite all these new, possibly overwhelming responsibilities, you're not alone. There are many people who care about you. Many of them still here in Kirkwall. Don't shut them out."

She frowned at him, not really understanding his point. Of course, she wasn't alone. Involuntarily, she looked at the clock again. Most of the time.

She moved to change the subject. "So, tomorrow you will be on display for all to see as the true Prince of Starkhaven. Nervous at all?"

"Hardly," he scoffed. "I've been watching and listening to nobles like these my entire life, from when I was a boy in Starkhaven to when I was a Brother in the Chantry. Only this time, it's me they'll have to listen to. I suppose they're the ones who should probably be nervous." He laughed. "Out of curiosity, what is on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"Oh, you know, the usual stuff." She smiled and rolled her eyes as if such affairs were old hat for her. "Tantervale and a couple of the smaller cities have requested time for fancy speeches. We'll probably broach the subject of mage transfers from the circles in Ansburg and Ostwick, since our numbers are so low." Then she looked at him with a smirk. "I've been asked multiple times whether or not you would be attending, so expect a number of daughters to be thrown at you during your stay."

He snorted. "I've already been bombarded by that in Starkhaven. You'd think there were no other eligible matches in the whole of the Free Marches."

"Well, probably none quite so attractive, on so many levels." She gave him a saucy smile but then caught herself, realizing too late that she was falling back into her old habit of flirting with him—a habit that may no longer be so one-sided and . . . safe.

He looked at her from under hooded eyes. "I'm surprised that you are not fielding the same kinds of proposals. I'm sure Kirkwall is also a very . . . attractive alliance right now."

"Now that I think of it, no, I've not received a one." She shrugged. "The Champion of Kirkwall, with her magic and her rough edges, probably doesn't seem like the marrying type. Certainly not the trophy alliance many would want from a woman."

"On the contrary, that's what makes you even more . . . attractive. How could someone want a mindless trophy when they could have you?" The look he gave her was suddenly smoldering with heat . . . and questions.

She smiled self-consciously, knowing he would never have encouraged her like this before. She was now in uncharted territory and wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"Hawke, I know it's getting late, but there is something I have wanted to say to you now that we're alone." He sounded serious, but also a little nervous. He stood up, as if considering where to start, and walked to the window looking out at the darkened city with his hands clasped behind his back.

"You know how important it was for me to finish what I had started with restoring my lands. Starkhaven was at the mercy of a simpleton, with scheming vultures trying to take advantage of him and everything the Prince's seat could offer. I owed it to my people to set things to rights. I owed it to my family and the six generations of Vaels that have nurtured and protected our lands."

He turned back to look at her, continuing in an earnest voice. "But now, by the Maker's grace and your generous assistance, I have done that. Remarkably, my debt is fulfilled and Starkhaven is again at peace." He walked over to where she still sat, took her hands and drew her to her feet. "I can now offer you the Prince that I had promised you. Marian Hawke, I would offer you everything I have, everything I am."

She had imagined this conversation so many times that she half-expected to see herself bound across the room into his arms. Why aren't I doing that now? Yet, she remained rooted to the spot.

She had been in love with Sebastian Vael for years now. She had patiently waited for him to come to terms with his broken vows and realize that he was no longer bound to the chastity expected of a Chantry brother. She had carefully maintained their boundaries as they worked so closely together during her first weeks as Viscountess. Then she had settled herself in again to wait for him to finish retaking Starkhaven and finally admit his love for her. She had been waiting for this very moment for so long now. In her imagination, the scenery was always a bit more romantic, involving a field of daisies or Sebastian astride a horse, instead of her dining room. But, nothing could be more romantic than his simple declaration.

What is my problem?

After several frantic heartbeats, she flushed and couldn't meet his eyes. "Sebastian, you know I care about you . . ."

Silence filled the room. Then his face clouded and he asked in a low voice, "Or, have I missed my chance, being gone so long? The way you talk about the Knight-Commander, I've wondered . . ."

"No, no, it's nothing like that. Cullen and I are just—" Her voice broke. "Just friends," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Ah, Hawke," he said sympathetically, eyebrows arching in concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She laughed, hearing a slightly hysterical edge to the sound. "No, Sebastian, I couldn't possibly impose on your sterling nature and actually let you counsel me on my complicated relationship with Cullen. Even I am not horrible enough for that." She walked away and wrapped her arms around herself while she faced the window.

"Hawke, you are not horrible. And, having such feelings certainly does not make it so." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I should never have presumed that you would just wait for me, without any kind of expectation or promise of my troth."

She felt a pang of guilt at this. True, they'd made no real promises, but she had thought they'd developed a sort of understanding. Or so she had convinced herself amid all the innuendo, deflected advances, and carefully inexplicit discussions over the years. She always had consoled herself that she could wait and find out how he really felt once he'd finished retaking Starkhaven and could offer her no less than a prince, as per his words.

And, now I'm blowing it.

When she remained silent, he asked, "Are you in love with this Templar?"

She closed her eyes again. "Honestly, I don't know. But, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm a mage."

"Stranger things have happened," he replied in a quiet voice. "I . . . I would imagine that for two such powerful people there are additional . . . obstacles. Obstacles that I suppose might also be raised for a mage becoming the Princess of Starkhaven, if I were to let that be an issue. But I would not. Hawke, anyone who truly loves you would not be held back by that fact. You deserve someone who can love all of you."

He walked up behind her and carefully put his hands on her shoulders. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said quietly.

She turned around to face him within the circle of his hands. "Oh, no, Sebastian, you haven't. I'm sorry, I . . ." Her eyes softened as she looked at his beloved face, and she placed her hand gently against his cheek. "I've made no secret of the fact that I've been in love with you since almost the moment we met. Pathetically so. I just didn't expect this kind of a . . . complication. To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now. I . . . I don't know what to say."

He placed his own hand over hers against his face for a moment and then took it in both of his. "Hawke, you don't need to say anything yet. Take your time. We have the rest of our lives to figure this out. But this conversation is not finished between us." He gave her a slow smile that made her bones turn to water and then followed with a gentle, tingling kiss in the palm of the hand he held. "I promise you that. Good night, Marian."

She stayed where she was in the dining room after he left, thinking about how she had just been offered everything she thought she had ever wanted and wondering idly when those dreams had changed.

ooXXoo

The next morning Cullen found Hawke pacing in her office. She was again wearing the midnight blue dress from their first dinner, but her hair was up in a twist on her head. She seemed deep in thought, with a worried wrinkle between her brows, and didn't seem to notice him come in.

He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. "It seems I am not early enough to prevent your attack of nerves this time. You look like you're going to pace a hole in the carpet."

She stopped in her tracks, looking at him blankly for a moment, and then smiled sheepishly. "I guess I am a bit . . . anxious today. I'm glad you're here." She added casually, "We, um, missed you last night."

"I'm sorry I couldn't come, Hawke," he said sincerely, today feeling a bit foolish at his immaturity. "But, I'm here now."

"A few of the nobles have already arrived. Bran is seeing to them. I wish I felt more . . . prepared for this." It was essentially her first public event as Viscountess, made even more daunting by the presence of nobility not just from Kirkwall but from across the Free Marches.

He walked closer and took her shoulders in his hands. "You are always prepared, even when you're not." He chuckled, thinking back to the lack of planning she had later admitted to him with their raid on the Righteous. "You will be fine. Let these nobles see what happens when someone as talented as the Champion of Kirkwall takes the reins. Just . . . make sure you don't . . . hurt anyone."

He had succeeded in making her laugh, which was usually the first step to making her relax. He then took the Viscount's circlet from its place as a paperweight on her desk and settled it gently on her temples. Offering her his arm, he said, "Shall we?"

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, grasping it a bit more tightly than was warranted. Then, taking a deep breath, she let him lead her out.

As they approached the assembly room, Cullen saw that a large number of people had already arrived. It was so rare for the Free Marches' leaders to gather that many had never even met. Thus, it was with great curiosity that everyone watched the room and any new arrivals.

He could feel dozens of eyes drilling in to him, no doubt wondering at the unified front presented by the Viscountess of Kirkwall and the Knight-Commander. The whispering grew and it seemed that the crowd pulled back from them as they entered, like a wave receding from shore. Then, in the space between one breath and another, the wave inexorably broke in on them and they were flooded with introductions, banalities, snide remarks and above all, unseemly prying.

He kept a watchful eye on Hawke as he moved through the formalities. Despite her nerves, she was flawless as she worked the room, effortlessly disarming the nosy aristocrats with her usual earnestness and wit. Unsurprisingly, he saw a few nobles frown in disapproval of her informal style. He smiled, starting to enjoy himself.

Soon Cullen heard the whispering building again. Looking around for the cause, he saw Vael walk in with only two courtiers in attendance on him. He looked every bit the arrogant Prince, blue eyes snapping coldly as he looked over the gathering impassively. He then strode purposefully through the crowd without acknowledging any of the people trying to catch his attention until he found Hawke. She smiled in delight as he took her hands, kissing one of them lightly.

Cullen's smile faded, thinking of the picture they presented to the crowd of onlookers. Clearly Kirkwall was allied with Starkhaven. The extent of this alliance, however, remained to be seen. Even to himself, he realized with chagrin.

After a prearranged signal to Bran, the nobles were being ushered into the assembly room to settle around a large rectangular arrangement of tables. Hawke had purposely chosen a room that would not accommodate the large entourages escorting each attendee, nicely limiting the group to those who actually had business with the assembly.

She also had extended an offer to the new Grand Cleric to meet with the assembled leaders, which the clergywoman had declined leaving Cullen as the only Chantry representative. Since he was technically an onlooker at the secular gathering, he chose not to sit at the table but instead in a chair around the edge of the room. This served both political and practical reasons, since this vantage point gave him a better view of the proceedings and a direct line of sight to Hawke. He also had a clear view of Vael, who had made a point of sitting near the front of the room, where Hawke would be.

Bran was ringing a small bell which encouraged the murmurings to ease down to a dull roar. Then, Hawke stood up at the head of room. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated," she said in a no-nonsense tone.

Cullen loved how Hawke could easily switch between her easy-going banter and commanding professionalism in the blink of an eye. It always entertained him to watch certain bureaucrats and nobles underestimate her for this—to their detriment. Prince Sebastian Vael, however, knew Hawke very well and undoubtedly knew all her tricks. No, Vael would not underestimate Hawke. These proceedings should prove to be very interesting.

"I wanted to formally welcome all of you to Kirkwall," Hawke began in a strong and confident voice. "I'm pleased that so early in my tenure as Viscountess I have the opportunity to meet you all on this happy occasion of the new Grand Cleric's installment. While we have weathered some unusual storms of late, Kirkwall has emerged energized and stronger than ever. It is with this optimism and confidence for a peaceful future that I look forward to working with all of you.

"By prior agreement and tradition, we have solicited agenda items from you all, and this is the schedule that we shall follow. Upon concluding this part of the program, we shall open the floor for new business, time permitting. Now, Seneschal Bran—" She cut off suddenly due to a commotion at the door.

The doors swung open and through them swept the Grand Cleric. She stopped short of Hawke's position at the front of the room, eyes raking across the room. Everyone was so surprised at her appearance that it took several heartbeats before it occurred to anyone to get to their feet in respect.

When everyone was finally standing, the Grand Cleric took a deep breath and let it out in a dramatic sigh. "Viscountess Hawke, I was surprised to learn of this grand assembly and that I had not been invited to attend. What an important opportunity to meet our faithful vassals and friends, I thought."

Cullen was impressed that Hawke did not flinch or show any visible dismay at this absurd lie. He knew for a fact that the Grand Cleric had officially declined just such an invitation. Yet, no one else would know that, and so one by one, accusing sets of eyes turned on Hawke. He could only imagine how she must be seething inside. Instead, she gave Augusta a dazzling smile.

"Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise. I am so delighted you can join us after all. I was under the impression that you were in seclusion in preparation for your sacred investiture tomorrow. My mistake. Please, by all means, let us find you your place in our company." She nodded to Bran, who seemingly out of nowhere produced an ornate chair near the front of the room.

Augusta nodded her head sagely, but only said, "Yes." She then flounced over to the proffered chair.

From there on, the assembly was a nightmare for Hawke. No sooner would she say something, than the Grand Cleric would interrupt her or try to undermine her in some subtle way. While Hawke was not the only person treated in this manner, it seemed clear that most of these efforts were directed at her. Cullen could see her slowly giving up the battle, saying less and less, until finally the allotted time for the assembly had expired.

Upon the conclusion of the official proceedings, Hawke approached Augusta, under the scrutiny of the unabashedly eavesdropping assembled. She nodded her head deferentially at the Grand Cleric. "Thank you again, Your Grace, for so nimbly adjusting your schedule to attend. We are so pleased you were here," she lied.

"Why, of course you were. I am also pleased I could attend in time. I look forward to being better consulted in the future, Viscountess. Good day." Then Augusta swept back out of the room.

With the Grand Cleric gone, an invisible weight seemed to lift from the room and the sound of chattering increased again. Since so little business had been accomplished during the assembly due to the interruptions, the nobles started to peel off into small groups to try to finish things up. Hawke was soon surrounded again, so Cullen did not have an opportunity to speak with her until the crowd finally dispersed for the banquet Bran had prepared down the hall.

When Bran and his underlings had succeeded in chasing everyone out except for Cullen and Vael, Hawke assured Bran that she would be there shortly and then shut the door to the assembly room in his face. As soon as the door closed, she started pacing furiously, finally letting her ire show. Cullen and Vael watched impassively as she worked out her anger.

When it seemed that pacing was no longer sufficient, she stopped with fists clenched in front of her. Before Cullen knew it, she had conjured up a ball of electricity crackling between her hands, spinning increasingly faster and becoming more and more concentrated as she finally found an efficient outlet for her frustration.

"Hawke!" he cried out, but she ignored him, eyes focused on the boiling maelstrom between her hands.

Taking a breath, Cullen did the only thing he could think of and immediately dispelled her magic and drained her mana before she could lose control or raise an alarm. She stumbled back for a moment in shock, the swirling ball instantly disappearing, and then rounded on him with anger and hurt in her eyes.

"Cullen, how could you?" she gasped.

"Hawke, are you insane? Every Templar in the building felt your use of magic just now. Do you want to create an even bigger scene and make the Grand Cleric seem justified in her mistrust of you? Make the Free Marches nobles fear you?" he demanded. He knew they were cruel things to say, but he had to make her see reason and quickly.

She glared at him, and then, as if finally seeing his point, her shoulders slumped. She walked over to him and crumpled into a chair.

He sat down again facing her and took her hands. "How do you feel?" he asked softly.

"I'll live," she said grudgingly. Then her eyes flicked to his, and with an almost imperceptible smile, added, "But you may not for much longer if you do that again."

He smiled in relief that she seemed none the worse for wear. "So noted."

"The Grand Cleric might have won this round, but there will be other opportunities," Vael said, recalling Cullen to the fact that the Prince was there. Looking around, Cullen saw Vael watching them, eyes calculating.

Cullen nodded. "It's hard to say how much damage Augusta caused today. I think we need to be more vigilant during the investiture tomorrow. Who knows what other petty schemes that woman has planned."

"I don't know that I'm savvy enough for this kind of fight. Can't I just . . . zap her?" Hawke said disconsolately, catching Cullen's eye.

He laughed at her reference. "No, Hawke, no zapping. Or I will have to smite you again."

"Unfortunately," Vael began, again drawing their attention back to the matter hand, "I think Augusta could convince people that the sun is not hot, if she had the appropriate audience. Part of why she is dangerous is because people do not expect that they need to be wary around her. She is, after all, the Grand Cleric."

"Sebastian's right," Hawke said. "I have to be smarter about this. Which means I probably have to get in that stupid banquet room sooner than later."

She stood up, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. Vael was there a shade before Cullen, and so offered her his arm before Cullen could do the same. She glanced at Cullen apologetically as she took the Prince's arm and left the room. All Cullen could do was follow behind them, recalling again how much he disliked the man.

ooXXoo

After the excitement of the assembly, the investiture ceremony seemed downright pedestrian. It was a pageant of fancy outfits and silly hats, supercilious expressions and counterfeit smiles, mind-numbing incense and droning intonations. Hawke remained apprehensive about the Grand Cleric's next move, but the boring ceremony proceeded without incident.

From where she was sitting in her usual box, she had a clear view of Cullen where he stood like a vigilant statue on the ceremonial dais just behind the Grand Cleric. Hawke marveled at his ability to stay alert throughout the lengthy proceedings.

Seeing him in attendance on the Grand Cleric made her consider for the first time his precarious position between herself and Augusta. The Grand Cleric was now his immediate superior, which meant that he technically should be aligned with her, not Hawke. She was embarrassed to realize that she had been so focused on her own problems with the woman that she hadn't stopped to consider how awkward—and perhaps even dangerous—this position could be for Cullen. She spent the remainder of the ceremony trying to think of ways to make sure he didn't get caught in the middle of what was sure to be a nasty conflict.

The celebrations resumed that evening with a gala ball. Most of the attending aristocrats had really come for this, and Bran had outdone himself with the preparations. Hawke had nearly forgotten about it with everything else going on, and so that afternoon she was foolishly scrambling to figure out what to wear. Luckily, a courier showed up amidst her panic, and Bodahn presented her with the unexpected gift of a resplendent satin gown in her favorite color, midnight blue. She was speechless and looked at Bodahn questioningly.

He shrugged uncomfortably and then haltingly admitted, "Well, messere, I . . . may have mentioned to Master Varric a slight concern about the ball, seeing as you had made no prior arrangements."

"Varric?" she said in surprise, holding the dress up before her in her mirror. It was perfect, if a bit more daring than was her habit. Simple and elegant, but still the height of fashion. Varric never ceased to amaze her, but she decided not to dwell on why he would know so much about women's fashion. "I'll have to remember to thank him." She looked at Bodahn again. "And you, Bodahn. Thank you. You always take care of me."

"Ahem, of course, messere," he said, with a pleased twinkle in his eye. He then left to let her try it on.

She had just scrambled into the dress and was putting the finishing touches on her hair when she heard someone arrive. She quickly threw on the uncomfortable circlet and then headed downstairs. She had planned to meet Cullen at the gala since they both had so much to do beforehand and Sebastian was staying at the Keep where the gala would take place, so she couldn't imagine who it might be.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, she was surprised to see that Sebastian had come after all and he looked so . . . magnificent. In place of his white armor he was clothed all in black which made his crystal blue eyes practically glow. He was immaculately tailored, resulting in a tightly fitting doublet that revealed his broad shoulders and lean frame with matching trousers that gripped his powerful legs before they tucked into perfectly shined black boots. Feeling his effect on her, she had no doubt he would be the cause of much swooning at the gala tonight.

Again on his head was the gold circlet, reminding her how different he was now after his months away. Whereas Brother Sebastian had always been conflicted about his own needs, Prince Sebastian seemed much more assertive and decisive. While the Brother was calming and supportive, the Prince was also magnetic and exciting. She couldn't help but consider how comforting it might be to just lose herself in his devotion and certainty. The thought made her whole body flush.

He watched her appreciatively as she joined him downstairs. "Hawke, you rival the stars in the heavens tonight. You're breathtaking," he murmured, dropping a light kiss on her hand.

"I imagine you will be the one breaking hearts tonight." Then, her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Sebastian, I thought you were already at the Keep . . . You came all the way here just to escort me to the gala?"

"What kind of gentleman would I be to let you go to the gala unescorted?" he countered.

A practical one, she mused silently, thinking of Cullen. But she also appreciated the chivalry of Sebastian's charming move. "Thank you very much, Prince Vael." She smiled. "Now I might even be on time."

He laughed. "Even I cannot work such miracles, Hawke. Shall we go?" With a flourish of his hand, he motioned for her to precede him.

Chapter 11: Courting Danger

Summary:

The gala ball, wherein Hawke and Cullen take two steps forward, one step back.

The gala ballroom was a swirling tumult of lights, music and people. Attendees were engaged in an interesting dichotomy of activities. Some were fully engaged in the social aspects of the gala, dancing, chatting, flirting, drinking, which gave the room a shiny, exultant feeling. But subtly interwoven with the gaiety were darker, more devious machinations, as the powerful schemed and politicked. It was here that the final maneuvers of the week's careful dealings were taking place.

Many pairs of eyes noted Hawke's arrival with the Prince, setting off a new round of gossip and causing more than a few resentful glares to be directed at her. As Sebastian led her into the room, she searched the crowd for the tall figure of the Knight-Commander but couldn't see him among the attendees before she was surrounded.

Moving through the crowd on Sebastian's arm, she found it a bit overwhelming to see the Prince in his element. She knew that he had been born to this, but experiencing it was quite a bit different. While she blithely handed out pleasantries and welcomes, Sebastian masterfully kept her moving so that no one could monopolize her so early in the evening. With a warm hand at the small of her back or lightly holding her hand where it lay on his arm, he kept close to her side. He introduced to her to important people she hadn't yet met, supplied names when she faltered, and effortlessly charmed the insolent and over-inquisitive. His calming presence buoyed her confidence but she still had to work hard not to blush when he would whisper to her about some noble or other and his lips would inadvertently brush against her ear.

Eventually he was drawn from her side with a murmured apology, so she took the opportunity to work her way free of the crowd and try to recover her equilibrium after the full force of the Prince's attentions. While she waited for her flushed cheeks to cool down, she saw Aveline standing at the edge of the room, dressed regally in her guard-captain uniform and watching the room with a careful eye.

"Aveline, I'm sorry you have to work instead of enjoying yourself tonight," Hawke said as she approached the guardswoman.

Aveline looked puzzled. "Why? You have to work, too."

"True," Hawke said with a sigh, "but at least I get to wear a pretty dress."

"Hawke, even if I were off-duty I'd probably still be wearing my armor to an event like this," Aveline replied dryly. "I'd be more comfortable and feel safer with these vultures circling." She then fingered the edge of Hawke's dress appreciatively. "It is pretty though."

"Only thanks to Varric, my guardian angel," she admitted.

"Of course, Hawke, what would you do without me?" Varric said from behind her as he walked up to join them. He was magnificently dressed, for once wearing the guise of the high-ranking merchants' guild official that he was.

"Well, thank you. As you had surmised, this aspect of the event had completely slipped my mind."

Varric sized her up. "You do clean up nice. So far it seems to be worth it. I just hope I get to see the results of my little experiment."

"Experiment?"

"Ah, right on cue," Varric said softly, looking past Hawke.

She turned around to see that Cullen had just arrived. He was wearing light armor that was very similar to the armor he had once ruined during the scuffle in front her house. The breastplate was smaller and more streamlined than the standard issue one he had been wearing of late. It was tightly fitted over an intricately woven chain mail that glittered in the dancing lights of the ballroom. His usual Templar sash and skirting were also more ornate and seemingly less cumbersome than normal. It occurred to Hawke that the lighter armor made sense for a ball, and the mischievous idea took hold of her that somehow she had to talk him into dancing with her.

He had a forbidding look on his face as he strode through the crowd, causing people to quickly melt out of his path. She was wondering what might have happened to make him cross, when he saw her standing with Varric and Aveline.

His expression flipped through so many emotions in a short space of time, she wasn't sure she could really identify them all. When he first caught sight of her, he stopped in his tracks, relief clear on his face. As he continued to stare at her, the expression changed to something like wonder, his eyes running over the new dress. Then he seemed to recall himself and strode swiftly to her side with a look of annoyance.

"Hawke, I sent a detachment to your house to escort you here safely, and they tell me instead that no one was there. Please do not tell me that you came here alone again!"

Bewildered by his attitude, she blurted, "No, I didn't! Sebastian escorted me."

She caught a flash of anger in his eyes before he quickly schooled his expression. "Good," he said at last, "I'm glad you were well-attended. I would have . . ." He trailed off, seeming to reconsider what he was going to say. "I'm afraid I need to check on some of my men. I'm glad that you arrived safely." Then he strode off again.

Hawke sighed, giving her friends an apologetic smile, and then moved to follow him.

As she walked away, she thought she heard Varric chuckle and say, "And let the experiment begin . . ."

She had a hard time catching up to Cullen, so she called out, "Will you please stop running away from me! I have no chance of overtaking you while wearing these foolish shoes."

He finally stopped, turning back to her with an expression that was carefully neutral. "I am not running away."

"Would it make you feel better if I said thank you for sending an escort for me?" she asked lightly, wearing a tentative smile.

"There is no need, Hawke. I was only worried for a moment, since I was not sure if something untoward might have happened. Now I know that I need not have bothered," he finished somewhat coldly.

She flinched at his last comment, not sure how to respond.

Perhaps realizing that he was being a bit harsh, his face softened and he added, "You look beautiful tonight."

She blushed a bright red. "Th— thank you. Luckily Varric had enough sense to make sure I had something to wear, as I had nothing."

"Then, I am glad that Varric protected us from the distressful sight of the Viscountess coming to the gala undressed." He smiled, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, the night is still young," she retorted glibly. She gave him an apprising look. "So, Knight-Commander Cullen, I assume you'll save me a dance?"

Now it was his turn to flush, as he stammered, "D- dance? Me? Hardly, Hawke. I don't think it's quite appropriate for me to do that here."

"I can imagine few other places where it would be more appropriate, Cullen. Of course you'll dance with me. Just once!"

"Hawke, no," he said in a quelling voice.

"Yes," she insisted.

"No."

"Fine, for now," she fumed. "But, I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Hawke," a smooth voice said behind her.

Hawke turned to see Sebastian had found her again. He stood a respectful distance away, but he could not have avoided overhearing their conversation. "I was hoping I might have this first dance, Your Excellency." He gave her a brief bow, followed by a devastating smile.

A little irritated at the interruption, she turned back to see that Cullen had slipped away again. She had to bite down on a particularly unsavory curse that rose to her lips, before turning back to Sebastian. She gave him a crooked smile and took his proffered hand.

Dancing with Sebastian, she had to work initially to recall all the steps, but luckily his grace and natural athleticism made him an excellent lead. She was again overcome by the sheer presence of Sebastian the Prince, feeling her blood stir from his close proximity while he elegantly led her through the complicated figures. His long fingers, strong from his years of drawing a bow, firmly guided her and yet were surprisingly gentle where he held her hands or her waist. They spoke very little but instead watched each other with measuring eyes. As she stepped through the intricate movements that spun her around Sebastian, she felt like the dance itself mimicked her relationship with him over the years: spinning in sedate circles at a respectful, arms-length distance while simmering with sexual tension.

"So, Excellency, how are you enjoying your first gala ball?" he asked as the measure drew him up just a step behind her, one hand on her waist and the other holding her hand.

"So far, I am actually enjoying it more than I expected. I've had quite the chaperone guiding me," she said with a smile.

"Chaperone? Why does that make me sound like I should be standing behind you and glowering forbiddingly at anyone who asks you to dance?"

She chuckled, thinking that was actually an apt description. "You have a better word in mind?"

"Hmm, that's quite the opening," he murmured. "I suppose I would suggest friend. Escort. Mmm, admirer?" He gave her sidelong glance to gauge her reaction.

She felt herself blush again. Indeed, now that Sebastian was actually flirting with her, she was starting to feel a bit outmatched. The dance then separated them as she spun away with another partner before returning to his side.

He gave her an appraising look. "Another word: suitor. You know, Hawke, we've spoken jokingly in the past about the strength of an alliance between Starkhaven and Kirkwall. But now we could make that a reality."

She felt her heart thud in her chest again and suddenly felt like prey that had finally been run to ground. "That's . . . that's true, Sebastian."

He glanced at her again, still appraising, but didn't say anything else until the dance came to an end. He bowed over hand. "Just think on it, Marian." He kissed her knuckles and then reluctantly let her go.

After that, she had a hard time escaping the dance floor, as noble after noble then sought her hand for a dance. She did, however, accomplish several useful discussions during those long, stately dances. Of her partners, Sebastian was the only one not trying to wring some concession from her—except for the obvious one.

It was during her dance with the Teyrn of Ostwick that she made a disturbing discovery.

She was trying to deflect his attempts to secure some exclusive shipping rights with Kirkwall by starting an entreaty of her own. "I'm afraid we didn't get a chance to speak during the assembly yesterday about Ostwick's Circle mages. We've been having some difficulty communicating with them about the possibility of transferring some of their mages to the Kirkwall Circle. I was wondering if you might have any insights to share with us."

He blanched at her question and then looked around cautiously, like he did not want to be overhead. "I might. I'm afraid there is some . . . unrest among the mages there," he said quietly.

Frustratingly, the dance then spun her away, requiring that she wait to continue her questions.

"Unrest? Of what kind?" she asked when she finally returned to his side.

"Apparently similar to the kind you had here before you and the Templars invoked the Right of Annulment and purged the Gallows." He looked around again. "Word of the events here is spreading and the mages are outraged. I'm not surprised you've had no response. The Circle and the Templars there have their hands full. We're not sure yet if we need to get involved. And it's not just us. I heard something similar might be happening at Ansburg."

She was shocked as she spun away again, trying to process this revelation. It had never occurred to her that what happened in Kirkwall could have such far reaching consequences. In addition, it seemed again that some of the details were wrong. They hadn't actually used the Right of Annulment, which was why they had any mages left at all.

Joining hands again with the Teyrn, she tried to learn more, but he seemed reluctant to discuss the topic any further.

As the dance ended, she couldn't leave the dance floor quickly enough, stumbling through several half-polite refusals in her haste to escape. She moved to the edge of the room, trying to find a private spot to think.

"Viscountess Hawke!"

Hawke stiffened at the interception but relaxed when she saw it was First Enchanter Tilda.

Cullen had felt it important for the Circle to become a more vital part of the city, so he had permitted Tilda and several of her senior enchanters to join in the festivities.

"First Enchanter. Are you enjoying the gala?"

"Actually, I am, Excellency. It's wonderful to see such gaiety in Kirkwall again. Perhaps you should hold events like this more often?"

Hawke laughed. "I think that will have to wait until we've recovered from planning this one. How are things at the Circle Tower?"

"Quite well. Our numbers have started to grow slightly as we take in new apprentices. I've still been unable to communicate, however, with the Circles at Ostwick and Ansburg. I understand from the Knight-Commander that you might have been looking into that?"

She laughed humorlessly at the ironic timing of Tilda's question. "You know, I've still been largely unsuccessful," she evaded. "The Teyrn of Ostwick thinks there might be some extenuating circumstances, but that they should resolve themselves soon. I'll let you know if I learn anything that will be more helpful."

Hawke hoped her smile looked sincere. Until she knew what was really going on in Ostwick, and what possible role her own actions might have played, she didn't want to foster more disquiet. Or blame.

Trying to change the subject, Hawke said, "You know, I've been wondering how your negotiations went regarding in-person meetings between the Circle mages and their families."

"The Knight-Commander has yielded, and the first meetings have just begun. It's really a minor change, but a necessary one." She paused. "You know, Hawke, there is something else I have wanted to discuss with you. Now is not the time, but if you wouldn't mind coming by the Tower for a chat, I would value your thoughts on a new . . . project we're considering."

"I'd be delighted, Tilda. Although, as I've mentioned to Cullen, I'm not sure how much my own training, or rather lack thereof, will be of use to you."

"Not to worry, Hawke. I am most interested in your thoughts and opinions, not your . . . history, as it were. We can talk more when you come by." She looked around briefly and then said more softly, "I'm also curious to hear more about what is going on with the Grand Cleric. I understand she has been giving you some trouble?"

"Trouble is one word for it," Hawke grumbled.

"Is she here tonight? I don't think I've seen her."

"No, I believe she's in seclusion, preparing for her first Chant tomorrow. Tilda, you should probably know that she doesn't seem to be particularly, er, mage-friendly. Although, as Cullen says, I could just be over-interpreting her negative reaction to me personally." She grimaced. "In all seriousness, we really don't know much. But, it may be prudent for you to be a bit . . . wary of her. Just in case."

"Thank you for your candor, Hawke. Hmm, I hope we haven't gone from one extreme, of Elthina avoiding any interference with the Circle, to the other," Tilda said thoughtfully. She nodded her head and then moved on.

Tilda's comment weighed on Hawke as she realized that it was a very real concern.

Lost in thought, she let her eyes wander aimlessly around the room. Then suddenly her body went still, perceiving the danger before her eyes had fully focused on the cold silver eyes scrutinizing her from the crowd on the far side of the room. The eyes bored into hers for the space of several breaths and then, as suddenly, slipped back into the mass of people.

Senses sharpened in response to the seeming threat, she immediately strode across the room in search of the man. The sighting was so brief she wasn't sure if she might have just imagined it, but her racing heartbeat told a different tale. She stalked the edges of the room, continuing to search, but to no avail. It seemed that the silver-eyed man had returned and then disappeared again.

She related the sighting to Aveline who also increased her vigilance.

"In some sense it's comforting that at least we know he is in Kirkwall again," Aveline pointed out. "Don't worry, Hawke. We will find him. But I don't want you to worry about it anymore tonight. The guard and the Templars have the Keep well safeguarded."

"Have you seen Cullen anywhere?" Hawke asked, chewing on her lower lip.

Aveline thought for a moment. "To be honest, I haven't. But, find Sebastian and you know that's where he won't be." Aveline's eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Ah, don't remind me," Hawke groaned as she walked away.

Unable to help herself, Hawke continued a haphazard search of the shadowy corners of the ballroom for the silver-eyed man. Surprisingly, this led her straight to Cullen.

He was standing alone in the shadows of one of the more distant balconies. The large balcony was bathed in the light of the full moon which gave it a surreal appearance. He was looking out over the city lights, the distant look in his eye suggesting that he had chosen this out of the way place for some quiet contemplation. Either that or he was hiding, but she couldn't imagine from what.

Her agitation over the silver-eyed man and the news from Ostwick receded as she instead puzzled over what he was doing out there. Then she heard the distant strains of a waltz starting inside and suddenly she found herself fixated on an entirely different but much more immediate mission.

ooXXoo

Cullen had hoped the tranquility of the night sky would help settle some of his inner turmoil. He was still surprised at the turbulence of his emotions since the lieutenant had reported Hawke's absence from her estate earlier this evening. The thought that something might have happened to her had driven him to distraction. Then when he had seen her safe, his relief had been quickly superseded by another type of distraction.

Maker's breath, where did she get that dress? Dark and fathomless like the night sky, it seemed to invite him to explore every impossible curve as it skimmed around her lithe figure. He almost didn't trust himself to look at her wearing it, feeling his pulse begin to race and a slow heat growing inside him. Unfortunately, he also couldn't seem to tear his eyes from her—even when she had been swept onto the dance floor by Vael. Watching the Prince manhandle her had finally been too much for Cullen, so he had fled the room in order to check in with the outer guard.

When he returned, he saw that she was still dancing and was being passed like a trophy from one aristocratic set of arms to the next. His first instinct was to try to rescue her from that ignominious duty, knowing how it must grate on her to have to play the polite politician. But then she would probably browbeat him into dancing with her and this was something he really wanted to avoid. So instead he had retreated to this quiet corner.

He did know how to dance and actually wasn't too bad at it. However, the thought of engaging in something so . . . personal with Hawke, and in front of so many people, seemed imprudent. Plus there is that dress— He immediately stopped this line of thought.

His friendship with Hawke was of vital importance to him, and he was beginning to realize that anything that invited prying eyes and opinions into their privacy was ill-advised. Apparently the Prince felt no similar compunction.

Thinking about Vael sparked his annoyance again. The man clearly had designs on Hawke. Cullen dourly presumed that the Prince was now in need of a Princess. What bothered him most was that he didn't know how Hawke might view this presentment. He wondered that, if she was so close with the Prince, then why hadn't she talked about him more. He ignored the pang he felt imagining Hawke doing just that.

He looked again at the night sky, this time blocking out comparisons to Hawke's dress and focusing instead on its infinite horizons. Unbidden, a memory rose up. "It's just so vast and so . . . indescribably magnificent. It helps me put things in perspective and feel for a moment like the Maker is closer than we might think." He smiled to himself, trying again to take Hawke's advice to heart and just relax.

He was feeling centered again when the cause of his distress suddenly intruded on his thoughts.

"There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you. You disappeared!" Hawke chided.

He spun around, groaning inwardly as the dress was still as alluring as he had remembered. He tried unsuccessfully to avert his eyes and stumbled into an explanation.

"You were otherwise engaged. And, I . . . I had some . . . arrangements to check." He cleared his throat. "Besides, you seemed to be in good hands," he added bitterly.

A gleam entered her eye as she tilted her head to the side, listening. That drew his attention to the music; a waltz, if he was not mistaken.

"I still require that dance. This is the one I want."

"It's not appropriate for me to be dancing here," he repeated, but with much less certainty than before.

"Cullen, it's a ball! I've even seen the Knight-Captain stand up. Surely you can indulge me just this once. It's one dance."

Dancing was already a bad idea, but something as intimate as a waltz was worse. It was danced often in Orlais and he had certainly learned it, but it was still considered to be somewhat daring in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Taking her in his arms was not something he wanted to do in public. Especially in that dress.

Instead he said, "I just don't want to draw such attention to us. Every eye is on you tonight. And rightly so. But I don't think I want to share in that spotlight."

Not to be deterred, she stepped so close to him that the hem of her dress brushed against his legs and the faint fragrance of lavender surrounded him. "Well then, what if we're not in the spotlight?" she murmured.

Her eyes glittered through the shadows that danced across her face. Too late he saw the danger. She took his hands and slid one around her waist. He immediately froze and for a split-second considered refusing. But when she smiled up at him from the circle of his arms, his resistance crumbled.

He let out the breath he had been holding and then, almost reflexively, wrapped his arm more tightly around her waist, drawing her close to him. He took another deep breath, tantalizingly imbued with lavender, and started to spin her across the moonlit balcony.

It had been a long time since he had last danced, but the skill came back to him easily enough. Hawke was delightfully light on her feet and she responded nimbly to his gentle direction. He found it strangely exhilarating being completely in control of their movements, as he so often was not with this headstrong woman. Their steps quickly synchronized and soon they were effortlessly gliding through the shadows.

This allowed his attention to wander to his growing awareness of her. The feel of her small hand cupped in his. The narrow span of her waist. The whisper of her full skirts playing counterpoint to his Templar's jangle. The intimate smile on her lips every time their eyes met. The gossamer touch of her dress where his hand rested against her back. He was regretting the choice to wear armor, wishing that he could better feel her pressed against him. Even so, he was sensitively aware of how well she fit in his arms and moved to his touch.

Up close the dress was every bit as dangerous as he had expected. It left little to the imagination, yet his hands still yearned to learn its secrets for themselves. In an effort to rein in these impulses, he focused instead on her eyes. Normally so direct and candid, suddenly their grey depths were limitless and beguiling in the moonlight. As her eyes drew him in, he quickly realized this was another losing battle.

The next thing he knew, he was gazing at her fatuously, while his mind vaguely rationalized that surrender was the practical thing to do.

When the dance started to come to an end he felt a sharp stab of dismay at the prospect of letting her go. It was then that he finally came to a rather obvious conclusion about Marian Hawke.

We are not friends.

He wasn't sure where he had gotten the delusion that they ever could be, but it was clear to him now that they had stopped being friends months ago. And, trying to pretend now that they were was surely going to drive him mad.

They came to a slow stop as the distant music ended, no longer dancing but not letting go either. He was reminded of that day on the ledge at the Wounded Coast, where they had sat holding hands without comment or regard for what it meant. A small part of him chided himself for being an idiot to not realize all of this sooner, while the rest of him was more interested in what would happen next.

His hands were afire where they touched her, every nerve tingling. Although they had stopped dancing, his heartbeat was actually increasing its rhythm. Almost of its own volition, his hand on her back slowly drifted upwards, gliding along the bodice of that damnable dress to the bare expanse behind her shoulders. He then felt her heartbeat also quicken. Looking in her eyes again, he saw them darken in intensity just as he heard her breath hitch. Unlike on the ledge that day, tonight they both seemed to be fully aware of where this was going.

So slowly that she would have plenty of time to stop him, he started to close the little distance that remained between them. He captured the hand that he had been holding against his chest and dipped his head toward her. When he finally reached her lips, his touch was whisper light, lips ghosting across hers.

Still astonished that she hadn't pulled away, he began to kiss her in earnest, lips still moving slowly and deliberately. He felt her leaning into the kiss, rising up on her toes to reach him. Perhaps because of this encouragement, desire suddenly overwhelmed him and it was everything he could do not to crush her against him and discover what that dress had been trying to hide.

He was so completely lost in her that he heard the words as if from a far distance.

"So that's where they've gotten to. Heh heh, guess you owe me that sovereign, Aveline."

Then Hawke was jumping back from him, a guilty expression on her flushed face. He looked around and saw that Varric, Aveline and Vael were standing at the entrance to the balcony. Varric smiled broadly, like he had just won the lottery. Aveline looked embarrassed and faintly worried, glancing at Vael. And, Vael. The look he gave Cullen was enigmatic, his expression too tightly controlled to reveal what the Prince thought at the sight of Cullen kissing Hawke.

Kissing Hawke! Maker's Breath. And, in public. Cullen, what were you thinking?

He glanced at Hawke, hoping for some clue of where they now stood and what he should be feeling. She just looked panicked, eyes bouncing between him and Vael. I see, he thought.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, can we help you with something?" He was impressed at how even and business-like he had sounded.

Aveline stumbled through an apology. "We . . . couldn't . . . find Hawke. We were . . . worried."

"Yes, with a potential assassin on the loose and targeting Hawke, one cannot be too careful," Vael said in a cold voice.

Assassin? Cullen immediately looked at Hawke in concern and amazingly saw her cheeks redden even more, all but confirming this assertion. His eyes narrowed. "Hawke?" he said in a tone that somehow conveyed all his surprise, confusion, hurt, and . . . hope that she hadn't deliberately kept this information from him.

"We don't know it's an assassin . . . yet. It could be nothing. We're not worried . . ." Hawke babbled. She glanced at Aveline. "We're not worried," she asserted again.

She looked back at Cullen, having a hard time meeting his eyes. "I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily," she added softly.

I see. He glanced again at Vael, who finally looked at him with only thinly veiled animosity burning from his cold blue eyes.

"A dark, secluded balcony is probably not the best place to protect her when the man has been seen here, in the building, tonight," the Prince declared. Cullen was sure he also detected a degree of smugness from the man since he seemed to know all about this alleged plot.

I see, he repeated to himself again. He was outraged at too many levels to process them all right now. Tamping down the anger flaring up inside him, he put in place his cold commander's façade and fell back on protocol. He turned to Aveline, and snapped, "Guard-Captain, report."

He saw Aveline's eyes widen in shock at his officious pulling of rank, but after a glance for approval at Hawke, she reverted to her soldier's training and began to explain the situation. "The man was seen in the ballroom crowd briefly, but he seems to have fled. He is a known assailant." Cullen raised his eyebrows at this, but let her continue. "But of unknown identity, distinguished by dressing all in black, having unusual silver eyes and tattooed hands. The outer guard are on alert, but he has not been seen going in or out."

"What kind of a threat does he pose?"

Aveline again glanced at Hawke, who seemed temporarily unable to speak. "We don't really know. He's been . . . stalking Hawke for months now. But he has only attacked her once. We still don't know what his motives are."

Hawke finally reacted, wincing at this description of all the things she had apparently been keeping from him. A glance at Vael showed no surprise in that quarter, demonstrating that none of this was news to him. Cullen was only slightly mollified that it seemed Varric also had been excluded from these intelligences.

"Months, Hawke? We could have taken care of this a while ago. You should have said something," Varric said.

At Varric's words, Hawke looked not at the dwarf but at Cullen. "I know," she said softly.

Cullen kept his eyes on Aveline, too angry to look at Hawke. "Has anyone else seen this man? Do we know anything else about him?"

"Um, no . . . and no." More guilty glances at Hawke.

"Have the guard do a sweep search of the grounds and the ballroom. Keep it quiet to avoid raising any undo concern. Continue monitoring anyone who leaves. Then, meet me at the ballroom entrance for further instructions."

She nodded, gave Hawke an apologetic look, and then left to follow Cullen's orders.

Cullen finally turned back to Hawke.

"Cullen . . ." she began in conciliatory voice.

"Not now," he said sharply, raising a finger to cut her off. "Come with me."

He then took her arm and dragged her back into the ballroom. She numbly allowed herself to be led, while Varric and Vael followed behind. Cullen caught Knight-Captain Leon's eye, motioning him over.

"Ser," Leon said, saluting.

"Captain, please take a company and escort the Viscountess back to her estate swiftly and with extreme caution. Secure the premises and remain there until I send further orders." Cullen then looked at Hawke with unyielding eyes. "And, please ensure that the Viscountess stays put. She is not to leave the estate for any reason, even if you have to confine her to her chambers and drain her mana."

Hawke gasped, her eyes shooting daggers at him, while Vael began to loudly protest such treatment of a lady of quality. Hawke laid a hand on the Prince's arm. "It's all right, Sebastian." However, the look of fury she gave Cullen made it clear that Hawke would have words for him about this later.

So be it. So long as she is safe.

She stood with her arms crossed, fuming and glaring at him, until Leon escorted her away with Vael and Varric in tow. She looked back at him once before she left the room, the lines of her body rigid with anger. They held each other's eyes for a moment, and he couldn't help but think of the very different circumstances under which they had done the same thing just minutes earlier. He quickly locked these regrets away with his other emotions to deal with later and then went in search of Aveline to make further arrangements to find this mysterious man that was threatening his Marian.

Notes:

For fun, fanart inspired by this chapter by Inveleth http://inveleth.deviantart.com/art/Hawke-and-Cullen-Dragon-Age-2-282999040

Chapter 12: Sound and Fury

Summary:

Hawke and Cullen deal with the fallout from the gala, while we gain some insight about the silver-eyed man.

The entire walk to Hawke's estate, Sebastian kept up a running commentary on the pigheadedness and complete knavery of a certain Knight-Commander, with Varric periodically adding in his own humorous observations. It might have been entertaining to Hawke under different circumstances, and if she were actually attending to any of it. Instead, she was replaying in her mind her most recent interactions with said Knight-Commander.

Cullen's response to the situation with the silver-eyed man had been insufferably presumptuous. Although she knew he had her best interests at heart, she would be giving him a piece of her mind about that particular embarrassment. But, later and in private.

For now, her mortification faded to the background as her attention continued to drift back to that kiss. It had been so tentative at first, electrifying as it teased across her lips, that she hadn't realized she had stepped outside her carefully set boundaries until she was drinking him in. If they hadn't been interrupted, who knows how far she might have taken it, and that thought alone made her whole body flush.

She sighed to herself. She couldn't believe that she had goaded Cullen into dancing with her like that. And, then she had kissed him! She had set specific limits for herself in order to safeguard their friendship, and now she might have ruined everything. But then, she hadn't anticipated that he would be just as culpable in this. She laughed ironically. At least now she knew that he didn't view her strictly as a friend either.

Still wrapped in her thoughts when they arrived, she mechanically entered her house and sat down before the fire, ignoring the attendant chaos that then descended around her. Leon deployed Templars at strategic locations within and around the estate, ignoring Sebastian's aggressive attempts to thwart these efforts as the Prince decried the invasion of Hawke's privacy. Fluttering around them, Bodahn was trying in vain to understand what had happened.

Varric sat down next to her. "Hawke, I wouldn't worry too much about Lover Boy. He doesn't seem the type to hold a grudge for long. I'd just let him work all this protective stuff out of his system. So long as he and Choir Boy don't kill each other first, he'll come around."

Hawke looked over at him, finally feeling a smile lift the corner of her mouth. "You always know how to make me feel better, Varric."

"Like I always say, what would you do without me?"

She laughed bitterly. "Yes, hard to imagine, but I'm sure I could be messing things up worse than they are now."

Varric stood up to leave but paused. "Hawke, you should really get out more. All this Viscountess stuff is going to drive you crazy. You need exposure to some of our more refined ways of doing things to keep you grounded." He then gave her a comically florid bow and was gone.

Eventually, Sebastian rejoined her, apparently done arguing with the Templars. She had no idea if he'd made any progress, but she didn't really care. Leon could do what he liked. She wasn't going anywhere until Cullen arrived, which she knew he would do at some point instead of just sending word. Varric was right. Cullen was too straightforward a person to let things fester for long. And, they had more than a few things to discuss.

"Hawke, you should get some sleep. I can stay tonight and make sure those Templars don't disturb you."

"Thank you for the offer, Sebastian, but that's really not necessary. I think I will retire, but I'm not at all worried about the Templars. You should go back to the Keep and get some sleep yourself. You have a long trip ahead of you tomorrow." She tried to sound as logical as possible, since the real reason she wanted him gone was to avoid things getting worse when Cullen arrived to see him here.

"I can't possibly leave you alone here with these men trespassing in your home."

"Sebastian, I will be fine. The Templars have been taking good care of me for some time now," she said gently, realizing herself that this was true.

Sebastian seemed to process this, seeing her underlying point about one specific Templar, and then grudgingly nodded his head. "I understand, Hawke. I . . . I'd like to see you before I leave tomorrow," he finished in a weary voice.

"Of course. Even if I'm no longer under house arrest, I am likely to be here. So, please do come. We still have some . . . unfinished conversations, if I'm not mistaken." She smiled and his eyes lit up.

"Indeed, we do." He stepped closer to her, taking her hand gently in his. He gave her a lingering kiss on her knuckles and then held her hand up flat against his heart as he looked into her eyes. She could feel the nervous pace of his heartbeat.

It broke her heart to see the uncertainty in his eyes, along with a shade of sadness. She smiled at him warmly, trying to lift some of the shadows. His response was to lean in quickly and kiss her lightly on the lips. It wasn't a lingering kiss like she'd received earlier in the evening, but more exploratory, like he was testing her. Or staking a claim, she thought uncharitably.

His lips were as soft as she had expected, and she had closed her eyes at their touch, trying to savor a moment that she had imagined too many times. She opened her eyes again slowly to see that he was watching her reaction closely. Too tired to think on any of the implications, she simply smiled her honest enjoyment of the moment. Perhaps satisfied by what he saw, he gave her a roguish smile and then left without saying anything.

When she heard the door shut, the smile dropped from her face and she stared into the fire, starting her vigil.

ooXXoo

Grand Cleric Augusta hated these long meditations. At her age it was difficult to get back up again after kneeling for the necessary hours of quiet contemplation. She awkwardly struggled to her feet as she tried to regain feeling in her extremities, glad that she was alone in the shadowy ballroom that had been turned into a makeshift Chantry. The heraldry and towering statues of Blessed Andraste succeeded in obscuring much of the secularity of the transformed Hightown estate, but Augusta was still deeply offended by the backwater quality of Kirkwall's temporary place of worship.

She wondered again how she had ended up here but then gained strength by remembering her sacred duty to rein in the heathens and curb the fringe elements threatening the Chantry's rule here. In some ways it was worse than she had expected, seeing in person the smugness of that mage sitting in the Viscount's seat. Plus, the Chantry's own guardians, led by Meredith's chosen successor, were supporting her. Cullen's re-education in his own sacred duty would be her first order of business.

She froze when she suddenly had the feeling she was no longer alone. Searching the shadows surrounding the dais on which she stood, she almost jumped when she heard the lilting voice behind her.

"Your Grace."

She turned toward it, seeing cold silver eyes emerge from the darkness. "Ah, Frollo, I had been wondering where you were lurking about. I wasn't aware that you had returned to Kirkwall." She resented the Seeker's ability to startle her again.

"I am your humble servant," he said, bowing deeply.

She never liked the ironic inflection she always heard in his tone. The Seekers of Truth were a necessary and formidable army, providing the Chantry with an elite force to watch over both the Templar Order and the Mage Circles, but these special agents were a bit too uncontrolled an element for her taste. She also felt their unnerving special abilities were too close to the forbidden magics they were charged with quelling. Nevertheless, they served their unique purpose well.

"Well? What have you learned?" she snapped, trying to hide the disquiet she felt in his presence.

"The mage and the commander are even more closely aligned than you had feared. In all likelihood, removing one will necessitate removing the other. But that may even give us some useful leverage."

Augusta frowned. This wasn't what she wanted to hear. Meredith had always spoken so highly of Cullen. His record was spotless, his devotion to duty unquestionable, even under duress. It seemed the mage's influence was more insidious than she'd thought, corrupting even one of their best. "Out of respect for Meredith, rest her soul, I am not yet ready to fully discard the Knight-Commander. We need to find out the best way to neutralize that woman without alienating the city that seems to blindly adore her."

"There are some elements already chipping away at her support here." He handed her a rumpled and blood stained document from his black satchel.

"Stop the evil usurper Hawke. Restore the Templar Order to Chantry rule," she read. "What nonsense is this?"

"A radical group of demoted Templars agitating against what they see as the tyranny of this woman Hawke, who leads Kirkwall away from the Chantry. They call themselves the Righteous, of all things. Foolish, but their literature has found quite an audience in certain quarters. Especially beyond Kirkwall."

"Hmm, this could be of some use to us. See if you can fan those flames. But, I need something better." She looked at him directly, saying meaningfully, "Find me something better."

"I don't know that we need to go to such extremes just yet, Your Grace. I already have her blood, so tracking her is child's play. And, such extreme measures can leave evidence you know. Side effects. Scarring."

"That is no matter. I don't care if she or her collaborators are . . . damaged. Do what you must. And, soon. I want the situation in Kirkwall settled. The Divine herself has commanded it."

"Yes, Your Grace." He inclined his head and then melted back into the shadows, leaving her alone again with her prayers for the salvation of Kirkwall.

ooXXoo

It was just before dawn when Cullen finally made it to Hawke's estate. After hearing Leon's report, he sent him and most of the Templars back to the Gallows. He left just a few to supplement the guards who regularly protected her. Once these arrangements were made, he took a deep breath to regain a little courage for the scene that surely awaited him inside.

Walking into Hawke's main hall, he was surprised to find her curled up asleep in a chair in front of the fire. Her head was pillowed on her hands and she was still wearing that dress, with her bare feet peeking out from underneath the hem. As if she were waiting for me, he thought. Then he gave himself an angry shake at such romantic thoughts. Yes, waiting to yell at you, he answered himself.

He sat down tiredly in the chair next to her, reluctant to wake her. Her face was so relaxed when she slept that she looked younger and more fragile. Her hair had started to come loose, making his fingers itch to brush back the curl that fell across her cheek. He imagined that some might think her face even more beautiful than when she was awake. But he found he preferred seeing her eyes twinkle in glee, the frown between her brows when she was deep in thought, the stubborn set to her jaw when she didn't agree with him. Her parted lips as she surrendered to his kiss.

He sighed. How pathetically in love with her he was.

Over the hours he had spent scouring the Keep for sign of this silver-eyed man, he had been able to sort out a few of his more confusing emotions from the evening. He still had no idea what Hawke was thinking or how Vael might figure in to that. But, at least he had been able to examine his own feelings and had fully accepted his realization from earlier. They weren't friends, they were something more. How much more remained to be seen.

It was commonly thought that Templars were celibate, which of course was far from the truth. He did know a number of married Templars, some even in Kirkwall with the blessing of Meredith herself. It wasn't inconceivable that he could seek permission to be with Hawke or even to marry her. She was highly regarded but she was also independently situated, therefore not vulnerable to coercion or penury if anything were to happen to him.

Seeing the turn of his thoughts, he shook his head in silent exasperation. All he had done is kiss her, and yet here he was contemplating marrying her. He glanced at her sleeping form, imagining how she would ridicule him for such presumption. Yet it didn't seem prudent to proceed any further if there was no hope for a future. And he couldn't help himself but to be hopeful.

The fact that she was a mage was a different challenge. He was surprised to find that it really didn't bother him anymore. That he had complete trust in her control against the legion of demon-born temptations that mages faced every day. She had been the one, in both her example and her unending arguments over the years, to show him how prejudiced he had been about mages. How he had not allowed himself to view them as individuals, which had made it easier to restrict their freedoms and personal rights. He still knew that they needed to be sheltered, from themselves and the general populace, but Hawke was the exception that proved the rule for him. Plus, she wasn't part of the Kirkwall Circle, so technically he wouldn't be fraternizing. Nevertheless, how this might influence any permission he might seek for a relationship with her did not bear thinking on just yet.

First things first, he had to focus on the fallout of the night's follies. If she couldn't forgive him for his rash behavior, both the kiss and the detainment, then everything else was moot. He didn't like that his happiness lay so completely in another's tiny hands.

He sat watching her until finally she began to stir. She slowly sat up from the cramped chair and stretched. When she saw him sitting next to her, she smiled dreamily. "You're here." His heart leapt at how pleased she sounded.

She snuggled back into her chair, pulling her feet up underneath her skirt. "Did you catch him?" she asked sleepily.

"No, Hawke, I'm sorry. But then, the description I'm working from isn't terribly specific. I might even have questioned him tonight for all I know," he said with a tired laugh.

The silence stretched as the eventful night weighed between them. With the tension in the air growing, he decided to be the first to break the ice.

"So, was there a reason I wasn't to know about this threat?" he asked carefully, deciding to avoid some of the more difficult topics for now.

She blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and seeming to consider her response. "Yes. No. I don't know. I still don't even know who he is or what he wants. Honestly, it just didn't seem significant enough to tell you until I knew more." She yawned.

"Significant enough. Marian, he attacked you. He came to your home." Aveline had filled him in on the details and had added in a few recriminations of her own that the attack essentially had occurred on his watch, immediately after his departure from the estate the night of their first dinner. He couldn't help but agree with her. "You don't think that this is something I would want to know?"

"But Cullen there's nothing you could have done."

He blinked at her, inexplicably offended. "Marian, there are many things I could have done. And, would have done, if I'd known this was going on."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," she said in a voice that made it clear she thought she was being reasonable.

"But you could tell Vael? Is that who you could tell?" he said sharply without thinking, his jealousy suddenly flaring.

Her answering look was shocked. "Well, he didn't overreact like you did tonight!"

"Overreact? Maker give me strength, Marian. You mean, the very sensible—to use your word—steps I took tonight to ensure your safety? The resources and man-hours the Order just put in to try to identify and neutralize this threat? For you!"

He was incredulous that she could criticize him after everything he had done tonight.

This was not going well. He wished he could start over again, but he already felt it spiraling out of his control.

"I didn't ask you to do that!" she blurted, biting her lip.

"No, but I suppose you did ask him! Is it because he's a . . . a . . . a Prince? Do you think he would do a better job protecting you?" he shouted. He had now officially lost his temper, which he only rarely did and apparently only with her.

"I don't need you or anyone protecting me!" she shrieked. She stood up in agitation, defiant before him in her bare feet and rumpled gown as she let loose of the outrage she obviously had been carrying since the gala. "The bloody Champion of Kirkwall can bloody well take care of herself! You have NO right to order me about this way! Sending me home from the gala like a child? Locking me in my own home? Threatening smiting or worse from your Templar thugs? Cullen, you are not my keeper!" She was gesticulating wildly to emphasize of each of her points. Then she took a breath and snarled, "So what's next? Throwing me in the Circle Tower, too?"

He surged to his feet, towering over her in wordless fury. Her implication stung him like a physical blow, that he would treat her like some apostate, that he could think of her as no more than a mage under his care. That she wasn't obviously more to him than that. His mind roiled in a confusing combination of pain, indignation and something deeper that unnervingly teased at the foundations of his duty.

There was a small part of him that later would acknowledge that her barb fell a bit too close to the truth. His actions tonight were rather similar to locking up the mages in the Tower for their protection. But in the moment, he was consumed with anger and hurt, and fueled by his newly recognized feelings for her, lack of sleep and not a little bit of jealousy.

He was so irate he had to clamp down on the many hurtful things that sprang to the tip of his tongue. Instead of saying something they might both regret, he turned on his heel and marched to the door. There he paused, and in a quiet, tightly controlled voice he only said, "Then, you needn't worry any longer about such burdensome efforts on your behalf, Excellency."

ooXXoo

The sound of the door shutting behind him sounded ominously final. Hawke paced before the fire, pausing periodically to fling borrowed curses and to invent some new ones. Her anger quickly gave way to frustration that things had veered so far out of hand.

How did this happen?

She had immediately regretted the Tower comment as soon as it left her lips but seeing the hurt look on his face had cut her much more deeply. It wasn't like her to be so cruel. For all her jokes about his dungeon, she never thought of him as the potential jailor he would be if she were to lose her mysterious immunity from the Circle. It was clear that he hadn't either. Until now.

She couldn't believe that she had let her temper get the best of her. A conversation that should have been cutely awkward about a wayward kiss had turned into a nasty shouting match about jealousy and boundaries. Before he arrived, she actually had been feeling rather contrite about everything.

In retrospect, she could admit to herself that she should have told him about the would-be assassin. At first, it really had seemed like too small a matter over which to make him worry. Then, the longer she waited, the harder it became to explain why she had kept it from him. Plus, she knew that he would overreact and here she was enjoying the results of her prescience. Since she had basically expected something of this nature, it was almost hard to stay mad at him about the insulting house arrest. Almost.

She did wish that she had been able to tell Cullen about the silver-eyed man herself, without an audience. She was mortified that he had found out that way, after all her talk about honesty. The fact that it had happened in front of, and had perhaps even been catalyzed by, Sebastian just made everything harder.

From Sebastian's and Varric's ramblings she had gathered that Sebastian had been looking for her at the gala and so had cornered Aveline during her security sweep. When they both realized they couldn't find Hawke, he had jumped to conclusions about the mysterious assassin. Together with Varric they had set out in search of the Viscountess, who at the time was courting a very different kind of danger.

Seeing Cullen's jealousy, she was certain now that Sebastian's presence had been a big factor in the situation blowing up. And, blow up it had. She was shocked at how . . . cold he had sounded when he stormed out.

With her anger dried up, all that was left was a hollow emptiness. Feeling defeated and suddenly very alone, she dragged herself upstairs and crawled under her covers for a few more hours of restless sleep.

Chapter 13: Alone

Summary:

Hawke recognizes how alone she has become and decides to do something about it, while the Grand Cleric starts to settle in.

Andraste smiled benevolently down at Sebastian, the graceful statue seeming to understand his trepidation as he entered Kirkwall's temporary Chantry the next morning.

It was still hard to accept that his home of so many years was gone. Seeing the parishioners slowly find their seats on the brand new pews and the visiting dignitaries settle into their freshly varnished boxes, he could almost feel like the Chantry had merely been renovated to better serve the faithful. But a look up at the gilded frescoes on the ceiling and the gaudy crystal chandeliers that remained from the building's days as a noble estate and the illusion was shattered. He missed the soaring vaults, magnificent stained glass windows and peacefully smoking sconces of the ancient cathedral, which were now gone forever.

Walking down the aisle toward the Vael family box, he recalled that it wasn't only the building that had changed in the months since he'd been away. The embroidered cushions on the chairs were a far cry from the hard wooden benches where the initiates typically sat during the Chant. A superficial reminder of how radically different his life was now as Prince.

He didn't regret his decision to return to Starkhaven, but he couldn't help but miss the clarity and fulfillment of his days doing the Maker's good works. He had tried to take strength from his past as a Chantry brother, instead of dwelling on it as lost history, but he had only been partially successful. He was sure that Hawke would understand, especially given her similar transition into her role as Viscountess.

He sighed. His thoughts never seemed to stray far from Marian Hawke these days.

He knew that despite Hawke's attempts to appear as irreverent as some of her friends, her faith in the Maker was actually quite strong. It was something they'd found they had in common early on and had provided the foundation for their blossoming friendship. A friendship that had quickly grown into something deeper, despite his intention to keep faith with his vows.

It had been difficult holding himself back from her for all those years, especially when she had seemed to enjoy tormenting him with her teasing innuendos. For all his experiences with women during the debaucherous days of his youth, he had never actually had a lasting relationship. So while he knew quite a number of ways to respond to such flirting and teasing, he had had no idea what to do when it was someone he really cared about.

Being free of his vows hadn't made things any easier. He had foolishly assumed that becoming Prince and showing her his commitment to a stable and secular life would have been a good first step. Evidently, this had been exactly the wrong step. He didn't think that a few months would have been long enough for her to find love elsewhere, but it was quite apparent she had. Even if she didn't quite realize it herself yet.

Coming back to Kirkwall after all this time, he didn't think it was fair to say that he had expected Hawke to just be waiting around for him to sweep her off her feet. But, he certainly hadn't expected to feel like he had to start from scratch in wooing her, especially with the few days that he was in town. Working from this disadvantage, he had tried his best, but it now seemed that the Knight-Commander was too deeply entrenched in her heart.

He saw a column of sisters march toward the dais followed by the Grand Cleric, marking the start of the service. But a look at the Viscount's box still showed no sign of Hawke. Seneschal Bran, who sat there with his daughter, kept turning to look down the aisle with a concerned frown. Like Sebastian, he was no doubt also wondering where the Viscountess was on this morning of the Grand Cleric's first Chant. Another set of eyes was trained on the Viscount's box as well before the Knight-Commander turned back to the service with a furrowed brow.

Observing Hawke's deep connection with the Templar, Sebastian could see some similarities to their own friendship. Cullen also was a deeply religious man with a keen commitment to duty. Being honest with himself, Sebastian couldn't blame her, especially when the Templar had no need to initially keep her at arm's length. But he was still bitter about the timing of it all. He was certain that if only he had accepted her offer to come with him to Starkhaven five months ago, as he had been tempted to do, things would be very different today.

Luckily, the first strains of the Chant lifted Sebastian's spirits and as usual, helped to clear his mind of anxiety. It reminded him that all he could do was have faith in the Maker that things would work out as they should. But, he decided he would still stop by Hawke's estate before he left . . . just in case the Maker yet saw fit to include Marian Hawke in His plan for Sebastian.

ooXXoo

Hawke had difficulty dragging herself out of bed that morning so she irresponsibly decided to skip the Grand Cleric's first Chant. She finally emerged from her room around mid-day when she realized she couldn't avoid the world any longer. The bright sunlight outside seemed to mock her gloomy attitude, as the day had dawned clear and still unseasonably warm for the start of winter.

When she came downstairs, she saw that, true to his word, Cullen had removed every Templar from the estate. Feeling strangely bereft, she tried to keep herself busy by catching up on her correspondence, writing letter after letter until her hand started to ache. When she heard someone arrive, she jumped up from her desk, eager for a new distraction.

A moment later, Sebastian entered the room, dressed in his signature armor and ready for his return to Starkhaven. She felt a pang of sadness that he would be leaving again so soon.

He looked around casually. "I didn't see you at the Chant this morning. I hope it's not because you are still being . . . detained?" His mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

She grimaced, knowing that the Grand Cleric would probably feel slighted at her lack of attendance. "Ah, no, I was just feeling a bit under the weather this morning. I'll have to send Augusta my apologies." She also looked around, seeing the glaring absence of Templars guarding her. "As far as being detained? No, it seems I am now free from such . . . burdens." She felt her lips twist ironically at the words.

"And so goes my opportunity for dashing heroics," he said evenly but with a twinkle in his eye.

She smiled at his valiant attempt at humor.

"I'll be returning home soon. I wanted to make sure all was well and to . . . say goodbye."

This made her frown sadly. "I can't believe you're leaving already, Sebastian. You only just returned."

"I know. But there is still much to be done in Starkhaven. I cannot tarry longer, however much I might wish to," he said wistfully.

She wanted to find somewhere private to talk but felt strangely reluctant to take him into the study. "Since it's so nice today, why don't we go out into the garden?"

The Hawke estate garden was small, used mostly for growing vegetables for the kitchen, but it had a couple of nice shade trees in the summer. Of course, with winter looming, everything looked either anemic or dead. Nevertheless, she found the fresh air actually raised her spirits a little.

They sat down on a bench that encircled one of the barren trees and chatted idly for a time about Starkhaven, the things he had accomplished, and the work that lay ahead of him. She was impressed that even the menial concerns had his attention and interest. Listening to him, she could tell that he would be the good ruler she had come to expect. Certainly better than she was.

There was a pregnant pause before it was clear he was going to change the subject to something weightier.

"Hawke, it's not my business—and I'm honestly not sure I really want to know—but it seems things have gotten a bit more . . . complicated for you."

Assuming he meant the kiss with Cullen, she didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.

"Might I ask where you now stand with the Knight-Commander?" he asked tentatively.

She flushed. "Cullen and I are no longer on speaking terms."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise at this. "Oh. I see. I'm . . . sorry. I'm sure this must be difficult for you. Are you all right?"

"I'll heal. Perhaps it's all for the best this way. Everything is cleaner. Easier."

"Perhaps," he agreed lightly. "The Maker does work in mysterious ways." He then took her hand in both of his and looked at her soulfully. "You know, Marian. You could come with me. Give this thing between us a real chance. Away from all the . . . distractions.

"I know he is in your heart, but I think not so very long ago . . . so was I. Perhaps we can find our way back to each other."

She tried to imagine leaving behind all of Kirkwall's distractions. Leaving behind Viscount's Keep, the bureaucrats, the Grand Cleric, the manifestos, and the Gallows. Leaving him. She surprised herself by realizing that the rest she could leave behind easily right now. But the thought of leaving Cullen, even with things the way they were, made her heart ache.

But maybe that's the point.

Maybe she needed to get away from the heartache, which would never really get better since they could never be together anyway. Maybe with some distance, and being with Sebastian at long last, everything would feel better. Like her daydreams of old.

Yes. She nodded to herself. A change was what she needed.

She looked up at Sebastian, rashly thinking of accepting his offer, when she saw his heart in his eyes as he waited for her answer. For all his newfound confidence, he was still affectingly vulnerable right then—and this gave her pause.

With dawning horror, it finally occurred to her that she was considering using Sebastian to chase away her feelings for Cullen. Her face crumpled at the realization.

Is that the kind of friend I've become?

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly in regret. She didn't think she could feel any more horrible today, but apparently she had been wrong.

"Sebastian, I'd like to say yes . . . of course, yes, and ignore any doubts I may have. But, I couldn't possibly accept while I still feel this way about . . . him. It wouldn't be fair to you. You deserve someone who loves you completely with their whole heart and doesn't have doubts. Any doubts. I need to get past these impossible feelings for Cullen before I could be with you in good conscience. I care about you too much to do otherwise."

His eyes dropped and he was silent for a few moments. "I understand," he said slowly. "I wish I did not, but I do. Part of me wants you with me however I can have you and at any cost." He looked up at her again. "But the part of me that is also your friend and will ever be, wants you to be more forgiving of yourself and to allow yourself time to heal." His eyes turned down to her hand that he held, idly tracing circles on the back of it with his thumb.

He was quiet again, his face pensive. Then he looked up at her with a sigh. "Marian, the Maker has a plan for us all, although sometimes we cannot easily see it. I . . . I want you to know that my offer is still open. For whatever you're willing to give. I also want you to please consider that perhaps a good place to let your heart heal is in the warmth of my love for you."

A tear slid down her face. "Sebastian, you are too good."

He leaned in closer and with a smile murmured, "No, I am not."

Taking her chin in his hand, he kissed her very gently but thoroughly. Far from saying goodbye, the kiss was full of promise, affection and longing, with an undercurrent of banked passion she knew would take only a bit of encouragement to blaze out of control. When he let her go, she disengaged reluctantly, sorely tempted again by his offer of comfort and unconditional love.

Then suddenly she pictured Cullen's inevitable look of betrayal if he had seen that kiss and the moment was ruined by sharp pangs of guilt.

Sebastian must have seen this on her face, for he leaned back as well. "Perhaps you need to talk to him, Marian. Face this thing between you directly. I think only then will you be able to move on."

He stood up, a confident smile on his face. "And, then I'll be waiting."

He gave her a brief bow and then left to start his long trek back to Starkhaven. Alone.

ooXXoo

Over the next week, Cullen avoided her and she him. Hawke had seen him from a distance once at the Chantry but quickly left without speaking to him. When he came to the Keep to meet with Aveline, Hawke distantly saw him leave without coming by her office as he usually would have done. Just that afternoon, she had sent Bran in her place to a meeting at the Gallows where she knew Cullen would be present. She felt foolish, but she didn't know what to say to him yet. And, she wasn't ready to find out how angry he still was.

She was still angry, too, but mostly at the stupidity of it all. She was angry at how overprotective and overbearing he had been, but she also knew that that was just a part of who Cullen was. Even if he apologized, he would still do the same thing again next time. It wasn't worth this kind of extended quarrel. As for their friendship, relationship, whatever, she just wasn't quite ready to face what it all meant—especially since it might mean the end of that friendship.

Aveline observed all this with a tolerant eye and a patient ear. She listened to Hawke agonize over her decision with Sebastian and only nodded understandingly when Hawke decided again that it was the right choice. When she asked Aveline whether Cullen had asked about her during his visit, Aveline merely deflected the question. Hawke couldn't tell if Aveline was trying to be a help or a hindrance.

After a week of not speaking to Cullen, Hawke was astonished to realize how alone she had become, and moreover, how incredibly lonely she felt. She could see now Sebastian's concern about her pulling away from her friends because that was exactly what she had done. In fact, given how much she had neglected her companions, she was now amazed at how understanding they had been.

In an attempt to rectify this, she impulsively decided she would join them at the Hanged Man that night. A night of cards, good cheer, and watered down ale was exactly what she needed. Once she had settled on this plan, she felt decidedly better, imagining the comfort of slipping back into her old routine. Her old life. She couldn't believe it had been almost six months since she had been there. Six months since the Chantry blew up and everything changed.

She was finishing up for the day when Bran came by with a perplexed look on his face.

"Excellency, I did as you asked and went in your stead to that meeting at the Gallows."

"And?" She wondered why he was drawing the story out.

"I was told that our main point of contact with the Templar Order will now be . . . Mother Christiane."

"Wait . . . what? Why?"

"I wasn't given a reason, messere, only told that the Viscount's office will now go through a Chantry official in our official dealings with the Gallows."

She tried to pay attention to the rest of Bran's description of the meeting, but her mind kept returning to the fact that something important had happened at the Gallows this week. And, she had missed it.

She wondered if this was a consequence of her fight with Cullen, that he was distancing himself from her, but she quickly dismissed this idea. He was much too professional to let their personal issues affect his job. Plus, of all the people to employ in this role, Mother Christiane would likely be at the bottom of his list.

No, the more she considered it, the more concerned she became that this was a sign of the Grand Cleric's handiwork.

Before she could think about the wisdom of such an action, she was donning her cloak and heading to the Gallows.

ooXXoo

Cullen massaged his hand, trying to work out the cramp before he picked up his quill again and turned back to furiously scratching out the blasted report that already had consumed his entire day. He gritted his teeth again in irritation that the bloody thing was due the next day, which left him little time to spare.

In order to have some hope of getting it done on time, he had instructed Neil to keep everyone away, so when a soft knock came at his door, he ignored it. But then he heard a familiar voice. A voice he had missed.

"Cullen?" said Hawke, her voice drifting faintly through the door.

Then, he heard Neil encouraging her to leave. Cullen quickly moved to open the door and saw that she was already halfway down the hall.

"Hawke."

She immediately froze and then seemed to turn around reluctantly, glancing again at the exit she had almost reached. Her expression was wary, as he imagined was his own.

"Please, come in."

Cautiously, she followed him back inside his office and carefully shut the door before she sat down. They stared at each other awkwardly for what seemed like an eternity.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Hawke?" he asked at last.

The look on her face was priceless, as she actually seemed baffled by his question. He wondered again why she had come, and if she was wondering the same thing.

"I was— Um . . . I . . . heard that my office is now supposed to talk to Mother Christiane when contacting the Order?"

She's here about . . . her office? Of all the things he thought she would say, this was not one of them. He scowled and his simmering frustration boiled up anew.

"Sorry to inconvenience you, Your Excellency," he snarled. "Besides, why does it matter? We're no longer communicating directly anyway."

She looked as startled by his sudden vehemence as he was himself. Then, a spark of anger flared in her eye and her mouth thinned to a grim line.

"Andraste's flaming sword, Cullen, I was worried about you!"

He looked away sullenly.

"Did something . . . happen?" she asked softly.

Her concern for him made it all come rushing back.

Grand Cleric Augusta had wasted no time getting settled into her role as senior Chantry representative for the southern Free Marches. Not two days after the investiture she had summoned Cullen to her new office.

He recalled how their interview had started quite pleasantly. Augusta had waxed nostalgic about Meredith, apparently trying to build some kind of rapport with him. He had thought she was just trying to lay the groundwork for their working relationship until there had been a knock at the door.

"Enter," Augusta called, and in strolled Mother Christiane. "Knight-Commander, I'm sure you remember Mother Christiane."

"Of course, Your Grace." Then Cullen nodded at Christiane. "A pleasure, Your Reverence."

Christiane nodded at them both solemnly but said nothing, waiting.

"So," Augusta began, clasping her hands before her, "in the interest of forging closer working relations between our office and the Order, I am assigning Mother Christiane to work with you. She shall by our eyes and ears and will provide you with immediate Chantry counsel on your day-to-day dealings."

Cullen wasn't sure he liked the sound of the term "day-to-day," suddenly wary.

"I am humbled by your faith in me, Your Grace," Christiane said with her usual simper. "And, I look forward to working with you closely, Knight-Commander." This time the look she gave him, for all its deference, was still somehow . . . hungry and made his skin crawl.

"Commander, you shall see that Mother Christiane becomes settled at the Gallows this week with suitable accommodations. You shall now report to her."

He was so shocked at this pronouncement, Cullen wondered at first if he'd heard her correctly. He couldn't possibly believe that the Grand Cleric would interfere in his affairs this way.

"Your Grace, report to Mother Christiane?" he asked incredulously.

"That is my wish, Commander. I want to have a better flow of communication with your office, and she shall be my proxy. She then can serve as a conduit for any burdensome relations with the civilian government as well. You will make it so."

Although he was seething, he couldn't think of any valid complaint he rightly could make, so he prudently remained silent.

Watching his expression, the Grand Cleric continued, "I trust, Knight-Commander, that you will keep your eye firmly affixed on your duty . . . and from whence that duty arises." She gave him a stern look and then returned to reading a document on her desk. "That is all."

Outrage over Augusta's interference in his command still warred with the insult he felt at her implication that he would neglect his duty. Of course, he also suspected that part of the reason for this change was to distance him from Hawke, which made him even angrier.

He glared again at the half-finished report on his desk, a summary of his current security policies for the Circle as per Mother Christiane's rather peremptory request that morning. In their now typical morning meeting, she had yet again created more busy work for him, the only purpose of which seemed to be a demonstration of the Chantry's control. The fact that she had required it to be done in one day suggested that this was some sort of test. Or game.

The resurgence of his anger made his response to Hawke sound unnecessarily harsh. "Did something happen?" he repeated with a scowl. "Yes, you could say that. The Grand Cleric apparently requires more . . . direct oversight of the Gallows."

Hawke's eyes got round. "Oversight? You mean . . . of you?"

"Who else? It is her role to supervise the Order and the mages in Kirkwall," he sharply reminded her, and himself. "Her divine right."

"Cullen, this . . . isn't some kind of punishment for you personally, is it?"

"Of course not," he snapped, "because I will do my duty. As always."

He saw her face close off, no doubt finally giving up on her attempt to reconcile with him. He knew he was behaving badly. He wasn't sure why he would take this out on her, except perhaps that he hadn't had an outlet for his frustrations until now. Just as he could recognize that he was driving her away again, he could also admit to himself that he had missed her terribly.

He was still smarting from their earlier fight and wasn't sure how to move past it. He found it somehow fitting that shortly after his realization that he was in love with her, he would be so angry with her that their friendship was at stake. Her harsh comment about being thrown in the Tower still hurt and made him question his sanity for falling for a mage. The Grand Cleric's attentions just made things worse.

As the silence drew out, his glance was drawn to the large white blossom slowly opening up as the Knight's Bloom responded to the rising darkness. Its strong fragrance filled the room and felt like a balm to his raw emotions and wounded pride.

"Fine," she said curtly, standing up to leave. "I'm sorry to have troubled you."

Noting the darkened skies, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "So I assume someone will escort you back to Hightown, Excellency."

"No need, Ser, I can see myself to Lowtown, thank you very much."

"Lowtown?"

"Yes," she said, as if taunting him. "I'm heading to the Hanged Man tonight."

"Why?" he gritted.

"It's very simple. I intend to see my friends. That is where they will be." He couldn't help but notice her point that these friends did not include him.

Frustrated, he said, "Well, I presume you will at least take your guard with you there?"

She looked at him as if he had just suggested she traipse through the noontime Chant wearing nothing at all. "Take guards to the Hanged Man? Cullen, is this your supposedly clever way of getting back at me? Do you want me to get jumped?"

"What? No! What I am proposing is exactly the opposite. Hawke that dirty tavern is a haven for the very criminals you are responsible for cleaning off the streets. Please at least take a few precautions."

Finally, she lost her temper. "Cullen, I've been doing a very good job of taking care of myself for many years. None of that has changed now that you are in my life. Now, good night!" she shouted. She then turned and stormed out.

He was simultaneously angry at her thoughtless disregard for her own safety and delighted that she had described him as still being in her life. Maybe things weren't as bad as he thought. Except for the fact that she was now recklessly throwing herself into danger again. He knew she would go to the Hanged Man anyway and that she would do so alone. Especially now that he had challenged her on that point.

Why won't she let me keep her safe? He sighed. And, why do we keep having the same conversation over and over again?

He made a hasty decision, sending for his assistant.

Chapter 14: Hanged Man

Summary:

Hawke follows through with her plan to go to the Hanged Man, with a few unexpected results. Incidentally, in Tarot, the Hanged Man can be interpreted to augur a great awakening.

Wrapped in a featureless cloak, Hawke slipped through the door of the Hanged Man but then had to pause for a moment as the stench almost bowled her over. How could she have forgotten such a rank smell? Apparently she really was going soft. She then started to pick her way through the crowded taproom, keeping her hood up in an attempt to maintain her anonymity for a few minutes longer.

As usual, people of varying respectability sat in small groups chatting, laughing and drinking. Hawke saw everything from sailors on shore leave to off-duty guards and even a small group of Templars. Through it all, the barmaid Norah wove an expert dance through the crowd, avoiding grasping hands and passing out drinks. Hawke couldn't believe how long it had been since she'd been there. Everything felt familiar but also different somehow.

She waited until she reached Varric's suite to remove the hood of her cloak. Varric was already several pints in and was telling an animated story to Merrill, who sniggered in a way that revealed she was already quite drunk. Aveline was frowning at her cards and trying to ignore Donnic, who seemed to be teasing her about her hand.

As Hawke hovered on the threshold, one by one her friends noticed her and fell silent in surprise. She felt strangely awkward, not knowing what to say, and the uncomfortable silence lengthened.

Finally, Varric said, "Hawke, it's about time you showed up. We need another round from the bar." He grinned. "Norah! Another round, and it's on Hawke's tab this time!" Varric shouted across the tavern to the harried barmaid.

At this announcement, there were a few heads that turned their way in interest and an audible swell in the murmurings.

Hawke smiled gratefully at Varric and wordlessly slipped into a chair. Varric looked around and said, "All right, call already. We need to start a new hand for Hawke."

Donnic looked at Aveline in amusement as she let out an explosive sigh. "Fine, they're horrible! Are you happy?" She laid down her cards which were, as she'd said, horrible.

Donnic laid his own down with a big grin, taking the hand. "Not to worry, love, even if I take your money, it still comes home with us."

She scowled at him. "That still doesn't make me feel any better," she grumbled, which just made him chuckle more.

In the meantime, Norah came in with more ale. "Hawke, long time. Welcome back, love."

"Thanks, Norah." Hawke then threw back her pint, making short work of it in order to try to catch up to her friends and dull some of her discomfort. "Another round? Plus, how about a round of something stronger this time?"

"Norah, did I ever tell you about the time that Hawke took out a whole nest of High Dragons over at the Bone Pit?" Varric said, watching Hawke with a gleam in his eye.

"Varric!" Hawke exclaimed involuntarily, as if on cue. "There was only the one High Dragon. You know the rest of them were fledglings." Then she blushed, recognizing how outrageous the incident still sounded.

Ignoring Varric, Norah caught Hawke's eye and gave her a wink. "Coming up, Hawke," she said and then returned to the bar.

Varric chuckled in delight as he started to deal Hawke in to their game of diamondback. "I've missed you. Telling my stories about the Champion of Kirkwall isn't nearly as much fun without you here squirming and trying to correct me."

"I would have thought by now you'd have gotten your facts straight, especially since it seems you've taken to writing my stories down? The most interesting volume came across my desk recently . . ." Hawke said pointedly.

"Someone's got to tell your story, Hawke. Might as well be me!"

"Well, Varric, I hope it has a better ending than that Hard in Hightown one," Merrill chimed in. "When all the villains still somehow escaped, it was so obviously a set up for a sequel."

"Daisy, you already know how it ends. You were at the Gallows with the rest of us when the shit hit the proverbial Templar fan."

"So, Hawke's story ended at the Gallows, did it?" Merrill blinked ingenuously.

Hawke was suddenly taken aback by Merrill's innocent comment. Thinking about how different her life was now, in some ways her story had ended there. This left her feeling decidedly unsettled.

Varric glanced at Hawke with perceptive eyes. "Oh, there's a sequel. Just . . . some of the plotlines are taking a little longer to play out right now."

At that moment, Norah returned from the bar with a bottle and started handing out shots. "It's the good stuff, Hawke, compliments of the house. Corff says it's been too long, and it has. Also, he just reminded me. Strange man in here a few days ago was asking about you."

Hawke went cold at this news. "Who was it?"

"Don't know. Creepy fellow. Strange eyes. Now, mind you, Corff's not one to dish personal business, but seein' as how you haven't been around here much, well, that's pretty much all we told him."

Hawke and Aveline shared a look at the description of the man. "Thanks, Norah. Can you tell me anything else about him? What did he want to know?"

"Hmm, sorry, don't recall too much. Just that he seemed . . . odd. And, he wasn't askin' details about you exactly, but more about who you spend time with. But, as anyone knows, that's no one at the Hanged Man these days. You're a respectable lady now." Norah nodded her head to emphasize her point and then left.

Hawke frowned for a minute, but once she decided that this information told her nothing really new about the silver-eyed man, she went back to pretending she was normal. She raised her shot and gave her friends a cheeky smile. "Well, here's to being respectable!"

"Respectability is highly overrated," Varric said, also raising his glass.

"I'm still not sure that you've quite achieved it anyhow, Hawke," Aveline said, laughing.

"I'll drink to that," Donnic chimed in with a smirk.

"Oh, but Hawke's got some very fancy shoes now. Surely that must make her respectable," Merrill said.

Hawke saluted them all again and everyone drank.

They turned back to their cards and played several hands accompanied by several more rounds of drinks. Hawke found she was so out of practice, both with diamondback and drinking, that it seemed that everyone would be going home with a little of her money. And, she would likely be waking up with a headache.

She had been worried that she would feel like an outsider after so much time spent apart from her friends. But, even though she wasn't in tune with every topic they discussed around her, their camaraderie and banter seemed to embrace her instead of exclude her. The normalcy of the moment felt like a balm to the drama she'd experienced that week, and she was heartily glad she had decided to come. Of course, it wasn't to last.

When Norah returned with the latest round of drinks, she was followed this time by a group of brutish thugs. She quickly slipped away as the lead thug leaned down on their table with two hands and leered at Hawke. His small beady eyes gleamed at her from a lean, pockmarked face that had a long, dark scar twisting across one cheekbone.

"Hawke, is it? Viscountess Hawke. You and me need to have a little chat."

"Go back to your drink, friend," she said in an amused tone, not even bothering to look up from her cards. "Make an appointment if you need to see me, like everyone else."

Varric laughed at this, which made the man flush.

The man picked up his hands and slammed them down on the table, causing the drinks to jump. Merrill squeaked in surprise, looking fearfully at him. Varric's eyes narrowed as he looked at the man, instantly sobering up. Aveline's eyes darted back and forth between the man and Hawke, like she was wondering if and when to step in. Donnic just got very still. But, Hawke continued to ignore the thug, casually selecting her next card.

"You and me will talk now," the man continued. "You locked up my brother for lyrium smuggling. We're going to talk about how you will let him go."

"Look, I'm sure Hawke locks up a lot of people. You shouldn't take it personally. You also should probably back down before you do something you'll regret," Varric said to him, glancing sidelong at her as she continued to ignore the man.

"You let Tobias go, or we'll do something you'll regret!" the scarred man shouted, pounding the table again.

Now that he was officially threatening her, she sighed, grudgingly recognizing that Cullen was right. Damn him.

The man started to draw a giant mace from his back, when suddenly she burst into action. She leaned across the table and grabbed his collar, pulling him close to look directly in his eyes. She let her power boil up so that her hand crackled and sparked with electricity, sending little jolts into his neck, while her eyes started to glow an unholy silver. "Go. Back. To. Your. Drink. Friend."

By now, the patrons nearest Varric's suite had started to notice the drama unfolding, a few sneaking closer to get a better look. The man looked frightened at Hawke's show of power. But, as she watched his eyes, she saw the exact moment when that fear flipped over to rage. Great. Here we go.

What exactly happened next was hard to recall later as so many things occurred at once. The scarred man roared in anger, diving toward her just as she released the electrical charge she'd been holding in check. The energy hit him squarely in the chest bowling him over backwards. In response, his friends rushed into the room to back up their leader.

Merrill drunkenly fell off her chair backwards, scrambling to get out of the way. Varric flipped out of his chair gracefully and picked up Bianca. Aveline and Donnic waded into the fray with fists flying, focusing on the man's friends. Aveline knocked the first one out cold with a well-placed right hook and broke another's nose with her elbow. Donnic broke one of Varric's chairs on a third, driving him back against the wall where two of Varric's bolts pinned the man.

Hawke sent out a mental blast of energy, knocking down any assailant who was still standing, stunning all but their leader who was just making his way back toward her. Then, suddenly the room was full of Templars shouting and subduing the unruly men.

The scarred man was quickly on Hawke, moving faster than one would expect for someone so large. She dodged out of range of the giant mace that swung at her head, but it still caught her on her shoulder, spinning her to the ground. The man yelled in rage and rushed at her, meaning to barrel her over, when a massive Templar shield bashed him out of the way. Looking up from her spot on the floor, the lights danced in her eyes for a moment as she watched the imposing form of a tall, broad-shouldered Templar effortlessly knocking the man unconscious with a few quick strikes of his shield.

After gracefully stowing his sword and shield away, he turned to Hawke where she sat on the floor slightly bewildered. He offered her a chivalrous hand up and then swept off his helmet. Hawke was surprised to find herself looking into the concerned blue eyes of Knight-Captain Leon. "Are you all right, Your Excellency?"

Hawke couldn't respond for a moment, trying to process what had just happened and recognizing belatedly who she had expected the Templar officer to be. Oh, no, he did not just send Templars to the Hanged Man, she thought angrily. And, he didn't even come himself? She was suddenly so furious that she started to shake.

"Excellency?" Leon repeated. "Please tell me you are all right. That looked like a nasty blow you took." Curiously, he sounded a little nervous and perhaps even a bit guilty. She realized that he was probably more worried about what Cullen would do him if she had come to any harm than he was truly concerned for her well-being. Damn him.

"I am fine, Leon. What in the Void are you doing here?" she growled.

"We were . . . off-duty, milady. But, this ruffian clearly meant to harm you. We were only trying to, um, help keep the peace."

"Keep the peace?" Hawke gritted. "Since when do Templars have jurisdiction over barroom brawls?"

"Indeed," Aveline sternly chimed in.

"We . . . we were only trying to help, Excellency. And, it's lucky we were here!" he said a bit too emphatically. "May I, um . . . escort you home safely?"

She didn't believe for one minute that he was off-duty. But, she knew it was no use talking to the errand boy. Once more, it seemed Leon was under orders not to reveal his true purpose.

"No, I will be going to the Gallows," she said in a deadly voice. "You may come if you can keep up."

"Hawke . . .?" Varric said in concern.

Hawke looked at her friends, her eyes softening. "Thanks for the attempt at normal tonight."

She grabbed her cloak and then turned on her heel, striding out of the tavern and into the night. She heard the clatter of Templars stumbling out the tavern door, trying to keep up with her.

It took her no time at all to arrive at the Gallows. She sat silently during the boat ride across the harbor, fuming and starting to sober up, while Leon watched her anxiously. Even through her distraction, she was starting to feel the throbbing from the blow she had taken to her shoulder. Unfortunately, surrounded by Templars was probably not the time to heal it.

As soon as the boat touched the quay, she propelled herself forward. The courtyard gate was locked due to the late hour, a fact which slowed her down and stoked her ire.

"Open it!" she commanded. Leon nodded to the gate guard, who hurried to obey.

Hawke strode swiftly across the courtyard. After bullying her way through the next locked gate, she continued her headlong course into the Templar stronghold, heading straight for Cullen's office. She knew he would still be there, waiting for word about her.

She threw open his door and stalked inside, Leon following closely behind her. Cullen looked up slowly and without surprise from the report he was writing, almost as if he had expected this scene to arrive. She stood in front of his desk silently, clenching and unclenching her fists and searching for the words to express her outrage. Cullen took this in and gave Leon a wordless nod of dismissal. Leon inclined his head and quickly left, closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door was shut, she unleashed her wrath at the top of her lungs. "How DARE you? How dare! Sending Templars to follow me? To the Hanged Man? What gives you the right? Nothing gives you the right!"

"My explicit instructions to Leon were to watch over you and to stay out of sight," he explained calmly. "He was not to act or interfere with you in any way unless you ran into trouble. So, am I to assume that I was right and you did attract trouble?"

"That is not the point!" she shouted, pointing her finger accusingly at him. "You do not get to decide whether or not I need protecting."

"On the contrary, your safety is critical to Kirkwall. Protecting Kirkwall is part of my duty, which means I will do everything in my power to make sure that you are safe."

"I am not part of your duty. And, I was perfectly safe. You . . . You . . . You— And you weren't even there! You sent that idiot Leon!"

He got a speculative gleam in his eye as he considered her response for a moment. "So, let me get this straight. Are you mad at me because I sent men after you, or because I did not go myself?" he asked with an infuriating smirk.

She had had it. With a strangled cry, she grabbed the nearest breakable from his shelf and threw it at his head. He nimbly ducked behind his desk as it shattered against the wall. He slowly stood up, eyebrows raised, and his face crinkled into a crooked smile. "Marian?"

She suddenly felt very foolish. She flushed in embarrassment and turned her back on him. What in the Void am I doing? She was screaming at him like a Fereldan fish wife. Unable to cope with so many conflicting emotions after such an emotional week, she fled. She was almost at the gate into the courtyard before she realized there were tears streaming down her face.

What a sight I must be, she thought idly but could do nothing to stop them so barreled forward.

ooXXoo

Cullen just barely caught up with her before she had reached the guards at the first gate. This was turning into a disaster. The last thing he wanted was for her to experience the embarrassment of such a public scene. All he had wanted was . . . Well, he wasn't sure he wanted to admit all the reasons he had done something as apparently ill-advised as sending Templars after her against her express wishes.

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. Seeing her tear-stained face made his heart sink and he felt even worse. He tried to use his body to block the view of the nearby guards, who had started to notice the strange scene unfolding before them, while he tried to calm her down.

"Marian, please . . . please, just let me explain. Come back inside. Please?" he pleaded in a low voice.

She only glared through her tears, staring at his chest with arms crossed and not seeming to really hear his words. But she had stopped walking away.

Taking this as a good sign, he started to lead her back inside with a cautious hand at her elbow. She stalked beside him wordlessly. Desperately hunting around in his mind for somewhere more secure to talk, he found himself leading her up several flights of stairs and into the Knight-Commander's suite where he could lock the door and hopefully avoid interruption.

In comparison to the small officer's cell Cullen had occupied as captain, the Commander's suite was palatial, with an antechamber that served as his office and a separate sleeping chamber. In the six months since he had moved into the suite, his few meager belongings did nothing to fill it up. So, aside from the desk, which was piled high with papers and missives, the rest of his quarters felt almost barren. It was odd to admit, but he actually felt more at home at Hawke's estate than he did here.

He led her into his office and over to the settee near the fire, which was crackling merrily. Now that she was sitting, her body lost its defensive posture but her face took on a more worrisome hopeless look. She barely seemed to notice when he removed her heavy cloak from her shoulders. He sat down and took her hands, not sure what this meant or even how to begin.

"Look, I'm . . . sorry for being so high-handed tonight. And . . . previously. I admit, it was not my place to send knights after you into Lowtown, or to . . . confine you in your house. I apologize."

She remained silent, the tear tracks on her face starting to dry.

He licked his lips, wondering what else she wanted him to say. "I know I can't keep you safe by locking you away from trouble. And, I would never presume to be your keeper. I . . ." He looked down at her hands, sitting comfortably, safely, in his. He then recalled his unreasoning panic when his men couldn't find her to escort her to the gala. How foolish it was in retrospect. "Marian, it . . . it makes me frantic to think of you in harm's way. I guess I've let my fears get a bit out of control."

She finally looked up at him, smiling wanly. "To be perfectly honest, which apparently we're being tonight, I think I'd worry more at this point if you didn't try to protect me. Even when I've explicitly asked you not to." She gave a small breathless laugh. "Although, I would like for us to work on reigning in a few of your more . . . primitive instincts."

He couldn't help himself but chuckle at the truth of this. "Noted." Privately, he also delighted at her use of the plural us.

Her expression sobered. "And, I want you to know, I'm . . . sorry, too. I never . . . I never should have said what I did about . . . about the Tower. It was cruel of me. I know all you've ever done is try to take care of me." Then her eyes dropped again, and the defeated expression fell back over her face.

Now he was even more confused. It sounded like she had forgiven him but she still seemed to be upset. Had something else happened tonight? He waited to see if she would say more, but she remained silent.

"So then . . . this seems to be about more than some overzealous Templars tonight," he probed, but she still didn't say anything. He was starting to get a bit concerned. "It's not like you to be so deliberately reckless by going there alone in the first place. Is . . . there something else going on?" He waited again, but no response. "Marian, please talk to me."

She still didn't say anything for a time, eyes staring at nothing, but then finally she took a deep breath. "Tonight, just for a moment, I was actually starting to feel . . . normal again," she said wistfully. "I was not the Viscountess. Not the Grand Cleric's enemy. Not even the Champion. Just a person, meeting friends. I couldn't—I wouldn't believe that I can't just walk into the Hanged Man now and have a drink with my friends. Simple, like everyone else." She stared morosely at their intertwined hands.

He chuckled softly. "You've never been like everyone else. Even before you became Champion."

She sighed, and in an encouraging sign, the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Maybe. I just didn't want to feel like I was so . . . alone tonight." She glanced at him and then said defensively, "So, fine, you were right. It was reckless. I . . . I was trying to follow Sebastian's advice to . . . reconnect."

Cullen's immediate response of, "You're not alone; you have me," died on his lips with the mention of Vael. Blasted Sebastian Vael. Suddenly unable to sit still, Cullen stood up and started to pace, not sure what to say as he thought of her "reconnecting" with the Prince. The Prince who was in love with her. Naturally, she didn't need him when she could have a Prince watching over her instead.

"Vael, of course," he heard himself mutter bitterly.

Her eyes got wide as she watched him pace, and then after a minute, she sighed. She seemed to have finally snapped out of her strange listlessness as she watched him with measuring eyes while worrying her lower lip. Then, her next words halted him in mid-pace.

She took a deep breath and then said in a rush, "He asked me to go with him. He . . . wants me to be Princess of Starkhaven."

He wants me to be Princess of Starkhaven. Her words echoed in his head, shattering his vain illusions of starting a life with her, somehow, someday. I knew it. His ears didn't seem to hear the notes of despair and uncertainty in her voice, or to recognize the fact that despite this proposal, she was still here. Instead, his mind focused on the fact that Vael had made his move, before he could make his own, and now she was lost to him.

He stared at her, mouth open, unable to form a sentence. He wasn't sure what he could he possibly say to that. Congratulations, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill him?

She continued to watch his reaction with apprehension writ large on her face.

What is she expecting me to say? He cleared his throat, but still couldn't think of the right words. Or any words.

She waited for a response, ultimately following up with, "Aren't you going to ask me what I told him?"

No, I don't want to know the details. He shook his head silently in despair.

Unaccountably, her eyes flashed with irritation at this. She stood up and walked over to stand in front of him, arms crossed and hip jutted out aggressively. "I told him no," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, eyebrows raised, like she was trying to provoke some kind of a reaction from him.

He still just looked at her in desolation, the meaning of her words not really sinking in. Why is she telling me this?

Suddenly, she sprang forward at him, poking him sharply in the chest with one finger and yelling, "Damn you, Cullen, I said no because apparently I'm in love with you, you idiot!"

Well, Cullen wasn't that much of an idiot. Like a dam bursting, he finally understood and swept her up in his arms for a crushing kiss.

Chapter 15: First Knight

Summary:

Hawke and Cullen take a giant leap forward, as one might have guessed from the last chapter (or the cheekily re-purposed title). First time writing anything like this, so please be kind. :)

In sharp contrast to their first kiss, this one was not gentle but demanding and uncontrolled. Hawke met Cullen's urgency with her own, wrapping one arm around his neck and entwining the other in his hair in an attempt to pull him closer. All the pent up emotions from months of longing, courting, fighting, and desire flared up between them, and soon they were careening off balance in their frenzy to devour each other.

They crashed backwards into the wall and his hands tried to cushion her back from impact against the cold stones, still not breaking their kiss. It wasn't until she gave a small squeak of pain that he pulled back slightly, caging her against the wall with his armored body.

His eyes roamed over her face wonderingly, followed by his fingertips which ghosted across her cheekbone, down to her jaw, and then ran lightly across her lips, which she could feel tingle from the punishing kiss.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly.

Are you all right? Blind instinct receded for a moment and some semblance of rational thought returned as she considered this question. Dimly, she felt her injured shoulder complain at the rough treatment, but she decided she had more important concerns.

She had broken her "don't kiss Cullen" rule again. In trying to dispel his pain and uncertainty about Sebastian once and for all, she had gone much further than just a kiss. Being perhaps a bit too honest, she had finally admitted that she was desperately in love with him, something much harder to deny now.

But, seeing the way he was lovingly touching her face and the tender concern in his eyes, she found it hard to remember exactly why she should deny herself this. So long as he was all right, she decided at last, so was she.

She gave him a slow smile and timidly touched his cheek. "I honestly couldn't be better. Unless . . . we were to get all this uncomfortable metal off?"

He grinned, seeming to agree with this plan as his fingers began to fly to the buckles attaching the heavy armor. Her fingers immediately joined his and their hands danced in tandem, peeling off his breastplate and the various other offending pieces that covered his upper body. Once he was down to his tunic he started on the Templar sash and skirting. Here her fingers began to falter as her knowledge of armor ran out in the face of these unique elements of the Templar uniform.

Seeing her hesitate, he said uncertainly, "Marian, do you want to stop?"

"No!" she said a bit too forcefully. "No, I . . . I just don't . . . know . . . Templar . . . armor . . . really, at all." She flushed in embarrassment, knowing she was babbling. "It's not like I would ever have healed one at Anders's clinic," she muttered.

"I see. So that's where you've learned so much about undressing armored men." He chuckled. After a beat, he gave her a suggestive smile. "Well, it seems you may have more to learn, then."

He captured her gaze as he started slowly to unwind the complicated twists in the red Templar sash from around his waist and then very deliberately to remove the skirting, greaves and other plating. Her fingers twitched wanting to help and . . . touch, but she was in thrall to the intimacy of this simple act and the directness in his eyes that invited her to watch. She didn't notice she was holding her breath until the last piece of armor clattered to the floor and she had to gasp for air.

Clad now only in tunic and trousers, he quickly closed the space between them, drawing her body fully against his as he resumed their breathless kiss. She molded herself to him, feeling the hard planes of his body pressing against her more pliant curves. Without his armor, he again seemed much more real and immediate. Not a courtly allegory to pine over, but a flesh and blood man that she was desperate to touch again. And again.

"Now there's nothing keeping us apart," he murmured against her lips. Then he gently encouraged them to part, his tongue darting in to explore. She moaned softly, pulling him close but realizing that he still wasn't quite close enough.

She looked up at him mischievously. "I wouldn't say nothing . . ."

Before her courage ran out, she ran her hands up his chest and tentatively she started to unbutton his tunic. He met her eyes with a smile and then surprised her by grabbing the hem of the tunic and ripping it off over his head in one smooth move. She gasped, watching in astonishment how the sudden motion set the hard muscles across his now bared chest literally rippling.

She had seen him without his shirt on several occasions now, but still couldn't stop herself from gaping at him. He was just so . . . beautiful. He seemed delighted by her reaction, giving her a lopsided grin before he took her face in his hands and started to kiss her again very slowly and teasingly. At the same time, she reached out with both hands and started a tentative consideration of the planes and ridges of his broad chest. She felt her breath hitch at the solid feel of him, so much warmer and softer than she'd imagined in those inappropriate daydreams.

When he released her lips, moving to nuzzle her ear, her eyes were drawn back to her exploration. Unable to look away, she watched her hands skim across the flat plane of his chest, the strong curve of his shoulder and then down the bulge of his bicep. She threaded her fingers through the sprinkling of golden hair across his sculpted stomach muscles and traced the hard lines of the many scars she found with her fingertips.

She didn't realize how entranced she was with the march of her curious fingers until she felt him shudder. Looking up, she saw that he was just watching her with hungry eyes. He had an almost predatory stillness she had seen in him once before, and he seemed to be tensely coiled, waiting for . . . something.

Emboldened, she moved even closer and started to follow her hands with her mouth, trailing kisses across his collarbone while her fingernails ran lightly down his sides then up his back. When she heard him let out a hissing breath, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes and then flicked her tongue against the smooth hollow at the base of his throat.

He groaned and abruptly pounced, pushing her up against the wall again and slanting his mouth over hers. The coarse stubble on his chin played a stimulating counterpoint to the softness of his lips as he kissed her fiercely. He tangled his hand in her hair, roughly loosening it from its careless chignon and pulled her head to the side to give his questing mouth better access to the long line of her neck. He then worked his way back up to her lips, plundering her mouth greedily.

She was completely focused on the sensual dance of their tongues and the sweet taste of him, when she felt his fingertips sliding just inside the high neckline of her dress. Somehow his clever fingers had undone its complicated fastenings and he started to ease it slowly off one shoulder, dropping scorching kisses on the bared skin left in its wake.

Each touch of his lips made her shiver and her eyes fell shut as she focused on the sensation. She was leaning against the wall for support, pulse racing, when she heard him hiss angrily. Her eyes flew open and saw him examining her now bared shoulder, where the huge bruise from her earlier injury now stood out in purple high relief against her pale skin.

"Marian, how did this happen?" he demanded in a rough voice.

"Oh. That." She winced. "It's a, uh, parting gift from my trip to the Hanged Man. Please don't say 'I told you so.'"

But he did nothing of the sort. Instead of chastising her, he got a murderous gleam in his eyes. "I assume the person who caused this is either dead or in custody? If not, he soon will be . . ." he growled

Curiously, this did not spark the outrage she typically felt at his overprotectiveness. This time his growling voice stirred something deep and primal inside her. She suddenly felt the overwhelming impulse to urge him on to right her wrongs and fight the world's evils for her and hopefully to flex all his ridiculous muscles while doing so.

Somewhat surprised at this response, she found herself pulling him in close and declaring in a husky voice, "Cullen, if you keep having these deliciously male responses to me being in danger, then I may have to become increasingly reckless in my activities." She looked up at him through her lashes and smiled wickedly.

He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off of her feet to gaze at her on a level, amber eyes darkened with desire. "In that case, my dear Marian, I will have to follow through on my threat of locking you up, but instead of my dungeon it will be here, where I know I can keep you safe . . . and have you all to myself." He gave her another predatory smile that fanned the flames she felt consuming her.

"Hmm, I'm not sure if the word threat is quite accurate then . . ." she murmured, biting her lip.

He recaptured her lips, pushing her up against the wall again, but then as quickly pulled away again and set her on her feet. "Wait, how much does it hurt? Do you . . . want to stop?"

"Argh, no! Cullen, please, no more talk about stopping!" She leaned up and kissed him and then, punctuating each phrase with another kiss, said distractedly, "I am fine. I am more than fine. I promise I will heal it tomorrow . . . once I'm away from so many Templars. Please?"

He chuckled. "As you wish."

He resumed his excruciatingly slow exploration, moving tenderly around her injury to trail kisses down her neck. He slipped the dress off her other shoulder and repeated his ministrations, paying special attention to the tender juncture between her neck and shoulder. He then moved down her decolletage to the swell of her breast. Her breath was coming in little gasps as his lips teased across her over-sensitized skin.

Just as she realized those nimble fingers had somehow already unlaced her bodice, he was sliding the dress smoothly over her hips to pool at her feet, leaving her almost bare.

She shivered as the cool air hit her hot skin, but soon she was in his arms again and he seemed to be touching every inch of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to ground her swirling senses and pressed her lips to the spot where his pulse flickered rapidly. It took her a moment before she noticed that his hands on her body were a little too methodical in their examination.

She sighed fondly. "Cullen, I swear to you: that is the only injury I suffered tonight. You can stop trying to be sneaky."

He laughed against her neck, the sound reverberating deep inside her. He whispered in her ear, "But, why would I pass up any opportunity to touch you? Especially when I can know that you are well and whole."

She couldn't help but giggle delightedly at this, even while his voice had her trembling in anticipation.

His hands continued their examination but lost their clinical detachment. His fingers now danced insistently along her curves and his lips were demanding.

Then, without warning, he swept her up in his arms, making her squeak in surprise. "What are you doing?"

He swiftly carried her into the next room and over to the large bed against one wall where he deposited her gently. "While my accommodations may be modest, I can at least offer my lady a bed, over the wall or the floor."

She found herself girlishly thrilling at the notion of being his lady as he joined her. Rising up on his knees, he took her in his arms again, kissing her gently as he nimbly removed her small clothes and then pulled back to look at her appreciatively. She flushed as she felt his eyes roaming over her, but she didn't feel self-conscious until she realized that he was still half-clothed.

She pulled him back in to distract him with a kiss while her hands moved to the laces on his trousers, but try as she might, she couldn't seem to navigate the fastenings without looking. Finally, looking didn't help either.

She made a frustrated sound in her throat. "Are these specifically designed to keep you chaste? I seem to be incapable of undressing a Templar. I'm pathetic," she said in embarrassment, crossing her arms in front of her in discomfort.

He gave her a warm smile and put his hands on her shoulders. "Marian, please relax." He gave her a languid kiss and then murmured, "Is it too male of a response to say that I'm glad it's your first experience undressing a Templar . . .?" His brow creased as he watched closely for her reaction to this.

She felt herself blush a little as she smiled. "No. I just . . . wish I felt like I was better at this."

He reached out and gently unwrapped her arms from around her chest. Holding both of her hands, he placed a lingering kiss on one palm, the inside of her wrist and the crook of her elbow, working his way slowly and deliberately to her shoulder. He then started over again with her other hand.

She started to tremble uncontrollably, her entire body singing to his touch.

Still holding her hands, he leaned in, kissed the corner of her mouth, and then ran his tongue along her lower lip. When she sighed, his tongue darted between her parted lips and he kissed her deeply.

Pulling back so his face was only a breath away, he looked in her eyes. "Marian, you are perfect. This is what makes the first time special. We learn together. I wouldn't have it any other way." He kissed her again and then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, took her hands and guided them through the fastenings on his trousers.

In a few a short moments, he was as bare as she and they spent some time just exploring each other with inquisitive hands and worshipful lips. She was pleased to hear his breath becoming as ragged as her own, with each touch became more urgent.

With truly nothing separating them now, the frenzy began anew. Breath mingled, limbs intertwined, fingers caressed and excited. There were a few missteps, teeth clicking, a misplaced knee, but even these were met with the delight of discovery as they learned each other's tastes and sounds.

When finally he moved over her, looking deeply into her eyes, she opened herself to him completely. The world receded and there was only Cullen, surrounding her, filling her. Eyes locked, they began to move together, quickly finding a rhythm.

She watched him and wondered faintly if her own expression mirrored his, a mixture of wonder, satisfaction and adoration. His lips and tongue tangled with hers and she felt it all the way down to her toes as she rocked against him.

Hawke's fingers dug into the hard muscles of his back as they moved faster, rushing headlong towards some indefinable finish. Her breath started to come in gasps as she felt the pressure building inside her and her control starting to slip. As she came closer and closer, she felt a tingling starting all over her skin and was gratified that it seemed her entire body was responding to him.

If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she might not have noticed the change in his expression to one of . . . alarm.

The tingling grew and she started to see small sparks out of the corner of her eye. But they were both too close to stop, or even slow down, now. She cried out as wave after wave of sensation swept over her at last and she frantically tried to pull him closer, deeper, faster, as she called out his name. The pleasant tingling had expanded to an almost audible buzz that lanced down every nerve, heightening her climax.

He groaned and she felt him buck against her, meeting her frenzied movements and joining her in blissful completion. She thought she also heard him call her name, but only distantly did she hear, "Marian, no!"

Through the haze of satiated languor she suddenly felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown on her when a wave of spirit energy crashed into her. Her body froze as her mana was abruptly drained and her heart made a painful lurch, leaving her gasping and shaking. She could only lie there in shock, pinned down by the substantial weight of him as he raggedly tried to catch his breath.

Finally, he rolled to the side of her and up onto an elbow, still breathing heavily. He watched for her reaction, his expression both wary and admonishing.

Still on her back, since she wasn't sure she could actually move yet, she blinked and then glanced sidelong at him. "What was that?" she asked slowly.

"You mean the part where we made love for the first time, or the part where your eyes started to glow silver and we were mysteriously engulfed in electrical charge?"

"I mean the part where you drained me."

After a moment, he asked resignedly, "What do you expect me to do, Marian?"

She laughed bitterly. "Hmm, what did I expect my Templar lover to do? Interesting question. Perhaps not turn his considerable talents against me!" She was shaking from reaction now, feeling an ache in her bones from being drained but also a wonderful lassitude from their lovemaking. It was a peculiar combination of pleasure and pain.

"Your reaction, while beautiful and stirring, was also . . . dangerous."

"My reaction was just a reflex!"

"As was mine. I tried to stop or at least to hold off until you . . ." He sighed. "Marian, you lost control."

She looked away, anger bleeding away to shame. She had lost control and that was extremely dangerous. For both of them, physically and politically. If any of the Templars in the fortress had felt what they were doing, there would be consequences. How could I have been so reckless?

"I'm so sorry."

She heard him move and then he had gathered her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I'm sorry, too. I guess we should have considered something like this might happen. It's . . . It's been a while for me, and I also had a hard time maintaining control at the end. I didn't want to harm you, but I'm afraid my response was pure instinct."

"Well, it's been a while for me, too. A long while. I didn't think something like that would ever happen. I . . . honestly don't remember the last time I lost control of my magic." She squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment.

She felt his hand caress the side of her face as he feathered a kiss on each of her closed eyelids and then a more insistent kiss on her lips.

He pressed his forehead against hers, willing her to look at him while a small smile played on his lips. "Marian, perhaps I should just be flattered that apparently I can fluster you so completely." When she smiled, he continued, "And, I'd like the opportunity to try to fluster you some more . . ."

This made her laugh out loud. "Ser Cullen, I'm afraid all you have to do is smile at me anymore and I'm flustered."

His eyes glowed in pleasure at this. "Well, I did have a bit more in mind than just smiling. There were all sorts of delightful sounds you were making right before you tried to zap me. I think I'd like to try to reproduce them. Practice, after all, makes perfect."

She giggled. "I didn't zap you."

"Honestly, my love, you almost turned me into another parable of the dangers of falling for a mage."

Her heart thumped loudly at this. "So . . . you . . . have?"

"Have I what?" he asked teasingly. Just as she thought he was going to make her ask again, he continued, "Fallen in love with a mage? How can you doubt it?"

She knew this time that his foolish grin was the mirror of her own.

He started to kiss her again, but she found herself pulling back. She didn't want to ask, but it just slipped out. "Cullen, this doesn't make you . . . regret loving a mage?"

"No! Of course, not!" He lifted her chin to look directly in her eyes. "Marian, I love you."

"But it must concern you?" she pressed.

"I . . . I admit, I did find it . . . disconcerting. But, I trust you. I could never let my guard down with you so completely if I didn't. And, next time we'll be prepared." He smiled and kissed her. "And the time after that." He kissed her again. "And after that . . ."

She relaxed into his kisses, deciding to accept him at his word, even though she had seen the brief moment of panic in his eyes. She couldn't help but wonder if he was more afraid of her or of what he might have to do. She closed her eyes, trying to block out these thoughts, and surrendered herself to the assurance of his embrace.

ooXXoo

When she woke, she could tell it was long before sunrise. The blanket had slipped off and she found she was freezing in the pre-dawn chill. Searching for it in the dark, she then recognized the other reason she was cold. Cullen wasn't there.

He had proceeded to fluster her several more times that night before they had succumbed to exhaustion. She had thought he was as tired as she was, so she couldn't understand where he might be.

As she looked around the darkened room, the delightful implications of where she was sleeping made her smile. In the glow of the faint embers in the hearth she could just make out the spare furnishings of the room, revealing few personal touches that might tell her more about his private side. An armor stand with carefully polished and arranged arms. A small wardrobe with perfectly folded and straightly aligned rows of clothes and boots. A short bookcase filled almost to overflowing with books. She felt the mischievous urge to snoop around and see if she could learn more about him, but the desire to find him was more pressing.

She slipped out onto the cold floor, wrapping the blanket around her for warmth, and padded out to his office where she could see the still-burning fire flickering underneath the closed door.

Silently peeking into the room, she saw him sitting at his desk wearing only a pair of loosely slung trousers that sat low on his hips and showed off the hard ridges of muscle there to great advantage. He held his head in one hand, fingers tangled in his slightly mussed hair, while the other hand scribbled methodically on a sheaf of paper. He looked so different from his usually immaculate and uniformed self that she almost felt like she was spying on some clandestine version of Cullen that no one was allowed to see. He was so beautiful and carelessly relaxed that she found she was holding her breath for fear of startling this elusive creature into vanishing with the dawn.

He was so concentrated that he didn't notice her watching him for several minutes. When he finally saw her, far from disappearing, he gave her an intimate smile that transformed his whole face and made her heart flutter.

"Aren't you cold?" she managed.

"No, the fire actually keeps it almost uncomfortably warm in here. I'm sorry; I hope I didn't wake you."

She yawned and approached him. "No, but I was cold without you. What are you doing?"

He gave her a sheepish grin and then pulled her into his lap, blanket and all. "I'm afraid I had a report to finish for Christiane by today. I . . . erm, hadn't planned on being quite so occupied last night." He gave her a lingering kiss that stopped conversation for a bit.

"You certainly seemed as if you were expecting me," she said, slightly breathlessly.

He started trailing kisses along the side of her face, clearly trying to distract her. "I was expecting . . . a, um . . . fight. I can't say as I was expecting this pleasant outcome. Nor that it would happily keep me busy for most of the night." He slipped his hands underneath the blanket, trying to distract her further.

She leaned into him, enjoying the distraction. "What time is it?"

"A few hours before dawn." He captured her lips once more.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asked when she could speak again. She ran her hand down his face, seeing the circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual.

"Enough." He smiled wryly and then dropped his lips down to her shoulder, moving the blanket aside. "I need to get you home so you can finally heal yourself."

"Home . . . right. I probably shouldn't be seen here, like this. Do you think there's any way I can leave without the whole Gallows knowing?"

He was nuzzling her ear with such single-mindedness, she wasn't sure he was even listening to her anymore. "Cullen?"

"Mmm hmm? Home. Right. It's hard for me to think of letting you leave, but, yes, it is possible. I'm chagrined to admit it, and I'm sure the men don't think I know, but there are ways for Templars to slip in and out of the Gallows discretely. There's one that should serve our purposes, and it even lets out in Darktown, not far from the cellar of your estate."

"Convenient," she said blithely.

"Ah, yes, and now is not the time to tell me that you already knew about this exit," he warned, laughing. "I think if we leave just before dawn, we will be fine."

"So that means we still have some time then?" She raised her eyebrows playfully.

His eyes danced. "Yes, I think we have just enough time for me to take further advantage of you while I still have you at my mercy."

She grinned at his enthusiasm, still marveling that he was allowing her to see this carefree and passionate side of him.

She dropped the blanket and leaned up for a kiss. "You're right . . . it is rather warm in here."

Chapter 16: Sun and Shadow

Summary:

Hawke and Cullen adjust to their new understanding and realize that while some things are easier, other things, not so much.

Hawke successfully escaped the Gallows with no one the wiser, but only because she and Cullen didn't see anyone along the way to her estate, not because they were being particularly careful. She could only laugh when she realized that they would have to learn to be much more discrete, since they were having quite a bit of difficulty keeping their hands off of each other. Cullen had to head back the same way before anyone could notice he was gone, but not before extracting a promise to meet her at home for lunch.

She floated through her meetings that morning, causing even Bran to comment on the abrupt change in her mood. She was racing through some paperwork in order to free up the rest of her day when Aveline came to check on her.

Aveline walked into her office, and casually leaned her shoulder against the wall. "You look none the worse for wear after last night, Hawke."

Hawke beamed at her. "I guess I escaped mostly whole." After her shoulder, all that remained from the previous night's escapades was the fact that she was walking a little tenderly, but she hoped that wasn't very noticeable. "What happened after I left? Was everyone else okay?"

Aveline shrugged. "We survived. After your Templars left, it was of course up to Donnic and me to haul those men to jail. How did it go at the Gallows?"

Hawke couldn't stop the blush from starting at Aveline's question. "G- Gallows?"

Aveline's eyes narrowed. "Yes, it looked like you were headed for yet another confrontation with Cullen. Is everything all right?"

"Ah, yes, you know, we actually seem to have finally worked things out." She tried not to blush again.

"Really? Well, good. It'll be nice to have you two acting a bit more sensibly again," Aveline said gruffly.

Hawke couldn't help but smile at this, since she knew they were both being far from sensible at the moment.

"So what did he have to say about the assassin being seen at the Hanged Man?" Aveline asked.

"Oh." She frowned. "I guess I forgot to tell Cullen about that."

"Forgot to tell me about what?" Cullen asked as he unexpectedly appeared at the door.

Encased in his uniform again, he looked very formal and, for a moment, almost like nothing had changed. But then his eyes met hers and she felt an almost palpable spark at the connection. He gave her a small, private smile and she realized she needn't have worried. Her Cullen was still in there.

Aveline looked suspiciously from Cullen to Hawke's matching smile. "Erm, apparently the silver-eyed man has been at the Hanged Man asking after Hawke."

Cullen's expression immediately turned to one of concern. "And?"

"And, nothing." Hawke sighed. "We didn't learn much. It seems he was asking about with whom I spend my time."

"At least that gives us a place to start. Maybe someone else there saw something," Cullen said.

"Yes, it's worth following up," Aveline mused. "Maybe we should get Varric to look into it, given his connections."

"Great idea, Aveline. Can you talk to him?" Hawke asked. "I'd love to put this mystery behind us."

"I will." Aveline gave them each a measuring look. "Sounds like you two have a bit of catching up to do after all the drama this week, so I think I'll leave you to it."

Cullen carefully shut the door after Aveline left and then enfolded Hawke in his arms. "You know, she's right. I suppose we didn't do much . . . talking last night."

"We were just catching up in a different way." She grinned but then said more seriously, "But . . . I do want to hear more about what happened with the Grand Cleric. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

He kissed her sweetly. "If you'll recall, you tried to be and I rudely chased you away. I'm sorry for that."

"I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me . . ." She chuckled. "Speaking of which, I thought you were going to meet me at home."

He flushed, looking slightly embarrassed. "I finished up that report and . . . couldn't wait. So I thought I'd come steal you away earlier."

"By all means, steal away, then," she commanded gaily.

ooXXoo

Several hours later, Cullen and Marian found themselves pruning up in a bath that had long since gone cold. He loosely embraced her where she sat in front of him, leaning her back against his chest and idly running her fingertips up and down his arm where it crossed in front of her. They were both silent, having talked themselves in circles about the Grand Cleric's attempts to undermine his command and come up with no good solutions.

"Maybe she'll relax her hold once she sees how well things are going," she suggested again in a positive voice.

"Not likely, but . . . possible. I don't know. Maybe it is some kind of reflection on my performance as Commander. Then at least I have a chance to change her mind. But if it's purely political . . ." He sighed, leaning his head back on the edge of the bathtub.

"Or it could just be really bad people management skills . That's also something that could get better."

He laughed. "I can't believe I would actually hope for that."

"Ugh, I can't imagine having to work so closely with Mother Christiane." She shuddered dramatically.

"I'm not so concerned with that as the principle of having to jump through her hoops."

"Hmm, not so concerned? That's not because she's always been little sweet on you, is it?" she said, glancing back over her shoulder at him with a naughty smile playing on her lips.

"Marian, she's a Mother of the Chantry!" he said in a scandalized voice, not quite as offended by her blasphemy as he was leading on.

"I've seen the way she dotes on you . . ." She giggled.

"Well, I don't like her odds if she were to try anything . . . although, I wonder . . ." He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Are you the jealous type?"

"I suppose only time will tell." she said, squirming. She shot him a sidelong glance. "Not that you have any right to the high road here . . . ahem."

He chuckled and leaned back again, neither confirming nor denying her allegation. Given how things had worked out, he could take a much more charitable view of Sebastian Vael's role in the week's drama. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this happy and content. Except for having to hide their relationship, everything felt perfect. Of course, that was a big exception . . .

Shifting slightly where she lay against his chest, Marian interrupted the grim turn of his thoughts. "And she'll be living at the Gallows."

"Ah, don't remind me," he groaned. Having Christiane at the Gallows would likely be one of the biggest challenges in keeping their secret. He set his head back down on the edge of the tub again.

She was silent for a moment. She took his hand and started alternately lacing and unlacing their fingers together. "I'm so sorry for all this, Cullen. I . . . hope it isn't my fault. I've been worried about you getting stuck in the middle of my problem with Augusta. That it could be a dangerous position for you. Especially now . . ."

He immediately sat up again, taking her chin in his hand and turning it to look at him. "Marian, if it comes to that, that's exactly where I should be: standing between you and Augusta. I won't let her harm you."

She reached up to the nape of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Before she let go, she looked at him steadily. "I won't let it come to that."

Snuggling back down in his lap, she continued in a playful voice, "Besides . . . soon she'll be in love with me, too, and it will be easy to change her mind!"

This drew a bark of laughter from him, as she'd no doubt intended, but also stirred the heat uncoiling inside him, making him again very conscious of the wet, nubile woman sitting between his legs. His arms slipped around her, holding her tightly against him. "I'm starting to think you could change anyone's mind, temptress," he growled softly in her ear.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." With a mischievous smile, she rolled over so she was facing him, and in the process, slopped a good portion of the water on the floor. But at that point, neither of them really seemed to care.

ooXXoo

The next two weeks seemed to fly by and Hawke and Cullen quickly settled into a semi-routine with their new relationship. They generally avoided prying eyes by spending almost all of their time together at Hawke's estate, and although most nights Cullen stayed over, he slipped back to the Gallows discretely before sunrise. Neil likely was aware of these goings on, but in silent support, he seemed to do a good job covering for Cullen. Hawke hadn't mentioned anything explicit yet to Aveline, but the indulgent look in her eye every time she saw them together was indicator enough that she was on to them.

The wan bars of sunlight slanting through Hawke's office windows signaled the early approach of nightfall and reminded her that Winter Solstice was almost upon them. When Cullen arrived and suggested that they go to the Market before heading home, she readily agreed, recognizing that this would be her chance to get some gift ideas for him for the upcoming holiday.

The walk through Hightown was brisk, since the weather had turned cold at last, but also merry. As dusk crept in, the city lit up with the twinkling lights and exotic pine boughs of Solstice gracing many a door and window.

Surreptitiously watching him walk beside her, close but not too close, she again felt that peculiar sense of fluttery pride from being with him. She was still learning how to act around him in public, often experiencing foolish impulses to hold his hand or just randomly touch him. Of course, part of her thrilled at the daring subterfuge of a secret love. But another part of her wanted to drop the subterfuge and shout to the sky her feelings for him. It was this same part that wished she could indulge in some righteous zapping whenever she saw the shameless Hightown matrons leer at him or the scheming ingénues throw their lures when he walked past.

Walking through the Market with him was another new experience. She found it curious that he seemed intent on a leisurely stroll through the merchant stalls, which conflicted with her usual mode of buying what she needed quickly and leaving. Plus, there seemed to be little rhyme or reason to the merchants he perused, giving her no sense of what he might actually enjoy as a gift. Her only glimmer of an idea was his apparent interest in a display of beautifully illuminated books. She was actually a little relieved when he finally agreed to head home after buying some bread and wine.

When they entered the estate, they were told by Bodahn that dinner was awaiting them.

"Wonderful! I'm starving!" Hawke said, removing her cloak and moving towards the dining room. "I was starting to worry we might be stuck at the Market all night!"

"What do you mean stuck?" Cullen asked, a mysterious smile playing around his lips.

She looked back at him with a twinkle in her eye as she went through the door. "How a man who owns so few clothes can spend so much time shopping, I'll . . . never . . . know . . ." She trailed off as she saw that the dining room was unexpectedly filled with her friends playing cards.

Varric, Aveline, Donnic, and Merrill were all so engaged in their game of diamondback that it took a moment before they each looked up at her with a big smile.

Hawke was frozen in surprise and then looked questioningly at Cullen.

Cullen's expression was now smug. "My question is, how can a noble female take so little joy in shopping? I was starting to run out of useless vendors to look at!" He laughed in exasperation.

She looked back at her friends. "What are you all doing here?"

"Well, we figured if you couldn't go to the Hanged Man for the diamondback game, we'd bring the game to you. Lover Boy's idea," Varric explained.

"You did this?" she asked, turning to Cullen with a wondering smile.

"It was one of my few ideas for keeping you safe that you might have found palatable." He shrugged self-consciously. "Surprise."

"I . . . I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything." He stepped closer, saying for her ears alone, "It seemed important for you not to feel alone."

"I'm not alone," she murmured pointedly.

He smiled. "While I'd like to flatter myself into thinking that I'm all you'll ever need, you need your friends."

"Thank you," she whispered, touched by his thoughtfulness.

"Well, it's the least I could do after I skipped your last dinner party." He grinned broadly.

"All right, enough whispering, love birds," Varric said unceremoniously. "Sit down and ante up."

Hawke grinned back at Cullen and then they sat down and joined the group.

She again felt buoyed by her friends' easy camaraderie and was gratified that this was also extended to Cullen. While everyone enjoyed needling him a bit too much, he seemed to be holding his own. He also appeared to have an uncanny talent for diamondback, making her begin to wonder how they spent their time in those Templar barracks. In fact, he was even starting to give Varric a run for his money, which soon made the game much more interesting as the two faced off.

After several not-so-subtle attempts at distracting Cullen, Varric tried again. "So, I've been having a look into that would-be assassin who's been sniffing around Hawke."

Varric now had Cullen's full attention. "Have you learned anything new?"

"In a sense," Varric said, still looking at his cards. "I've learned that this guy is very, very good at covering his tracks. The few people he talked to at the Hanged Man specifically remembered nothing about him. Not what he said or what he looked like. No one could remember seeing him come or go. It seems this guy's a real professional."

"That doesn't tell us anything new," Hawke interjected.

"On the contrary, Marian," Cullen said, "it starts to significantly limit the groups that might employ him. We know he's not just your typical cutthroat."

Varric looked speculatively at Cullen, a new gleam of appreciation in his eye. "Yes, my point exactly. I talked to some of my Carta and Coterie contacts and no one of that description seems to work for them. So, he's probably not local. I started to think maybe Shadow Guild, but one of them reminded me that something like tattooing your hands would be frowned upon since it's so . . . identifying. That could still leave the Crows, but you said he didn't seem Antivan."

"So, we still don't know who he is or where he comes from, but this is still a step forward?" Hawke asked.

"Hawke, it means that someone very specialized is on your trail," Aveline replied. "So there has to be some larger agenda at play. For example, this could be politically motivated."

"Great," Hawke grumbled, preferring to feel irritated at the silver-eyed man instead of her more typical feeling of fear.

Not sure what to think about this development, Hawke tried to pay attention to her cards but accepted that she was losing again. Shortly thereafter, Cullen took the hand again, apparently not nearly as distracted as he had appeared.

As the night came to an end, everyone agreed that holding the game at Hawke's house was a nice change. She pledged to invite them back again the following week, but Aveline reminded the group that instead they would be at her Solstice dinner party.

"Ah, right, Aveline! Don't worry, we wouldn't miss it," Hawke assured her. To Cullen she said, "It's our Solstice tradition."

"I expect to see you both there!" Aveline said.

Donnic shook their hands and, with a contrite smile, said, "We hope to see you both there."

As they all said their goodbyes at the door, no one seemed surprised that Cullen was remaining behind, although Merrill was the only one who said anything acknowledging it.

"Good night, Hawke. Do try to get some sleep. That man looks like he could keep you up all night if you let him."

Hawke and Cullen both blushed, as Aveline chided her. "Merrill!"

"What? It's not like I bid them have good sex or something forward like what Isabela would say."

Aveline took Merrill's arm and led her away with a shake of her head.

Cullen shut the door with a frown. "Good sex?"

"Erm, Merrill used to spend a lot of time with Isabela. I'm afraid it comes out at odd moments."

"Hmm, I'm starting to look forward to meeting this Isabela," he said playfully, smiling and dodging her smack at the comment.

She wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you again for tonight. It really was the perfect solution."

"So, you don't mind that I presumptuously invited people over to your house?" he asked, with a half-smile.

"No. Frankly, it sort of gives me this warm feeling inside that you feel so comfortable here."

"I'm comfortable wherever you are," he said, suddenly turning serious.

She was so unexpectedly overtaken with emotion at this that she had to swallow the lump in her throat. Unable to say anything, she quickly kissed him and then silently took his hand and led him upstairs.

ooXXoo

Despite having worn armor, Cullen was somehow already undressed and in bed while she was still puttering around. He was leaning back against the headboard, looking totally relaxed as his gaze followed her appreciatively around the room.

She turned down the lights and kicked off her boots. "So, you're okay with my friends knowing about us?"

"Of course. Your friends would never pose a danger to us, and I've long known that they essentially come as part of the package with you," he pointed out with a smile. "I do think we need to be cautious still, but, Marian . . ." He looked very grave as he seemed to consider his words. "Eventually, I will want to find a way to get permission for our relationship," he said slowly, as if dreading her reaction.

She stopped and turned toward him, her body going cold at this pronouncement. "Permission?"

She had been steadfastly ignoring the various warning bells in her head over the past days. The warnings that reminded her of all the reasons they shouldn't be together. Hiding their relationship from anyone who would judge them—or worse, prohibit them from being together—had so far been an easy solution. Too easy, it seemed.

"That's the only way we can truly be together is with official permission from the Chantry. You knew that that's how it works for Templars . . ." he said apprehensively, leaning forward.

"I thought Templars only needed permission to . . . get married." She licked her lips and felt her heart beat a little faster at the thought.

He smiled a little sheepishly, perhaps realizing at last the can of worms he'd just opened. "I would need permission for any kind of serious relationship. Whatever it might be called. Anything that would be important enough to me to engage in . . . publicly."

Trying to let go of the significance of the words themselves, she knew that what they had was worth being public about. She also knew that the Grand Cleric's blessing alone would be enough to smooth over any other political concerns from the region. If they could actually obtain it.

"The Grand Cleric despises me. She'll never agree. If we ask, we're just asking for trouble."

"I know now is not yet the right time, but this is another reason for us to try to win her over. I'm hopeful that, with enough time, she would agree."

"Isn't there anyone else we could petition?"

"I'm afraid going around our Grand Cleric would arouse unwanted concerns that could damage our case."

She couldn't believe he was seriously considering this as an option. She walked toward him, sitting down next to him on the bed and taking his hands. "Cullen, do you have to have official permission? Can't we just . . . be together and be happy, without involving the Chantry?"

"Marian, then we'd have to continue to keep it a secret. I don't want to hide you away, like, like, some tawdry affair. I love you. I want to be able to stand beside you. In the sun, not the shadows."

"And, Cullen, I love you for that. But . . . but . . . what if it's safer in the shadows?" she pleaded, clinging to his hands.

His brows knit together and he got a mulish set to his jaw that did not bode well. She realized with a sinking feeling that hiding, while natural to a life-long apostate like her, was just not in his nature. Moreover, she could tell that if she pushed this issue, she'd probably lose him just as readily as if the Grand Cleric forbade them to be together. It seemed her best strategy for now would be to try to postpone such a declaration . . . forever, if possible.

She sighed and touched his face tenderly, running her fingertips over the furrows in his brow as if she could smooth them out. "Of course, I would rather stand beside you in the sun. I guess we'll . . . ask for permission."

She stood up and deliberately disrobed while he watched her, attentive but with brow creased in suspicion. Still holding his gaze, she slipped under the covers and pressed herself up against him.

She trailed kisses down his cheek. "So long as we wait until the time is right. Then, I promise that I'll climb to the top of the Circle Tower and announce to the world that I'm in love with the dashing Knight-Commander of Kirkwall." Smiling, she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I'll have tea with the Grand Cleric and tell her personally." She kissed him again. "I'll even tell Varric and let him include it in his next book."

So quickly she couldn't react, his arms shot around her, pulling her up against him as he suddenly rose to his knees. His mouth savagely captured hers while his hands held her possessively, one wrapped in her hair, the other at her hip. Before she could catch her breath, he flipped her down on the bed, pinning her with the length of his body. She felt the hot press of his hands, his fingers, his lips, his mouth, his whole body, almost imprinting themselves on her with the sudden intensity of his passion. She was reeling when he finally pulled back.

His eyes burning into hers from just a heartbeat away, he said in a soft but urgent voice, "Marian, you joke, but I'm very serious about this. You know I once told you that I never wanted to pretend that our friendship isn't important to me. This hasn't changed. I don't want to hide how much you mean to me. It's killing me."

She was so full of him in that moment, his heat, his taste, his scent, his weight pressing down upon her, that she felt the pain in his words viscerally. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his.

Opening her eyes again, she sighed. "I know. I do. I hate it, too. But, I hope you also understand that Chantry oversight is something I've spent my whole life trying to avoid. It's very difficult for me to submit to it now, especially with how things are with Augusta."

He looked away at this, body rigid with disappointment, so she reached up and turned his face back to hers. "But, I will. For you," she said, recognizing that this was true. She tried again to smooth the furrow between his brows with her fingertips and kissed him gently, trying to coax away his distress. "I see that this is important to you, so it's important to me, too. We'll find a way. Just, please, so long as we can wait until we know that it's a safe thing to do."

Seeing his relieved smile at her response, she tried to ignore the chill that ran down her spine when she thought about the future. Because somehow she knew that they would never truly be safe with Grand Cleric Augusta in Kirkwall.

Chapter 17: Solstice

Summary:

At Winter Solstice, the darkest night of the year brings out both holiday cheer and an old threat. So we begin Act 3.

Solstice's early sunset was quickly turning the shortest day of the year even colder, making Cullen's trip across the harbor from the Gallows a chilly affair. He was glad he wasn't encased in metal for once as the icy wind seemed to ferret out any gap in his clothing, chilling him to the bone. He tried to think warm thoughts, imagining the crackling fire waiting for him at Marian's estate.

He and Marian had intended to exchange their own gifts before going to Aveline's dinner party, but now he wasn't sure if they would have time given his late start. His plans for leaving early had inevitably been disrupted, first by some disciplinary issues with wayward apprentices and then, of course, by Mother Christiane.

He was starting to wonder if the woman stood with her ear constantly to her door, since he could never seem to pass by without being waylaid. He found himself increasingly doing childish things like tiptoeing past, but to no avail. She seemed to have a sixth sense which always knew when he was near.

Today he had barreled past, trying to appear preoccupied and engrossed in thought. He had made it as far as the inner gate to the courtyard when she had caught up to him. Since she had rushed out into the cold without her cloak, he knew it would be churlish to resist her polite request to return inside for a moment.

Following her back inside Templar Hall, he had stopped just inside the door and tried to insist as diplomatically as possible that she get to the point. This was sometimes an insurmountable task, as she seemed to enjoy prattling on at him, but this time the interruption had proven insightful for once.

"Knight-Commander, I wanted to discuss your report on the spiritual education of the recruits, which was most thorough!" Mother Christiane's bright eyes beamed at him, like he was a student doing well in school.

"Ah, thank you very much, Your Reverence, but I'm afraid I'm on my way out. This will have to wait for another day."

"Out?"

"Yes, Your Reverence, you must recall that today is a holiday. Surely you must also have friends to see on this happy occasion?" he asked delicately.

"Holiday . . . I see, yes, that pagan observance." She sniffed disdainfully. "I hope that the mages do not see your departure as an opportunity."

"Mother Christiane, are you suggesting that my stepping outside the Tower invites the mages to suddenly try to escape?" he asked with a smile.

"Well, I heard there was already an incident this morning . . ."

He laughed. "That was a typical Solstice prank, which happens every year. After spending the rest of Solstice scrubbing and painting, those apprentices surely will regret that particular mode of re-decorating the mess hall."

"I only meant that I would hate for such an event to reflect badly on you, of course, Knight-Commander." She batted her eyes at him, but the steel in her gaze ruined whatever effect she was going for.

His eyes narrowed as he wondered if she was admonishing him. Or worse, threatening him. "I don't see how it can, Your Reverence, since everything in the Circle is currently running as it should."

"Oh, of course, of course. My only thought is that we have a real opportunity to show how well a Circle can be run, no? Especially in light of what is happening in Ostwick and elsewhere . . ." she said, clucking her tongue deprecatingly.

This caught Cullen's attention, as Marian and he had been unsuccessful in finding any further information on the situation with the Ostwick Circle. Feigning ignorance, he asked, "Ostwick? What do you mean?"

"Andraste's tears, the mages seem to have gone mad throughout the land. Despite the fact that Kirkwall's Circle utterly failed in its uprising against the Chantry, these other Circles seem to think they can do the same. The Divine is very concerned."

"Where is this happening?"

"Oh, everywhere it seems. But, Ostwick so far seems to be the worst."

She stepped closer to Cullen and laid her hand on his arm conspiratorially. "You see, this is why we must be so vigilant here, Cullen."

He started when she used his given name for the first time and struggled with his sudden instinct to retreat to a more comfortable distance.

"If we work together, you and I." She paused for emphasis. "We can show the Divine that Kirkwall's problems have been solved. We could be a beacon of order for the Free Marches and the other Circles could look to us for inspiration!"

Christiane's eyes had shone with an almost fanatical light, revealing at last the streak of raw ambition she normally kept hidden. Inwardly he had recoiled, alarmed at her zeal and repulsed by her attempt to insinuate herself with him personally. He started to wonder now whether Marian had been on to something regarding Christiane's particular interest in him.

He had eventually disengaged himself politely and escaped, but he couldn't shake the disquiet he still felt throughout his walk to the estate. When he arrived he summoned his warmest smile for Marian, but she immediately saw through it and was soon drawing the tale out of him.

"I can't believe the mage problems would be so widespread," she said in bewilderment when he had finished. She stared into the dancing flames of the study's fireplace for a moment, lost in thought. "And . . . that it could be our fault."

He finished removing his boots, stretching his frozen toes out toward the fire. "That's probably overstating it. I think mage-Templar relations have become a powder keg in most places. It might take less to set it off than you might think."

She looked up at him from where she sat on the carpet at his feet, eyes thoughtful. "On the positive side, one of Christiane's goals seems to be the same as ours: for the Divine to believe that the mage problem in Kirkwall is solved." She shrugged. "Perhaps this is why Augusta created this oversight position. To try to protect against further mage rebellion here."

He snorted. "Having experienced Christiane's oversight, I think there's a chance it may end up having the opposite effect and push the mages even further." The woman had already started to wear him down in so many small ways, from increasing the number of clergy stationed at the Gallows to changing the guard shifts at the Circle. He had done what he could to limit her interference with Tilda and the mages directly, but it was likely only a matter of time before Christiane worked her way in there as well.

"That will never happen so long as you're there to keep things sane," she reassured him.

"Perhaps," he replied, not quite convinced. "So long as Christiane doesn't continue to . . . meddle. Or to take such a . . . personal interest." He had found it difficult to describe the clergywoman's creepy advances, but Marian naturally seemed to understand.

"She does seem to have more than a passing interest in you. Not that I can blame her," Marian said with a smile, wrapping her arms around her knees. "It sounds like she's hoping to advance herself with this new position, so you may appear to be a very attractive means to an ends for her."

He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with this topic. "But how should I dissuade her?"

"You may not need to. After all, as you've pointed out, she is a Mother of the Chantry. She can't really do anything about it anyway, and maybe you can use it to your advantage against the Grand Cleric."

He scowled and looked away into the flames. He didn't like the notion of playing politics in that way.

She moved closer until she was kneeling beside his chair and took his hands. "Cullen, I'm not suggesting you need to do anything manipulative. Just be polite, like always. Who knows . . . if she likes you, she may be less likely to support any of Augusta's more insidious plans."

She squeezed his hand. "And, if she tries anything else, don't worry, I think I can take her," she asserted with an exaggerated toss of her hair, which she wore down for once.

He smiled involuntarily at this, imagining the mighty Champion of Kirkwall fending off women on his behalf. "Now who's being overprotective?" He cocked an eyebrow at her while he tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Well, it seems only fair." She made a face at him and then pulled on his hands, saying peremptorily, "Now, come sit. I want to give you your gift!"

He obeyed and sank down next to her on the rug. "You first." He reached into a pocket, handing her a small red box which was tied up simply with a white ribbon.

Her eyes lit up as she opened it, revealing the ornate locket he had found at a Fereldan antique shop. The gold etching featured a crescent moon against a field of stars, surrounded by intricate, flowering vines.

"Oh, Cullen, it's beautiful," she breathed. Looking more closely at it, her eyes widened. "Wait, is that . . . is that really Knight's Bloom?"

"I think so," he said smugly, amazed yet again that he had found such an ideal gift. Her shining eyes were confirmation that he had chosen well.

She made a wordless sound of delight and then turned around and held up her hair. After he dutifully clasped it around her neck, she turned back, beaming. "How does it look?"

He lightly fingered the heavy locket where it fell just above the swell of her breast. "Perfect, just as I'd imagined." He grinned. "I . . . got the idea the night we danced at the gala. One of few safe thoughts I had about that thrice-blasted dress of yours was that you needed a necklace to wear with it."

"Hmm, does this mean I need to find an occasion to wear the dress again?" She gave him a saucy grin.

"I'll invent an occasion," he murmured as he drew her in for a kiss.

When he released her, her eyes started to dance. "Okay, your turn." She jumped up and produced from a nearby cabinet a large rectangular object wrapped tightly in white linen.

She was practically thrumming with excitement as she knelt next to him and waited for him to open it. Her enthusiasm was so adorable that he already appreciated the gift, no matter what it might turn out to be. He ran his hand tenderly along the side of her face and then turned to unwrapping the lengths of linen binding the gift.

Before it was revealed, he could already smell the earthy aroma of ancient leather. Turning back the last layer, he saw that it was a heavy leather-bound tome. Emblazoned on the cover was the heraldry of the Templar Order, the red color of the elaborately embossed sword of mercy faded with age. Opening it, he saw the title, Andraste's Champions: A History of the Templar Order.

"Where did you find this?" He turned the beautifully illuminated pages in wonder.

"Varric knows some antiquities dealers who tracked it down for me. I'm sure you already know everything in there, but . . . I was thinking we might read it . . . together."

He stared at her as he realized that this was his real gift, her interest in learning more about something that was such a defining part of his life. He was so moved that he was momentarily struck speechless, unable to explain how his heart leapt at the thought of sharing it with her. That she would want to share it with him.

As he struggled to find the words, he saw her face fall.

"You don't like it."

In answer, he wrapped his hand at the nape of her neck and swiftly pulled her in for another kiss. He looked her directly in the eyes. "No, I don't like it. I love it. Thank you."

Her face broke into a huge smile, and she pushed him back from where he was in danger of crushing the book between them. "Then, be careful with it. It's old!" she chided gleefully.

He smiled back and then began to flip through the crackling pages again. He felt his smile growing wider as he revealed page after page of spectacular illustrations about the early days of the Order.

Suddenly, Marian put her hand over his, stopping him from turning the page. "Wait . . ."

She turned the book toward her and peered intently at the illustration she had spotted. It featured the unsettling image of a featureless man cloaked in shadow and surrounded by darkness. His bright eyes seemed to leap off the page where they gleamed from above his hands, which were steepled in a triangle in front of his face. On his chest was another triangle enclosing the symbol of the black all-seeing eye surrounded by a white sunburst.

"Who is this supposed to be?"

"A Seeker of Truth," he immediately replied, recognizing their symbol.

When she looked puzzled, he continued, "They're an elite fraternity of the Chantry whose primary responsibility is to watch over the Templar Order. Not much is known about them as they're very secretive and answer only to the Divine herself."

He laughed, thinking back to the tall tales they used to tell about the Seekers. "Of course, I've never actually seen one. During training we used to joke that the Seekers were just a fiction they told to the recruits to scare us into being good little Templars. Some of the stories about their abilities are a little sinister . . . and honestly rather far-fetched. Reading minds. Erasing memories. Magical immunity."

"Do they ever tattoo their hands?" She pointed to the shadowy figure's hands which were elaborately decorated in a spidery filigree.

Finally understanding her interest, he said slowly, "Not that I know of. Why?"

"It's probably nothing. But, this picture reminds me somehow of the silver-eyed man. He did something similar with his hands the night he attacked me. That was when I first noticed the tattoos."

His brow furrowed as he considered the implications of this. He had a hard time believing that the fabled Seekers of Truth were lurking around Kirkwall just to watch Marian Hawke. Although it was said that they sometimes pursued particularly dangerous apostates. "Are you sure?"

She laughed. "Am I sure? Cullen, you know I'm not sure of anything about that man. And, if you'll recall, we had drunk more than a little wine that night." She shrugged, but her face grew serious. "If he is one of these Seekers, should I be worried?"

"They say . . ." He paused, feeling dread wash over him as he considered some of the things he had heard about Seekers. "They say that when a Seeker steps from the shadows, Templars run for cover."

ooXXoo

Despite her best intentions, Hawke arrived at the Chantry the next morning late for the Chant. She tried to slide inconspicuously into her box while the pounding in her temples kept time with the music and made her regret having stayed out so late. She smiled at Seneschal Bran who merely rolled his eyes at her and turned back to the chanters.

Automatically, her eyes sought out the comforting figure of the Knight-Commander sitting in his usual spot near the dais, looking bright and handsome as if he hadn't also been out just as late as she. He was already watching her from across the room with a small smile, having noted her late arrival. She put her hand to head and winced dramatically, making him laugh silently. He imperceptibly shook his head, eyes twinkling, and turned his attention back to the service.

She leaned back in her chair and tried to let the rhythms of the Chant soothe her, but today they only exacerbated her headache. So instead she attempted to tune out the singing voices and let her mind go blank. Inevitably her thoughts turned to Aveline's party, which had included several interesting revelations among the merrymaking.

First, she had learned from Aveline that apparently the Righteous had resurfaced, or at least their literature had. All around the city the guard was finding their manifestos or postings about saving Kirkwall from Hawke. Aveline had reopened the investigation but had no good leads yet.

Then, Varric had made further progress in learning about the silver-eyed assassin, finding that some of her old acquaintances had also been questioned about her.

"No one very close to you," Varric had told her, "but folks like your old suppliers, like Worthy and Lady Elegant. A curious group of people standing just beyond your current circle of influence.

"What's most peculiar is that every one of them seemed to have forgotten any detail associated with who had asked, or when or where this had happened. And many of these are naturally suspicious people."

Her head throbbed as she tried to put all the pieces together. It was almost overwhelming how many factions seemed aligned against her right now. And, chief among them was standing before her on the dais, tending to the spiritual well-being of Kirkwall.

Even during the Chant, Augusta was forbidding, like a personification of the oppression critics often ascribed to the Chantry. Although Hawke wouldn't call herself particularly religious, she had always gained some measure of strength from the Chant. Yet she found it hard to find any comfort in the new Grand Cleric's services. Every word out of her mouth seemed like an admonition to the congregation. From Hawke's position alongside the dais, she glanced around the room idly wondering if anyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

That was when she saw him.

Standing at the back of the room, dispassionately observing the Chant, was the silver-eyed man. For once not obscured in shadow, he stood in a ray of sunlight which glinted off of his dark armor. His plate armor was characteristically black and unadorned, except for the breastplate, which bore the same eye and sunburst symbol from Cullen's book. A Seeker of Truth.

As if sensing her gaze, the Seeker's silver eyes met hers from across the room. With a smirk, he again nodded his head at her cordially, like they were old friends, and then turned away.

Hawke's body went cold and she found that her breathing had sped up. Fully alert, she scanned the room to see if anyone else perceived the threat, but the assembled merely sat in quiet contemplation. Looking closer, she saw that the Templars stationed near the man, for all their discipline, could not help but glance furtively at the Seeker.

Her eyes darted back to Cullen, mentally willing him to look at her. He was sitting at rigid attention, his eyes trained on his men at the back of the room, apparently noting their distraction—and presumably its cause. He glanced briefly at her, but gave her his full attention once he saw her gazing at him in silent alarm. He frowned at her, discreetly raising his hand in a calming gesture.

Since the Seeker continued to ignore her for the remainder of the Chant, she decided she would wait until it ended and then confront the man.

Anticipating this, Cullen immediately moved to intercept her as soon as the Grand Cleric finished her final benediction. However, they were both dumbfounded when the Seeker swept straight past them without a glance and continued on to the dais to bow before the Grand Cleric.

As they watched, the Seeker seemed to be introducing himself to Augusta. They caught snatches of pleasantries before the Grand Cleric's eyes snapped imperiously at Cullen in summons.

Cullen turned casually to Hawke, laying his hand lightly on her arm in farewell. But, his eyes bored into hers in clear warning not to do anything rash. With a surreptitious squeeze of her arm, he left her and mounted the dais.

She watched Cullen and Augusta go through the formalities of officially welcoming the Seeker to Kirkwall. Just as it occurred to her to join them, however, the Grand Cleric and her entourage led them away.

Hawke stood alone in the emptying hall feeling strangely forsaken as she watched them depart. A moment before the group disappeared into the Chantry's inner sanctums, she saw a flash of silver eyes turn her way. Then with another smile, the Seeker was gone.

ooXXoo

It was late when Cullen finally arrived home, letting himself in to the estate quietly so as not to disturb anyone. He crept up the stairs and saw light still flickering from Marian's bedroom, the door to which was slightly ajar. Slipping silently into the room, he saw that she was in bed, but awake and reading. The dog opened his eyes from where he slept before the fire, acknowledged Cullen briefly, and closed them again.

Even tired as he was, Cullen was cheered to see the inviting picture she presented as she waited up for him. She wore one of the tunics he kept at her house, which was so oversized on her small frame that it reached almost to her knees. Her tousled hair tumbled down one bare shoulder that peaked out from where the tunic's wide neckline had slipped down. She was still wearing her new locket and absently slid it back and forth on its chain while she read. She had one knee cocked up to hold her book, which alluringly bared her entire leg to his view. Viewing this scene, his sense of homecoming was suddenly piercingly sweet and took him by surprise.

When she heard the click of the closing door, she immediately sat up and threw the book down. "I've been going crazy. What's happening? Is everything okay?"

He sat down tiredly on the bed next to her. "I'm sorry I'm so late. The Seeker will be staying at the Gallows. Now that we're hosting two outsiders, it's becoming increasingly difficult for me to get away unseen."

"What is he doing here? Did the Grand Cleric invite him?"

"Good questions." He kissed her lightly on her forehead. "His name is Frollo. Augusta seemed to be puzzled by his arrival as well. In fact, almost . . . irritated." He smiled at this. "He says he is here only as a formality in honor of her new position as Grand Cleric."

"How can that be true? He's been watching me for months now!"

"You're . . . certain it is him?" He had to ask. The man's hands had been encased in gauntlets, so Cullen had seen no evidence of the tattoos Marian had described.

"I am. Cullen, you should have seen the way he looked at me . . . so . . . familiarly. He was almost taunting me. It's definitely him."

The way she shuddered at the memory made him suddenly want to hit someone. "Well, clearly then he is lying. But he revealed no clues as to his true purpose. I believe we can only be vigilant for now and hope to learn more in time."

He stood up and began to undress.

"So he didn't say that he's here to finally apprehend the notorious apostate Marian Hawke?" she joked as she moved to help him remove his armor.

"Nothing so plainspoken, which is really an understatement. I don't think anything that came out of his mouth was plainspoken. Even his salutations. I don't know what he wants. How long he will be here. Anything, really."

He finished undressing and crawled into bed beside her, gathering her against his side and tucking her head under his chin. She casually stroked his chest, her fingertips inevitably finding their way to the long narrow scar on his ribs and tracing back and forth along it as had become her new habit.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of her fingers and the simple comfort of her warmth.

"So, what does this mean to have a Seeker in Kirkwall?" she asked, sounding worried.

"I honestly don't know. My men are unsettled, to put it mildly, wondering if one of us has done something wrong."

"And you? Do you think he means to harm the Order?"

"The Order? Marian, I'm more worried about you. You're the one he's been stalking. I just wish I knew why. And what we should do about it. But, for now, it seems I will have to play nice."

He held her quietly until her caressing hands drew his attention away from the Seeker and back to more immediate matters.

ooXXoo

Holding her cloak tightly around her to ward off the chill, Augusta moved through the rough-hewn rock tunnels beneath the new Chantry construction site. After a turn, the tunnel opened up onto a large natural cave filled with ancient-looking fortifications. Bricks and workmen's tools lay scattered about the newly strengthened walls and almost completed cells.

Christiane had done her work well and had increased the Chantry's footprint enough to tap into the twisting ruins that lay beneath Hightown. Now, unbeknownst to most in Kirkwall, the construction proceeded on two fronts, aboveground at the original cathedral site and below into these ancient warrens.

The chill was quickly seeping into her joints, reminding her to keep her inspection short, when she felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. She heard no sound beyond her own footsteps, but at once she knew she was not alone. Cranky from the cold, she called out, "Show yourself."

As she expected, Frollo melted out of the shadows to her right, his dark appearance somehow appropriate for the dank cave.

"Your Grace." His voice held the usual veiled amusement that she hated.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked without preamble, annoyed that he was freely wandering through a restricted area.

His eyes ranged over the construction site, lingering on the cells. "Curious that the new Chantry needs a dungeon."

"The Chantry has many needs in an age that sees so many challenges to the proper order of things," she hissed. "What were you thinking today, revealing yourself publicly?"

He continued to look around the renovated ruin curiously and, for a moment, she thought he would ignore her.

"It is important for Kirkwall to recall that the Divine's eye never shuts. She sees all. A healthy dose of fear can work wonders for obedience." Silver eyes glanced at her briefly and then darted away.

"Beyond that, Your Grace, my reasons are my own," he added in a silken voice that hinted of the steel underneath.

She shivered again and began to question for the first time the wisdom of bringing such an uncontrollable element into her plans.

"Have you learned anything we can use to dispose of the apostate?" she snapped. "She and Cullen seem more tightly aligned than ever."

"In due time . . . in due time, Your Grace. The Righteous are spreading their message and fomenting concern about her. And, shortly I will exploit what I have already learned about the mage."

"Good. I want to see results soon, Frollo." She looked away, starting to tire of talking with him.

"As do we all, Your Grace." His tone was placating, but also . . . somehow hinted at a double meaning.

Does he have his own agenda? she suddenly wondered in panic. But, when she turned to look at him directly, he was gone.

Chapter 18: Hunter

Summary:

The presence of the silver-eyed man in Kirkwall begins to take its toll on our heroes.

"I froze the pond today, papa!" the little boy shouted in excitement, grey eyes shining.

Cullen looked at Marian, who smiled proudly. "Indeed, he did. Of course, it took some time for me to thaw out his frozen toys." She grimaced, placing an unconscious hand on her extremely pregnant midriff. "Not such an easy task."

Cullen swept the boy up in his arms and smiled as the child hugged him. "Well done!"

Then he heard a sharp knock at the door. The shadows around the door trembled and deepened in response, some turning so black they were almost purple. A sense of foreboding swept through him. Somehow, he knew they shouldn't answer it.

But before he could stop her, Marian was swinging it open, revealing the Seeker of Truth flanked by a seemingly endless legion of faceless Templars. Marian gasped and backed away.

The Seeker marched in, looking around their small home. His eyes alit on Cullen. "Hiding mages from the Circle, Knight-Commander? Tsk tsk. What will the Knight-Vigilant say?"

"We're not hiding . . . we're—" Cullen started to argue.

The Seeker smiled benevolently. "Don't worry. We're here to solve this problem for you. Templars don't need families anyway. Isn't that right?"

"I—" Cullen's voice sounded uncertain, even to his own ears.

"Cullen?" Marian asked, sounding frightened. The walls evaporated, allowing the Templars to stream in. Two grabbed her by the arms and she started to struggle. "Cullen!"

Another Templar grabbed the boy from his arms and started to walk away. Marian screamed as the boy kicked and cried.

This broke Cullen out of his stasis at last. He surged forward with a shout, trying to overtake the Templar holding the child. But, suddenly his limbs were immobilized and he couldn't take another step. He watched helplessly as the Templars dragged Marian and the boy away into the growing darkness while he struggled in vain to reach them.

Soon all was pitch black around him, like his senses had abruptly been shut off from the outside world. All that remained was the Seeker, smirking before him, silver eyes inexplicably flashing violet. The Seeker reached out and Cullen felt long curved talons lightly graze down his cheek. The man shifted his weight in a way that was somehow very sensual and gave a familiar throaty chuckle.

"Don't blame yourself, Cullen. They could never be safe from us anyway," the Seeker gloated in a resonant and strangely feminine voice.

As the scream startled to bubble up in Cullen's throat, the figure turned to follow his family, the demon's long tail swishing behind her.

"NO!" he shouted, surging up in bed. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked around frantically, finally recognizing Marian's darkened bedroom. Breathing raggedly, he rested his head against his knees as his body continued to shudder in horror.

"Shh." Out of the darkness, a pair of slender arms embraced him and a warm, supple body covered his back. Soft lips murmured sleepily against his shoulder. "It's just a dream, love. Just a dream. Shh. I'm here."

He convulsively grasped the arm where it crossed his chest, trying to ground himself in reality. He willed his pulse to stop racing, taking deep ragged breaths.

Marian continued to murmur soothing nonsense, until the fact that he wasn't heading back to sleep this time seemed to bring her fully awake at last. Her arms tightened around him. "Are you okay?"

He let out a shuddering breath, and then another, before answering. "Yes."

They breathed together in silence for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?

"Not . . . really. It was just . . . more of the same."

He was surprised that he had lied to her. He hadn't had a nightmare this intense in years. It had been more of the same, the nightmares of demons haunting him and torturing him. They were echoes of his ordeal in Ferelden, the real demons who had taunted him with things he wanted but couldn't have, like a family. But this new nightmare had taken on a more sinister and personalized aspect. Now the family was one that might actually be within his grasp, instead of some hypothetical ideal. Now the family had a familiar and beloved face, instead of featuring random women he'd once admired. And now the family had a new but very real problem, one that in his younger years he would never have thought to face. Mage children. A genuine possibility if he were to stay with Marian.

He realized that he was ashamed of these fears that had manifested themselves in the nightmare. No wonder he had lied. He closed his eyes, sighing, and lowered his head back down to his knees. The unreasoning fear still gripped him and he wasn't sure how to dispel it.

Marian was still wrapped around him, her head nestled in the space between his shoulder blades, and she was lightly stroking his chest with her fingertips. He could feel her curves pressed against him, and he decided to focus on her touch, her warmth. The fact that she was simply here, with him, and safe.

He reached around and brashly pulled her across his lap. At first he wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly, willing the fear away with her presence alone. But the remembered cries and guilt from his dream continued to intrude. To block them out, he started to nuzzle her ear and peppered biting kisses across her jaw until he captured her mouth. He started to kiss her with increasing determination, hoping to break the dream's hold. His body quickly responded, urging him on.

He was grateful that she let him take complete control, seeming to understand his need. Then instinct took over as he plundered her mouth greedily and used his hands to awaken her fully. Touching her though the sheer silk of her nightclothes, he was gratified to feel her body quickening to his touch. He slipped a hand underneath the edge of her nightgown and soon he had her gasping and writhing in his arms.

He abruptly flipped her down on her back and rucked the silken thing up, too impatient to remove it completely, as he covered her. She deftly guided him in and met his urgent movements with her own, making small breathless moans that drove him faster. He rushed onward, barreling toward his release. Then the darkness exploded around him in a mind-numbing blaze and he collapsed against the soft skin of her neck.

After a moment, he rolled to the side and tenderly gathered her in his arms, pressing a breathless kiss to her temple. A rogue thought pointed out that he had been a bit selfish, but he ignored it in favor of the growing lassitude he felt spreading through his limbs and quieting his mind. Just as he was about to slip off the edge toward sleep, a corner of his memory faintly echoed with the sultry laugh of the demon.

ooXXoo

Cullen's bleary pre-dawn return to the Gallows was troubled this time by the nightmare. In the days since the Seeker had arrived he had become increasingly unsettled, feeling powerless to do anything in the event that this man was indeed hunting Marian. That feeling of helplessness had clearly been a trigger for the dream, but he knew there was more to it.

Marian's historical immunity from the Circle was something that had long been a simple fact for him. As her influence in Kirkwall had grown, so had that immunity until Meredith herself had recognized Marian was virtually untouchable. Even Grand Cleric Augusta, in spite of her hostility to the notion, grudgingly acknowledged Marian's special status. That fact combined with his complete confidence in Marian's control of her power meant he didn't question her existence outside the Circle. She was just . . . special.

But a mage child of hers would have no such immunity. A mage child of theirs. It begged the question, could he send his own child to the Circle? The answer should be: Of course. Without question. It is my duty. But the confusing mix of emotions left over from the nightmare suggested otherwise.

He was lost in these twisting doubts when he finally entered the lowest levels of the Gallows from the Darktown passage, feet automatically finding their way after weeks spent in this daily routine. Turning a corner on his way up to his quarters, he ran straight into Mother Christiane.

He recovered quickly but was sure his initial shock had been apparent. "Mother Christiane. Good morning."

"Cullen . . . it is quite early to be about, no?" Her tone suggested that she was not at all surprised to have run into him.

He chuckled nervously. "I personally can't sleep past dawn anymore, so I find it a quiet time to get things done. But, I could ask the same of you, Your Reverence. Is all well?"

"Well enough, Knight-Commander. I had been told that some of your knights use a path down here in the dungeons to come and go from the Gallows covertly. You wouldn't know anything about that?" She said it casually but watched him keenly.

"Of course, but it is not a source of great concern."

Her eyebrows shot up at this. "I find that surprising. You do not mind that your men flout protocol from within your very walls?"

He smiled kindly. "Your Reverence, if I were to discipline every Templar who was embarrassed about a late return from seeing the ladies at the Blooming Rose, our ranks would be thin indeed."

Her face hardened as she seemed to adjust her tactic. "Such laxity cannot possibly promote order, Knight-Commander. I hope that your swift defense of these men is not somehow . . . self-serving."

"Your Reverence?" he said in a scandalized tone, honestly surprised she would confront him so directly.

She had a calculating look on her face and then her jaw clenched. "You should be mindful of your . . . indiscretions, Cullen. For your own sake." Her blue eyes snapped coldly as she turned and stalked away.

He wasn't sure what to think of this, or what exactly she thought she knew. But it suggested that he needed to be even more careful. If Christiane was on to them, there was no telling what the Seeker might know.

ooXXoo

Later that day, Hawke descended the long stair that lead from Viscount's Keep toward her estate, looking forward to soaking in a hot bath and getting an undisrupted night's sleep. It seemed she was always tired these days. The winter had turned bitterly cold and no amount of clothing could keep out the chill. The sound of the wind whistling through the streets of Hightown muffled the clank of the guards accompanying her. Upon arriving home, they peeled off to their respective positions as she went in.

She discarded her staff in the foyer but kept her heavy cloak wrapped around her as she entered the main hall. Then she froze.

Standing with his back to the door, idly observing a painting on her wall, was the Seeker. He was still dressed in the black armor and gauntlets from when she'd first seen him at the Chantry. Once she remembered to breathe, she noticed that Bodahn was standing to her left wringing his hands in agitation.

"Som— Someone to see you, messere," Bodahn managed, clearly shaken by this visitor.

Hawke's eyes narrowed at the thought that the man would come into her home and intimidate her people. Her anger bolstered her confidence as she approached the Seeker.

When she was almost upon him, he turned around nonchalantly. "May I help you?" she asked coldly.

"Ah, Viscountess Hawke," he murmured in that strange lilting voice she remembered. "So good to see you again." Both his gaze and his tone betrayed the irony in his statement, since in the week or so since he'd arrived they had yet to meet officially.

She decided she wouldn't give him any advantage in acknowledging their previous encounters. Especially not until she knew better what was going on. "I don't believe we've met, Serah."

"Where are my manners?" he said mildly. "I am Frollo, Seeker of Truth of the Chantry. I'm sure you've . . . heard of me, Your Excellency." His words were laden with a faint amusement, as if he were enjoying this little cat and mouse game with her. She, on the other hand, was not amused.

"How humbling for Kirkwall to host one of the mysterious Seekers of Truth. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Serah Hawke." Not only did he sidestep her question, but the suggestion in his words somehow made her skin crawl as his strange eyes drilled into her. When he remained silent for an uncomfortably long pause, she found herself inadvertently beginning to fidget. "Lovely home you have," he finally added lightly.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of his comment. "Thank you," she said through gritted teeth, unsure what else to say. "I hope you find your stay in Kirkwall pleasant and that you can conclude your business promptly." Her tone was a bit more pointed than perhaps was prudent, but it was better than flat out asking him to leave. For all the good it did last time . . .

He smiled at her, the amusement in his eyes intensifying almost as if her were laughing at her. "I anticipate my . . . business should indeed be concluded soon. Thank you very much for your concern, Excellency!"

"Is there anything else I can do for you? If not, then I think perhaps it is time that you left." She didn't bother to conceal the exasperation in voice any longer, hoping this was plain enough.

He smiled again, his gaze not leaving her face. "Until we meet again, Serah." He nodded at her and then strolled around her and out the door.

Not until she heard the door shut did she loosen her grip on her panicked nerves. What does he want? As Cullen had previously noted, the Seeker seemed to eschew plain talk. She wondered fruitlessly what the man could possibly have gained from this visit to her home.

ooXXoo

Since one could typically set their clock by Aveline's punctuality, Hawke became concerned when a few days later the Guard-Captain missed their weekly meeting. Heading to the guard barracks in search of her, Hawke was relieved to see the Guard-Captain was sitting in her office talking with several of her lieutenants. Hawke waited for the officers to leave before entering.

Aveline nodded at her cordially as if nothing were amiss. "Hawke."

Hawke frowned in confusion. "Aveline . . . I missed you for our meeting."

"Oh, were we going to meet today?"

"Aveline we always meet today. It's our standing appointment . . ."

Hawke wasn't sure if she imagined the quick flash of alarm on Aveline's face.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have, um, gotten my days mixed up this week." Aveline smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I've not been quite myself the last few days. I think . . . I might be coming down with something."

"Not to worry. It happens to the best of us." This was perhaps the first time Hawke had heard of the guardswoman getting sick. No wonder Aveline was slightly disconcerted. "Can we chat now? I was wondering how the search for the Righteous was coming along."

Aveline snorted. "We're making limited progress with that group. You know, I almost wouldn't recognize them from the rag-tag band we encountered last summer. They've become much more organized since the last time and better funded it seems. We caught a couple of their recruiters around the Docks, talking up their manifesto, but they still seemed to slip away."

She paused and wet her lips before continuing. "Hawke, you should know that their rhetoric has shifted a little. Now when they talk about you having too much power in Kirkwall, they invoke the fact that you're a mage and the whole Magic exists to serve man commandment from the Chant. Unfortunately, this tactic is having a bit more traction."

"So, their recruitment is working?"

"We don't know if their ranks are growing. Only that when they talk now . . . people . . . listen."

Hawke considered this fact while Aveline ran through a few other update. But once she had gotten through the most important ones, Hawke was ready to change the subject.

"Aveline, the Seeker showed up at my house the other night," Hawke blurted, unable to wait any longer.

"The Seeker . . .?"

"The silver-eyed man. He was inside my house when I came home." She described the encounter to Aveline, who bore an increasingly uneasy look on her face throughout the telling.

"So you think you're being stalked by this . . . man?"

"This Seeker," Hawke supplied impatiently. "And, you've always agreed with my assessment that he's stalking me. Do you know something I don't?"

"Well, his behavior does sound . . . odd," Aveline replied unhelpfully.

"Aveline . . . you do recall that our presumed assassin seems to be the Seeker of Truth who is officially visiting Kirkwall as a guest of the Grand Cleric, right?" she said with a slightly exasperated smile.

Aveline shook her head like she was trying to clear it. "Of . . . course. Of course, Hawke. I just . . . forgot for a moment. I . . . Of course, the Seeker. Of Truth. Did he . . . Did he . . . threaten you then?" The somewhat helpless and confused look on Aveline's face suggested that she still didn't quite understand.

Hawke was starting to worry. "Aveline, is everything all right?" she asked gently.

Aveline bristled at the question. "As I mentioned, Hawke, I'm . . . a little under the weather this week. I think I can get the benefit of the doubt once in a while!" she snapped.

"I'm sorry. Certainly you can. I only hope that you're taking care of yourself."

"I . . . I've just been having a hard time . . . attending to some things this week." Aveline put a hand to her head. "I'm sure it will pass. Merrill offered to give me something to help, so perhaps I should take her up on it." She laughed unsteadily.

"Perhaps you should at that, Aveline. You know, if you're not well, you're welcome to go home and rest up. I think the Guard can get by for a day without you." Hawke smiled, hoping Aveline wouldn't be offended by the suggestion.

"I . . . think maybe I will, Hawke. Thank you."

It was Aveline's ready acceptance of going home that worried her more than anything else she had said.

ooXXoo

Surprisingly, Aveline's illness kept her indisposed for the better part of the next two weeks. She said she was still not feeling herself and was having trouble concentrating on her work. Most worrying to Hawke was the frequency with which Aveline forgot things. It seemed Merrill's treatment was helping, but much more slowly than they would have liked. Donnic was keeping himself busy by doing what he could to keep the guard running well during the Guard-Captain's absence, but they were all very concerned.

To add to this, Hawke started seeing the Seeker almost everywhere she went now. Her office, the Keep's foyer, the Hightown Market. He would only watch, nod or engage in more meaningless prattle, all underlaid with his silent laughter. It was maddening and put Hawke more on edge with each passing day.

Finally, it occurred to her that perhaps it was the Seeker's intention to rattle her, and at once she knew this must be the case. The more she considered it, the more certain she became that he was behaving like a hunter stalking his prey, which suggested that he would soon make his move. He had almost admitted as much to her already.

When she shared this conclusion with Cullen, he became even more committed to staying with her at the estate, despite their growing concern about being discovered.

"I just don't like the idea of you sleeping alone here," he repeated over dinner one night.

She grinned. "I don't really like the idea of sleeping alone anywhere, but it is bound to happen at some point." She leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands, as an idea sparked in her eye. "You know . . . if some night you can't get away from the Gallows, then maybe I should come there." Since their first night together, they'd spent every subsequent night at her house to avoid scrutiny. Although she was quite pleased that he had made himself at home here, even moving in many of his belongings, she couldn't help but wish they could spend some time in his space, around his things.

He tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear with a warm smile. "However much I might like to see you wake up in my bed again, the last place I want you right now is at the Gallows. With Christiane increasingly suspicious of us, it's probably not wise for you to sleep down the hall from her. Or from the Seeker, for that matter."

"How much do you think she knows?"

"I can't really tell yet based on her few comments. But I haven't seen any official repercussions, so it seems she has yet to act on her suspicions. Erm, aside from the fact that she practically shadows my steps now trying to find petty ways to exercise her power. The woman needs a hobby."

She laughed, reaching out to caress his face. "Unfortunately, I think she's found one, love."

He groaned at that which made her smile more.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," she continued, "it could actually be worse. Augusta has taken to doing exactly the opposite. She now literally acts like I don't exist. She won't even look in my direction, let alone listen to what I have to say or respond. It's like she thinks if she ignores me, I'll just go away." She snorted. "I would just laugh at how childish it is, except for the fact that I think the nobles now have no idea how to act toward me as a result." She let out a heavy sigh. "I may be losing them."

He looked concerned at this. "I didn't realize it was that bad. So . . . she hasn't really, um, warmed up to you in any way, has she?"

She glanced at him guiltily, biting her lip. "Ah, it . . . ah, could still happen. I'm sure I . . . just . . . need to try harder." Her heart sank as she watched him look down in somber perusal of his plate, a crease growing between his brows.

She could tell that keeping their relationship a secret was taking its toll on Cullen, the thought of getting permission always on his mind. She wasn't sure what to do anymore, since she knew that a formal petition to Augusta would just open them to more problems. But something needed to change soon.

Chapter 19: A Proposal

Summary:

Hawke receives a proposal that raises a number of questions for her and Cullen.

Hawke flew across the Gallows courtyard, already a little late for her meeting with Tilda at the Circle Tower. But, instead of heading straight to the Tower, she found her feet automatically followed the path to Cullen's office first.

She had just started down the main hallway of Templar Hall when suddenly Mother Christiane seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Ah, Viscountess, is there something I can help you with?"

Hawke was so startled that she stopped in her tracks, giving Christiane the opportunity to step in front of her. "Mother Christiane! Ah, thank you, but no, that won't be necessary. Good day." Hawke tried to continue walking, but the Mother stepped deliberately in her way again.

"But . . . ahem, I am the official contact for the Viscount's office for the Order." Mother Christiane smiled coyly, her eyes snapping with self-importance as she reminded Hawke of her irritating new role.

"Ah, yes, of that I am aware, Your Reverence. However, I'm not here officially to talk to the Order, so there's no need for you to bother yourself." She tried to continue walking, but the woman stepped in her way yet again.

"So . . . personal business? You are here to see the Knight-Commander . . ."

Hawke waited for her to make a point instead of confirming or denying her presumption. This interference was quickly starting to get on Hawke's nerves, but she reminded herself that it wasn't a good idea to harm clergy.

"I did not realize you two were . . . such close friends . . ." Christiane tried unsuccessfully to look innocent while she baited Hawke, but her usually guileless expression was sharpened with spite.

"I beg your pardon, Your Reverence, but it seems you must be the only one who did not," Hawke finally said, a lopsided smile on her face.

Christiane gaped at her flippancy, giving Hawke the opportunity to move past her at last.

"Mother Christiane, I'll not keep you any longer. Good day," she trilled over her shoulder.

"Hawke!" Christiane barked.

Hawke turned back, startled at the familiar address and the forcefulness of the woman's voice.

Christiane's expression had lost its affectations, replaced instead with a stony intensity. "I hope you realize that association with you will only hurt Cullen's standing with the Order . . . and the Chantry. You might want to consider what is good for him."

Christiane's barb hit its mark and Hawke glowered in resentment. She then turned on her heel and stalked to Cullen's door. She felt eyes drilling into the back of her head as she waited for him to answer her knock but resisted the impulse to catch Christiane staring.

When the door opened, she quickly entered and shut it behind her.

"Marian—" Cullen began, but she placed her finger to his lips, motioning for him to be quiet.

He looked at her in confusion as Hawke pressed her ear to the door. As she expected, she heard the click of heeled shoes getting louder and then stop as they reached Cullen's door.

His brow wrinkled and he mouthed the word "What?" She held up a finger to encourage him to wait. After a moment, she heard the rapid clicking of heels moving away.

"Ah, finally, she's gone. Mother Christiane," she explained.

"Hmm, trying to establish herself as the first point of contact?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid I may have offended her. Is she always this nosy?"

He kissed her. "I think you may be special."

When she laughed at this, he added, "No, Marian, I'm actually serious about you being special. While Christiane's addition to the Gallows may seem on the surface to be about the Grand Cleric's power in Kirkwall, technically speaking, her new job is specifically to stop you from talking directly to me."

"Well, I'd like to see her really try," Hawke grumbled with a scowl. "I actually forgot about her when I decided to drop by." She gave him a cheeky smile. "I never get to come out here anymore. Am I hopeless if I said that I missed you?" She wrapped her arms around his waist and turned her face up to his.

"You mean because we haven't seen each other since this morning? Yes!" He laughed and gave her a suggestive smile. "But then . . . I think we're both hopeless." He bent down, slanting his mouth across hers and pushing her slowly up against the wall for a leisurely kiss while his hands started to roam down her figure.

She pressed against him, starting to enjoy herself a bit too much, but then realized he was starting to unfasten the buttons at the neck of her dress. She quickly batted his hands away. "No, no, no, I'm actually here for a meeting with Tilda. I just couldn't resist an opportunity to flirt with the dashing Knight-Commander."

"I think we could still get in a quick flirt before you have to go . . ." he murmured wickedly against her ear, determined hands returning to the buttons.

Momentarily tempted, she leaned in to kiss him again but pulled away with a frustrated groan. "Ah, I can't! I'm actually already late."

"So what does Tilda want?" he asked as he continued to nuzzle her neck, sounding almost interested in the answer.

"I have no idea. But she's been after me about it since the gala, so I hope it's good. Will you still be here when I'm done?" She regretfully started to re-button her dress.

"I should be. Why?" He stood back, finally releasing her.

"Well. . ." She sighed dramatically. "It seems I've gone and forgotten my guard again. What terrible disregard I have for my own safety." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Whatever will I do?"

He laughed. "Well, Marian, if you insist, I suppose I could walk you home. But let's not make a habit of this!" he said severely, grabbing her hand and kissing her fingertips.

She giggled, giving up the silly charade. "Orana is making duck, so we don't want to be late. I'll come by when I'm done?"

"Of course. I have plenty to do, so take your time."

ooXXoo

Hawke's interview with Tilda started out pleasantly enough. They sat before her cozy fire, sipping tea and chatting randomly.

Finally, Tilda leaned back in her chair. "Hawke, it was good of you to come."

"Of course, Tilda, it's my pleasure. You know I always like coming here."

"Indeed," Tilda said with a smirk. "And, I'm sure the Knight-Commander has nothing to do with that . . ."

Trying to cover up her blush, Hawke hurried on. "So, what is this new . . . project you've wanted to talk about?"

"Well, Hawke, it's something I think you will take particular interest in. In fact, in some sense, you're the model for it."

"Me? Hmm, now I am intrigued. Go on."

"We've been thinking about proposing a new residential model for the Circle. Given the success of the changes we've made in letting the mages communicate with their families, we would like to try letting them out of the Tower and into the community."

Hawke was shocked, which must have shown on her face because Tilda continued. "Hear me out, Hawke. The idea would be to let the mages live with their families in the city and then during the day they would still come to the Tower. Now mind you, this is only the senior mages who have passed their Harrowing, those who have shown their resilience and maturity. They're no longer in training so their various duties and responsibilities in the Circle are much less time consuming, allowing them the potential to have a more normal life.

"The Tower would function much as it does now. These mages would continue their teaching and study, only they would get to see their loved ones at night. It would also help to reintegrate them into the community and potentially start to dispel some of the unreasoning fear directed at mages.

"We would, of course, have to put in safeguards to check the mages in and out and track them. But, with only a few small changes, the phylactery magic already does this for us. I think the risk of escape would be small. Perhaps even smaller than it is now, because the mages would be happier and have less reason to run."

Tilda finally paused, studying her face for a reaction.

"So . . . so, you're talking about a sort of . . . release program?" Hawke was still trying to wrap her mind around the radical idea.

"No, that makes it sound too much like a prison releasing its prisoners for good behavior. I'd like to think of it more like, being a mage is your job, and at the end of the day, you go home to your family and sleep in your own bed. Like normal people. Then, in the morning you return to the Tower for your day of scholarly work."

"But mages aren't like normal people. In their sleep, they could accidentally burn down their house. And their family. With no one to protect them."

"As could any normal person who forgets to bank their hearth fire. Hawke, you know better than anyone that a mage can live quite easily in normal society without being a danger to anyone."

"And, I also know the dangers of those who turn to blood magic in order to try to subjugate that society. You'd be taking quite a risk with this idea."

"Many who fall to blood magic do so in response to the frustrations of their life in the Circle. If we loosen some of these strictures, there will be less of a need for such desperate measures."

Hawke fell silent again, feeling uneasy about this whole idea. "What are you hoping I can do about this?" she said instead of admitting she thought the idea had some merit.

"Well, you are perhaps in the best position to . . . talk to the Knight-Commander about our proposal. Convince him."

Hawke felt her mouth fall open in surprise. This is what she wanted from me? She couldn't believe Tilda would ask this of her, while at the same time, she was surprised she hadn't seen this coming.

"I see," she said coldly. "Tilda, the fact that I am a mage does not mean I am your personal conduit to Cullen. The internal business of the Circle is between you and him."

"But you're in the best position to explain it to him. You've already experienced the success of this model. You know it can work!"

"No!" she said, trying to calm her irritation that Tilda would throw her own special status in her face this way. "It is neither appropriate nor prudent for me to become involved in this. And, believe me when I say that Cullen would not appreciate my interference either. In fact, it might even harm your cause. I will not be your messenger."

"But he'll listen to you. More than he'll listen to us. You have no stake in the issue," Tilda insisted, clearly not letting this go easily.

"Exactly. I have no stake in the issue. This isn't my battle to fight!" Hawke cried, starting to get mad.

"But it has always been your battle to fight, Hawke. As you have since you came to Kirkwall. As you have your whole life as an apostate on the run. You know first-hand the fear of discovery, the fear of confinement and losing your family. The Circle mages deserve your brand of freedom!" Tilda eyes reflected her fervor as her pleas became more impassioned.

Hawke surged to her feet, not wanting to hear any more. She knew Tilda wouldn't let it go and she needed to leave before she said or did something rash.

"Hawke, you're a mage!" Tilda continued desperately. "You know the world has to change. This could be our opportunity! You could be our ambassador."

Hawke felt her nostrils flare as she took several deep breaths, trying in vain to hold back her anger. "If you wish to pursue this with Cullen, you mustdo it yourself. I won't get involved. Good day," she declared through gritted teeth.

She stormed out of Tilda's office, heading blindly back to Cullen. What was she going to say? That woman was conniving. Who else would Hawke talk about this with but Cullen? He inevitably would want to know what had caused her agitation, and then Tilda would get her wish in any event. With this in mind, she tried to calm herself, taking deep calming breaths to bring her pulse back under control.

Thinking back through all her conversations with Tilda, her avid interest in Hawke's relationship with Cullen, it must all have been leading to this. That, as a mage, Hawke would be the perfect spokesperson for their cause. She must have been planning this for months now! She cursed Tilda for trying to use her in this manner. She cursed herself for being so easily manipulated, thinking that her easy friendship with the woman had been that simple. And she cursed the awkward situation she would soon face trying to keep this bottled up.

ooXXoo

"No, I'm fine, Cullen," Marian repeated, trying again to focus on the half-eaten duck on her plate and to avoid his questioning eyes.

"Marian, that's the fifteenth I'm fine so far tonight." He shook his head in confusion, a concerned frown on his face. "Something is clearly bothering you from your conversation with Tilda. What happened?"

She closed her eyes, trying to stave off the inevitable discussion a few moments longer. Why does he have to be so damn perceptive? And, why am I such a bad liar?

She tried another tack. "Tilda has a new proposal for you. And, you're not going to like it. So she asked me to tell you about it."

"I see. And, what did you tell her?" His voice was neutral, but his eyes couldn't conceal his keen interest.

"Of course, I told her she should talk to you." She stared down at her plate while her hand crept up and clasped her locket, nervously running it back and forth on its chain.

"As well she should. But . . . it seems that somehow she has also . . . upset you."

Hawke sighed, knowing that he couldn't help himself. "Yes. And, if you keep asking questions, then she wins and I'll end up telling you the whole thing anyway. So stop."

He frowned. "I . . . I don't know what to say to that, Marian. I must admit I'm curious. Is what she said so . . . bad?"

Only for us. "I'd really rather not talk about it."

She turned back to her meal, chewing mechanically as the silence drew out between them. She had never before realized how very quiet her house could be. It was like the whole world was holding its breath waiting for her to speak.

"There must be something else for us to talk about!" she wailed, trying to break the unnerving silence.

He chuckled. "Honestly, nothing nearly so interesting now. Marian, why don't you just tell me and get it over with."

She gave a sigh of resignation. "Fine. But, keep in mind, that I have no stake in this. Whatsoever! I suppose you should probably be aware of what Tilda is thinking. She . . . wants to let the mages live in the city."

"What? She's suggesting abolishing the Circle?" he asked incredulously, putting his fork down with a clang.

"No, no, this is only for the senior, Harrowed mages. Her idea is that they would spend their days working at the Circle, but at night they would go home to their families. So, being a mage is like their . . . job." She gnashed her teeth at hearing herself parrot Tilda's arguments. Just as she'd intended.

"Their job? Seriously? Marian, being a mage isn't a profession, it's what you are. You know that! It's how you're wired. How you think and feel. The danger your merest uncontrolled emotion could unleash."

"I know," she said sullenly.

"And, you know that the Circle is intended to protect not only the public but also the mages themselves. That requires a careful balance. The only way to do that is in a controlled environment, in the Circle Tower, where the Templars and the other mages can help nurture the needed restraint. Who knows what might trigger someone out in the real world. There are too many variables. In the Tower, we can protect against that. In town, a mage would have no one to help them. No one to protect them."

"I know."

"Out there, something goes wrong and a demon is released on innocents, whereas at least in the Tower—"

"In the Tower, a demon is released on not-so-innocent mages?" she countered, realizing in panic that she couldn't help herself either.

"In the Tower," he said sternly, "it is released on mages and Templars who are both better equipped to handle such an incident than the average citizen. In the Tower, we are prepared."

"But Cullen, that's only the illusion of control. You can't possibly control against everything, even in the Tower."

He suddenly looked at her suspiciously. "So, you think this is a good idea?" His voice dripped with incredulity and not a little bit of derision, which unaccountably rubbed her the wrong way.

"I . . . No . . . No! Not a good idea, per se. But . . . well, is it so crazy to think that mages can live normal lives and not be a constant danger at every moment?"

"Of course not, just not outside the Circle!" His brow furrowed in consternation. "Marian, I thought . . . I thought you believed in the Circle, that it serves the greater good . . ."

"I . . . I do. I just . . . I'm just not as sure that the Circle is the only way to do things. I mean . . . can it hurt to just consider alternative models that might serve the same purpose?" She swallowed nervously. "Take . . . me, for example." She saw his eyes go wide as she started down the path she had fervently been trying to avoid.

"This isn't about you!" He scowled impatiently. "Marian, most mages aren't like you. They face constant temptation and not everyone is as strong-willed. If they were to succumb even for one minute somewhere where we can't watch over them . . . we could lose a whole family. A whole neighborhood. I can't let that kind of threat loose in Kirkwall. I won't."

"But Cullen, you need to realize that it is about me! By your description, someone like me is a threat, too. I'm no . . . paragon of magehood. You seem to think I'm different somehow, but I'm not."

"You don't waver in the face of temptation. You never have. I trust you!"

She laughed bitterly. "Then maybe you shouldn't. Cullen, I also have to struggle at times with the alluring call of demons from the Fade. I have dreams sometimes that scare me. So perhaps I'm still a threat, too? Am I really the only one who deserves such special treatment?"

She saw him struggle to find an answer, his mouth opening and closing several times, but ultimately he said nothing, which was answer in and of itself. Her heart ached to watch the conflict on his face and tears started to prick her eyes. Has he really never considered this? And now that he has . . . what now? His eyes studiously avoided hers as they both fell silent.

The silence lengthened and she began to worry. Was he finally realizing what he had gotten himself into with her? Was it . . . regret she saw on his face?

She struggled to think of something to say that would make everything all right. To make this terrible realization of their continuing differences just go away. To somehow erase the fact that he was a Templar and she a mage. But there was nothing.

He continued to stare past her at the floor, his only visible movement the pulsing of a muscle in his clenched jaw. She felt a burning in her throat as a sob started to work its way loose.

"Cullen, I can't be anything other than what I am. But . . ." She swallowed, trying to stop her throat from closing on her next words. "Perhaps . . . this is something you should really think about. Are you okay with bringing a . . . a . . . weapon to your bed each night?" She spoke softly but every word seemed to resound ominously between them in the silence.

He visibly flinched as she echoed back his sentiment from years ago, that mages are weapons and should be treated as such. A sentiment he had since reconsidered. Or, so she had thought.

She stood up, watching him with eyes hot from unshed tears, but he still refused to look at her. "Wake up, love," she whispered. "You live with the very danger you think should be locked up."

Unable to maintain her composure any longer, she ran out of the room. As she dashed up the stairs she felt the tears that had been welling up finally pour down her face. She slammed the bedroom door and then sat down shakily on the bed, trying to hold in the sobs with a futile hand over her mouth.

With tears streaming silently, she found herself listening carefully, knowing what to expect but dreading it all the same. She didn't have to wait long. Soon she heard the door to the estate open and shut, and then Cullen was gone and she would be sleeping alone. Her stomach churned from their bitter words about Tilda's proposal.

She tried to stop thinking about it, but her stomach wouldn't stop. Next thing she knew she was flying to the basin and emptying the remains of dinner. When the heaving ended, she touched her head to the cold porcelain and felt the tear tracks drying on her face.

Once she could stand again, she shrugged numbly into her nightgown and headed to bed for what she knew would be a sleepless night's rest.

ooXXoo

She didn't see Cullen for the next several days, as he claimed he was having difficulty getting away from the Gallows. He came to dinner on the fourth day after their fight, but their conversation was horribly awkward and he left immediately after. They had avoided discussing anything to do with the fight, but it seemed the damage was already done. She found she was even afraid to look him in the eye for fear of seeing contempt for her magic. Contempt for her. She wasn't sure what kind of future they could have if he couldn't reconcile his beliefs about mages and his love for her. With growing despair, she began to wonder if they would be able to get past this.

She felt tired all the time, presumably from a combination of the emotional angst and the fact that she wasn't sleeping well without him. To make matters worse, she would wake up every morning replaying their fight, which inevitably sent her heaving in the basin again. At work, she was having a hard time concentrating on even the simplest of details and she was constantly forgetting things. Even Bran finally asked her if she was okay when she had forgotten yet another meeting. By the end of the week she was convinced that she was coming down with whatever Aveline had, so she decided to go see Merrill.

Walking through the streets of Lowtown with her escort of guards she was reminded of her reasoning for going to the Hanged Man alone. Everyone turned to watch the bizarre spectacle of their Viscountess marching through the city's slums. It was worse when they entered the Alienage. At the sight of so many guards, the elves all suddenly vanished off the streets of the elven ghetto.

Merrill answered the knock on her door quickly. "Hawke!" She sounded pleased, but then she shrunk back as she noticed Hawke's guards.

"Don't worry, they're staying outside!" Hawke assured her. Merrill quickly ushered her in.

"Welcome, welcome. I don't know that I have much to offer you. Maybe water. But, do sit down!"

"Thank you, Merrill. I don't need anything except perhaps whatever remedy you've been feeding to Aveline. I think I may have come down with the same thing."

Merrill got a strange look on her face as she looked more closely at Hawke. "What makes you think that?"

Hawke described the symptoms she'd been experiencing that week but left out the heartache and problems with Cullen, which were unlikely to be cured so easily.

Merrill continued to look at her strangely, pursing her lips as she thought. "You know, your symptoms do sound rather similar to Aveline's, minus the exhaustion and vomiting. But, the thing is . . . um, Hawke, I think what Aveline has is a bit more than a case of the sniffles. I think . . . I think her mind's been tampered with."

"What?"

"Aveline's showing signs of a powerful magic that seems to have meddled with her memory and generally scrambled her thoughts. I've been using some old Dalish Keeper techniques for healing the mind and so far that seems to be working, if slowly."

Hawke gaped at her. "Who has the power to do something like that?"

"Well, according to the Keepers, the old Tevinter magisters had such abilities, but I don't know of many of those in Kirkwall these days. I don't know who else might have access to such ancient and powerful magic, so I'm at a loss as to where she might have encountered it. Donnic doesn't have any ideas either. I wish we knew what had happened to cause this, but it is starting to get better."

Suddenly something occurred to Hawke. "Merrill, I didn't know you had healing abilities."

"Well, I'm not a physical healer of the body, like you and Anders. But this works with my affinity for the spirit which is very closely aligned to the mind." She paused, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry to tell you like this, Hawke, but Aveline hasn't really wanted anyone to know."

Hawke sighed. "Thank you for telling me, Merrill. Although . . . where does that leave me? Do you think there is any way you could tell if the same thing might have happened to me, somehow?" Hawke was cold with dread at the thought that someone could have touched her mind without her knowing it, but the similarity in their symptoms was just too much of a coincidence. A vague memory rose up at this thought but was as quickly gone.

"Yes, it is a bit too much of a coincidence, isn't it?" Merrill said, unconsciously echoing her thought. "Well, I can try, Hawke, but I don't make any guarantees. Here, let's sit on the ground."

They lowered themselves down to Merrill's tidy floor and Merrill positioned herself cross-legged in front Hawke. "The closer we are to the Earth and her essence, the better for this magic. It's very old. Now, close your eyes and just relax. You may feel a little tickle."

Hawke let her eyes fall shut and took a few centering breaths before she felt Merrill's magic flit around the edge of her consciousness. She felt a warm, feathering touch in her mind as well as closer to her heart.

Merrill gasped and Hawke's eyes flew open. She saw that Merrill still had her eyes shut and was murmuring an incantation under her breath. The feathering touch Hawke had felt now expanded down her body, settling in a spot just behind her belly button. She felt the magic recede and saw Merrill finally open her eyes.

Merrill smiled and laughed delightedly. "Hawke, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that you seem to have a slightly different problem than Aveline."

"Well, what is it?" Hawke asked anxiously.

Merrill smiled again. "You're pregnant!"

Chapter 20: Good News, Bad News

Summary:

Hawke learns more about the source of her symptoms, leading her to take some drastic measures. A little bit of warning as the story takes a slightly darker turn here.

Hawke was shocked, wondering if she had heard Merrill correctly. "Pregnant?"

"Yes, I could already feel the little spark inside you. You're not very far along, but far enough. That's probably the cause of some of your symptoms. Congratulations!"

Pregnant. Her mind couldn't get past that. A baby. Her baby. Cullen's baby. What will he say? She hoped he would be happy but . . . given how things currently stood with them, she decided she would wait a bit for that conversation. She couldn't even consider the possibility that they wouldn't resolve their current differences. They had to.

Merrill was watching her cautiously as she went through all of these emotions. "Hawke, are you okay? This is happy news, isn't it?"

"Yes . . . yes, it is." She gave Merrill a shaky smile but then remembered. "Wait. The cause of only some of my symptoms? Is that the bad news?"

"Oh yes, um, I'm afraid that you seem to also show signs of . . . tampering, like Aveline."

Hawke recoiled in horror. How? Who? Another vague memory tugged at her, something she had heard from Cullen, but she couldn't seem to focus properly on it. She swallowed around her dry throat. "Merrill, do you think you can fix it?" She didn't like how frightened she sounded.

"We will see. Remember, it hasn't been that successful with Aveline. Yet. But, we should try adding in your own power to see if it helps." Then she clapped her hands and laughed. "Oh! You know, you might even be able to touch the baby yourself! Would you like to try?" Merrill beamed at her.

Hawke nodded woodenly, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. "Just tell me what to do."

A few minutes later, with Merrill holding her hands like a lifeline, Hawke closed her eyes again. She took two centering breaths and felt the feathering touch of Merrill's magic. She then reached out with her own magic, wrapping around and supporting Merrill's while she sank down into her own consciousness. All was light and warmth surrounding her. Slowly she stretched out with her feelings as Merrill had instructed.

She easily sensed the unborn consciousness growing inside her, shining like a beacon. She drew near it and marveled at its newness and purity. As she tentatively brushed against it, though, she felt an abrupt lurch, like a key fitting into a lock. Instantly images were streaming through her mind. Images she did not remember ever experiencing even though they were obviously her memories.

ooXXoo

With tears streaming silently, she found herself listening carefully, knowing what to expect but dreading it all the same. She didn't have to wait long. Soon she heard the door to the estate open and shut, and then Cullen was gone and she would be sleeping alone. Her stomach churned from their bitter words about Tilda's proposal.

She tried to stop thinking about it, but her stomach wouldn't stop. Next thing she knew she was flying to the basin and emptying the remains of dinner. When the heaving ended, she touched her head to the cold porcelain and felt the tear tracks drying on her face.

Once she could stand again, she shrugged numbly into her nightgown and headed to bed for what she knew would be a sleepless night's rest.

It wasn't until she turned toward the bed that she felt the other presence. She only had time to see a flash of silver eyes from the shadows in the corner before she was being pummeled with multiple bursts of spirit energy. Her mana gone, she tried to hold onto consciousness but rapidly lost the battle to the sound of her labored heartbeats pounding in her ear.

When she woke up, she was in a dark, cold room.

She ached everywhere, but when she shifted she realized that her movements were limited and she was bound in some way. She tried to explore the limits of these restraints, making miniscule moves to her cramped muscles, and decided that she must have been stuck in this position for some time. She seemed to be confined to a large chair with cold manacles holding her forearms, waist and shins. High above her was a tiny, barred window that revealed a smattering of distant stars which did nothing to alleviate the oppressive dark in her cell.

Her mind ran in frantic circles trying to guess where she might be and what was happening. With her eyes finally adapting somewhat to the darkness, she looked down at the chair confining her. She couldn't see many details but noticed that she was still wearing her nightgown which was doing little to protect her from the cold. She had to concentrate in order to tamp down on the panic that tried to break free.

She couldn't tell how long she waited but sooner than she expected a pale bar of light appeared underneath what might be a door. With a jingle of keys, the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway, wreathed in shadow and flickering torchlight, was the Seeker. Her heart thudded in her chest as she watched him walk around the room and light the torches ringing it.

When she could see again, her eyes darted around the spare cell. The floor and walls were all cold stone, explaining the chill, and the only outlets in the tall, vaulted room were the heavy metal door and the one small window set high above her head. The rough-hewn masonry reminded her of the Gallows but she doubted that the Seeker would bring her somewhere so . . . obvious. The cell was almost empty but for a small chair that sat facing the massive contraption on which she was sitting. Her eyes shied away from the various pulleys, levers and hooks she could now see on the apparatus and she tried not to imagine the unpleasant uses for such mechanisms.

Looking back at the Seeker, she noted that he was dressed again in his nondescript black hood and jerkin, but his smirk remained the same. When he was done lighting the torches, he stood before her and steepled his fingers again before his face, fingertip to fingertip so she could see each finger of both hands. The pose was the perfect mimic of the image from Cullen's book and she guessed that this must be some kind of ritualistic pose.

With his hands in this position, she could finally look closely at the unusual tattoos. The spidery scripts ran in several lines across each of his hands, with each line starting at his wrist and running down each finger. Curiously, the lines were oriented so that someone else could read them when he steepled his fingers in this way, not the Seeker. She couldn't make out every word, but she now realized that she didn't need to. She knew those words.

On one hand, written in a remarkably clear looping script, it said,

Magic exists to serve man,
and never to rule over him.

On the other hand, was written,

Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked
and do not falter.

The reason the words had looked so familiar was because they were from the Chant of Light. From Transfigurations and Benedictions. She felt ill when she tried to imagine the kind of zealotry that would make you mark these words into your flesh. Zealotry that believed in the Chantry's absolute power over the sinful mage.

The Seeker had yet to say anything, perhaps using the silence as yet another tool to unnerve her. This made her suddenly rather talkative.

"You know, Seeker, if you wanted to chat, you could have just said so. We could have avoided all those empty and awkward conversations we've been having the last few weeks and gotten to something good."

The corner of his mouth twitched but otherwise he remained silent.

"Like maybe, what really brings you to Kirkwall? Or . . . why you've been stalking me for the past several months?" She paused. "Hmm, nothing? Maybe something simpler, like why in the Void you have me strapped to a chair?" She let her anger start to seep through since he still wasn't saying anything.

Frustrated, she gathered what mana she had and deftly shot off a thin arc of electricity toward him before she felt a wave of spirit energy wash away the rest of her mana. He followed with a silencing spell, which effectively cut her off from her magic for the time being while her stomach cramped from the smiting.

He turned back to her, tenderly shaking the arm she had hit with the lightning. She was pleased to see a charred hole in the shoulder of his jerkin even if the skin underneath had already been healed. Resourceful man.

"Nicely done, mage. Brave. But foolish. I had hoped to have a civilized conversation about some of my . . . questions."

She chuckled. "Well then. At least now we're talking." Then, her eyes narrowed and she demanded in a dangerous voice, "What do you want?"

"Oh, the same thing you want. Answers to questions. Questions about a night almost eight months ago, when you summarily upended the power structure in Kirkwall. And became Viscountess of Kirkwall."

She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "You know, there's a book you should pick up. It's by Varric Tethras. You should find it interesting."

"I'm not interested in tall tales. I'm concerned with . . . the Truth. I'm interested in your Truth. I've learned all I can from others and now it is time to come straight to the source."

"There's nothing much to tell."

"I think there is much to tell. I've already learned quite a bit about what happened from your friend . . . Aveline, is it? Yes, she was quite helpful."

She scowled. "She would never help you."

"She already has, whether she wanted to or not. For example, I've already learned that, instead of being Meredith's ally, you were the one who fought and killed her."

Hawke remained silent.

"What's more, I've learned that the sterling Ser Cullen betrayed his superior officer, turning on her in support of . . . you. A mage. Now isn't that curious? What is perhaps the most interesting is that he has been lying about these facts to the Order. The Order that once held his allegiance blindly. One cannot help but wonder what sort of thrall you have him in."

"If you're going to kill me, then do it," she spat. "Otherwise, you're starting to bore me to death with your tall tales."

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you, mage. At least, not yet. I still have certain questions and somewhere in that mind of yours are my answers. We just need to draw them out. One way . . . or another."

She shivered involuntarily, sure that she didn't want to find out what other methods he meant.

He strolled across the room, continuing his musings. "Because the real question is why. Why would one of the Order's best and brightest, a Knight whose mettle had been tested under the most extreme conditions, turn on the Order? How could a Knight-Commander's trusted right hand and second-in-command betray her?

"Of course, anyone with eyes can see that you and the Commander are involved. Far from the first time we have curbed such . . . behavior." He spat the last word out in distaste. "But, how deep is this . . . involvement? And how could it corrupt the seemingly incorruptible? Quite the puzzle."

Too late she understood that this wasn't about her at all and her bravado quickly turned to fear. "Cullen hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Oh, on the contrary. He has done quite a bit . . . wrong." He savored each word as he said them, seeming to warm up to this topic. "Strangely, our dear Grand Cleric seems to think you are a threat." He snorted derisively. "A foolish old woman frightened by tales of the Champion of Kirkwall, a mage who has simply . . . forgotten her place. You are nothing." He stopped in front her, steepling his fingers again in that odd manner. "But the Knight-Commander, now he is something. And, with such a delicious panoply of sins. Insubordination. Insurrection. Fraternization. Blasphemy. Templars do not break the rules. But when they do, then we break them."

The shock of these revelations started to settle in and she heard her breathing start to speed up. She had been so worried about the Grand Cleric's petty schemes. So worried about herself. She had never come close to recognizing the true danger. The Divine was after Cullen.

He lowered his hands and continued in a more business-like tone. "So, as a pledge of my honest intentions, I will allow you first to answer my questions on your own. But, if the answers are not to my satisfaction, then I am afraid I will have to find them myself." He tsked at this like a disapproving schoolmarm, but he clearly was enjoying himself.

"I won't answer your questions. Do what you will, but we haven't done anything wrong!" She lifted her chin in defiance, pleased that she sounded angry and righteous instead of frightened to the core.

"Wonderful!" he said in delight. "In the interest of full disclosure, I must say that I was hoping you would resist. My evidence for the Knight-Vigilant's tribunals always plays so much better when I have drawn it directly from the mind. Then Aeonar awaits!" He smiled gleefully at this.

She couldn't help the panic that started to bubble up at mention of the mage prison. Her eyes darted around the room trying to find something, anything, that could give her the hope of escape. Inadvertently her eyes fell again on the wicked looking mechanisms on her chair and she had a hard time looking away from them this time.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, he chuckled. "Do not worry, mage. You must forgive the crudeness of this chair. It was my best option for restraining you, but we will have no need of such indelicate implements." He chuckled again. "My methods are much more subtle, although infinitely more painful."

She couldn't reign in the panic anymore. She started to struggle and twist frantically against her restraints. She pulled at her almost empty reserve of mana and tried to cast, but again he was faster and a moment later she was fully drained again. Her body shuddered as her heart lurched, but she continued to fight.

He watched her struggle for a few more moments and then sighed. "Very well, have it your way. Let us begin then."

He started to murmur so softly she couldn't hear the words of his incantation. His eyes actually began to glow, switching from bright silver to a sudden flash of red. She saw shadowy wisps of darkness exude from his body, moving hungrily toward her. They hovered over her for a moment, as if seeking entry, and then, before she could scream, they dug into her mind.

What followed was a horrific mixture of pain and blood and darkness. She felt the dark tendrils of magic rifling through her thoughts and tearing painfully at her memories. Over and over she saw replayed through her mind the events surrounding that day they fought Meredith at the Gallows, but all seen through a dark, blood-tinged lens that cast all her actions into shadow. Sometimes she heard a sound, like screaming, in the background, only to realize it was coming from her.

Time and again he came back to one moment, one image, which now felt burned into her psyche. Cullen standing before her, shielding her from Meredith with sword drawn. Over and over she heard Cullen say to Meredith, "You'll have to go through me." The Seeker seemed almost giddy about this moment, mumbling to himself about insubordination and how a picture is worth a thousand words. But for her, seeing this shining example of Cullen's bravery and care was perhaps the one thing that kept her sane during the tortuous examination.

Through the better part of the night she writhed in anguish, unable to resist the invasion. Whenever her mana started to return he would brutally strip it away, making her heart falter and her stomach spasm from the repeated smiting. Whenever her sight cleared, all she could do was stare up through the small window at the pitiless stars, counting her uneven heartbeats until the next set of memories was ravaged.

Eventually she noticed the sky starting to lighten and at last the ordeal seemed to come to an end. The Seeker pulled out a heavy triangular amulet from around his neck bearing the Seeker's eye and sunburst symbol. Strangely, it seemed to pulse red in time with her heartbeat. She felt him focus his power on it, making it thrum aloud.

"Now that you've shared so much, mage, I'm going to give you something back. I'm going to take all the pain away." He murmured something and touched the amulet once to her forehead.

She had only an instant to realize his intent, that he was now removing her memories of the past several hours, before . . . they were gone and she was spiraling back into darkness.

ooXXoo

When Hawke finally came back to herself, she heard Merrill repeatedly calling her name. She sat up from where she had apparently slumped over on the floor. She recalled in revulsion all the things she had just witnessed and felt, knowing that these were her erased memories of the night the Seeker had abducted her. The night she and Cullen had fought, which had been the first night she had spent alone in well over a month. It was so hard to believe that she had just woken up in her bed the next morning, completely unaware of the horrors she had endured at the Seeker's hand.

Thinking about what that man had done, how he had violated her mind, made her feel unclean. But above all else, the overriding emotion she felt was the burning need for vengeance. Not for herself, but for his threats to Cullen. She decided then, the Seeker had to die.

It took her longer than she expected to be able to stand without seeing stars, but this gave her time to bring Merrill up-to-date. After another feather-light inspection, Merrill pronounced her memories healed, but they could only speculate about the cause. Eventually they concluded that some combination of Hawke's magic and the presence of the baby had boosted the effects of the ancient Dalish ritual.

"Merrill, do you think this could also work on Aveline?"

"I don't know. I'm still not sure why this worked so well on you. It could even have something to do with the fact that you were pregnant when it happened. Maybe the baby has magic of his own. Maybe it was the baby that . . . protected you. I don't know. But, we should certainly try."

Merrill looked at her speculatively. "You know, Hawke, I see in your eyes that you're planning some kind of retribution on this man. I'll do whatever I can to help you, but I think you should include Aveline as well. Not only does she also deserve some kind of closure, I think she may . . . need it. This whole experience has been very disconcerting for her. I hate to say it this way, but I think a little bloodshed could help."

Hawke laughed bitterly, almost not recognizing her own voice. "Oh, the more the merrier, Merrill, but don't worry, there will be bloodshed. Now all we need is a plan that the evil, mind-reading Templar hunter can't see coming."

Merrill's face brightened. "On a happier note, Hawke, how will you tell Cullen about the baby?"

She paled, realizing that she had all but forgotten about the baby as the exciting, life-changing event that it was. "I don't know." She finally had told Merrill about the fight with Cullen that had precipitated her being alone the night she was taken. "I may need to conclude my business with the Seeker first before I can move forward that way. Who knows how quickly Frollo will start to use what he's learned against Cullen. My focus right now is stopping him. Once Cullen is safe, then I can start to think about the baby and the future. Once the Seeker is dead."

ooXXoo

They tried everything to heal Aveline, but it simply wasn't as effective as it had been with Hawke. They could restore Aveline's ability to think and concentrate, but she still had gaps in her memory. Now that they had an idea of what had happened, they were able to narrow down the timing of Aveline's kidnapping to around Frollo's first visit to Hawke's estate. But Aveline still had no recollection of the event itself and had difficulty picturing or even focusing for too long on the Seeker. Hawke tried to reassure the guardswoman that she probably was better off not remembering it but knew that this was poor consolation.

As Merrill had predicted, Aveline was frighteningly enthusiastic about moving against the Seeker, so they began their planning in earnest.

The next morning, Hawke headed to the Gallows Courtyard in search of the ever-clueless Knight-Captain Leon. She could always rely on Leon to unwittingly reveal sensitive information and that day was no exception. She quickly learned that the Seeker was quartered in one of the older wings of the Gallows, far from the more trafficked mage Tower and Templar quarters. Frollo had been seen quite regularly at the Gallows that week, suggesting a nighttime visit would find him in his quarters. Leon also let slip that the guard shifts changed at the eleventh hour. If she'd been on speaking terms with Cullen, she would have given him an earful over Leon's dangerous indiscretions.

Of course, who should she immediately run into on her way back, but the Knight-Commander himself. She cursed her luck that would have him arrive at the Gallows on the very boat she was awaiting to take her away. Their eyes locked across the distance as he neared the dock, pinning her in place until she finally managed to look away. So much for a hasty retreat.

"Marian," he said evenly when he had gained the quay.

"Good morning." She tried to smile but wasn't particularly successful. A quick glance showed questions in his eyes.

"So what brings you to the Gallows this morning?"

She avoided his gaze, knowing that if anyone could see through her and her plan, it was Cullen. "I . . . needed some unusual ingredients from one of the vendors in the courtyard."

"Oh, I see."

She thought she heard disappointment in his voice, but a furtive glance found his face was a mask now, his expression unreadable. She could almost feel all the unspoken words hanging in the air between them but she had no idea how to cut through the tension.

Searching for something innocuous to fill the silence, she asked, "Will you come for diamondback tonight?" She cringed at how wistful she sounded.

He shifted, eyes darting in discomfort. "I'm afraid I can't get away tonight, Marian. Perhaps another time."

She nodded. "Of course. I understand. Another time. I . . ." I miss you.

"Yes?" he prompted when she stopped.

"Mmm, nothing." She risked a quick glance in his eyes. "Maker watch over you, Cullen." Then, she turned and hurriedly stepped onto the boat. She wouldn't let herself turn around, but she could feel his eyes following her. She took a deep breath. Focus on the Seeker. Then worry about fixing things with Cullen. Once he is safe.

Later that night, the diamondback game at Hawke's was superseded by an intense strategy session for their assault on the Seeker.

Cullen's continuing absence actually made this easier, since she wanted him to have no part in their scheme. Not only would it go against his code as a Templar to kill a Chantry Seeker, it went against his personal code of ethics to kill someone in such a premeditated manner. This also bothered Hawke at some level, but she ignored her qualms in favor of necessity.

Initially, it seemed that Aveline also had some issue with this. "So we will track down this man and kill him in cold blood." Aveline had been quiet for most of their brainstorming, but now that she spoke up, her voice held a note of despair that worried Hawke.

"To be honest Aveline, I'm hoping it's not as simple as that. I'm hoping he'll resist a little before we kill him, to make it a bit more interesting. And painful. But, yes, we're essentially hoping to assassinate him." She gave Aveline a tight grin that wasn't returned.

"Not that he's innocent," Merrill chimed in.

When Aveline still didn't respond, Hawke said, "Aveline, if you're not okay with this, you don't need to come."

"No, Hawke, I do need to come. I absolutely need to come. And I don't care if it's in cold, warm or hot blood. I'm going to kill this man. Not just for what he took from me, from us, but for the danger he poses to anyone who gets in his way. He's a monster."

"Ahem," interjected Varric smoothly. "So, now that we're agreed on the relative morality of our actions, what's our plan, Hawke?"

They knew that cornering the Seeker in his quarters was probably their best chance to take him alone and unaware. Of course, the fact that the fortress was almost impregnable was both an advantage and a disadvantage. The advantage being that he probably wouldn't expect it. The obvious disadvantage being that it would be difficult to get in and out unseen.

Ultimately, they settled on sneaking in the old fashioned way and hoping for the best. They would use the Darktown passage to gain entry and then Merrill and Donnic would orchestrate a diversion that hopefully would draw any nearby Templars away during the guard changeover. While they were distracted, Hawke, Varric and Aveline would then confront the Seeker.

Merrill wasn't terribly happy with being left out of the action. "But, I want to come, too. What if you need me?"

"No, Daisy, we're going to need that diversion. Plus, if this guy has access to Templar talents, then you'd just be another mage liability like Hawke." Varric looked at Hawke with a shrug. "No offense."

"None taken," Hawke replied blithely. "It is better for us to limit our susceptibility to his particular talents. I'm just hoping I might be able to resist him a little better this time."

"Hopefully Tiny in there," Varric said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her stomach, "will help with that, as well."

"Tiny?" Hawke rolled her eyes at Varric, hoping the name wouldn't stick since the poor baby hadn't even been born yet.

"What? I'm still working on the nickname. Would you prefer mini-Cullen? Or, the littlest Templar?"

"No comment." She smiled, shaking her head. "Anyway . . . here's hoping. I think we'll need any edge we can get."

Unfortunately, the actual confrontation with the Seeker was the weakest part of their plan, since they had no real estimate of Frollo's capabilities. Moreover, his uncanny ability to read minds might make it well-nigh impossible to take him by surprise. So far they'd been unable to come up with any clever ways to thwart that particular advantage.

Varric shrugged. "It's a semblance of plan. With more time I'm sure I could come up with something so clever I'd be applauded every time I told the story, Hawke. But if you think we need to move fast, then I think we're stuck with what we have." He smiled broadly. "And, hey, having a plan at all is better than our usual approach!"

Around the table, everyone could only nod glumly in agreement.

Chapter 21: Best Laid Plans

Summary:

Hawke and Co. proceed with their planned assault while Cullen grapples with the fallout from their fight.

Cullen had felt unsettled all day and wondered if it was because of his encounter with Marian the day before. The last week and a half without her had been difficult and they didn't seem to be coming any closer to a resolution. Every time he saw her she seemed a little more withdrawn and now she could barely look him in the eye. He had no idea what to do at this point. He'd been hopeful that she had come to the Gallows to talk, but she had instead seemed anxious to leave. Leon said that he had talked with her briefly but mostly about the Seeker.

The Seeker was a continuing mystery to him. Their only interactions had been perfectly cordial, if uninformative of the man's true purpose in Kirkwall. Cullen still couldn't tell what kind of threat he posed, if any at all, truth be told. Except for seeming to shadow Marian's steps, Frollo had done very little to raise suspicion. He had kept to himself since his arrival but always seemed to be in the background, watching.

Nevertheless, Cullen had asked Leon to discretely keep an eye on him. Leon had added a guard to the tower where the Seeker was quartered, ostensibly for the protection of their honored guest but also to watch and report. So far they'd heard nothing out of the ordinary.

As he walked into his office, he saw that someone was waiting for him. Tilda. He checked himself at the door but realized there was no diplomatic way to leave now that she had probably heard him enter. He had avoided her since the fight with Marian, dreading any discussion of the First Enchanter's new proposal. But now it seemed inescapable.

He plastered a smile on his face. "First Enchanter."

"Ah, Knight-Commander! I hope you don't mind that I waited. I had something rather particular to discuss and I've had some difficulty tracking you down this week." She spoke brightly, but he knew her well enough to see that she was also a bit irritated.

"I'm sorry I've been hard to find. Busy week, as always."

"I'm sure," she murmured. "Would you mind if I . . . shut the door? I'd like to keep our discussion private for now."

When she had returned to her seat, she took a deep breath. "Am I correct in assuming that the Viscountess has told you of my proposal?"

His face hardened. "She has."

"I see. Well, at least that's gratifying. She told me that she wouldn't." She sighed. "But it seems she wasn't very . . . convincing?"

He felt his face flush with anger, as Tilda reminded him of how she had manipulated Marian, and then also with guilt, as he acknowledged to himself that he had done the very same thing. Or worse. After manipulating Marian into telling him about the proposal, he had added insult to injury by running out on her when things got difficult.

"First Enchanter, I deplore your involvement of the Viscountess in this business. It is inappropriate and unprofessional for you to capitalize on my friendship with her in pursuit of your own ends. If you have Circle business for the Order, you come to me!"

"But . . . you must have seen at least some of the advantages of my plan? Surely she must have pointed out some of those . . .? Some of the safeguards we envisioned?" She leaned toward him beseechingly. It was like she hadn't heard anything he had said.

He ground his teeth in frustration. "The Circle is necessary. It is the only feasible model we have for protecting all the mages and the city at once. End of story."

"Surely that's not what she said . . ." Tilda countered.

"Marian and I have al— always agreed on this point!" He was taken by surprise at the sudden resurgence of pain that this basic fact was no longer strictly true.

Tilda's eyes narrowed as she watched him closely. "But, what about Hawke herself? Surely she has demonstrated that there are other ways to treat with mages?"

As Cullen felt his temper start to flare at this fact being thrown in his face again, part of his mind couldn't help but wonder that Tilda thought this was a wise strategy. "The Viscountess of Kirkwall has no bearing on this discussion and you would do well to remember that!"

"So then, the rules don't apply to her?" Tilda pressed desperately. "She's fine with being the exception to that rule? Or does she get a pass because she now has her own Templar in her pocket?"

Tilda's words hit so close to the mark, he surged to his feet in anger. "You overstep, mage!" he shouted. "I have given you quite a bit of freedom to run the Circle as you see fit. But this proposal of yours ends here. I will not discuss it or Viscountess Hawke with you any further. Don't give me reason to reassess the scope of your position."

She glared back at him, nostrils flaring, and then stalked to the door. Over her shoulder she gritted, "You should check your allegiances, Templar." Then she jerked open the door and was gone.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. He had lost his temper more times in the last several months than he had in all his previous years in Kirkwall combined.

Ruefully, he could recognize that his reaction to Tilda was also an echo of his arguments with Marian, and those wounds were still too fresh. Too unresolved.

He sighed. How can that woman upend my world so completely?

For a moment, he wondered if he should find a way to apologize to Tilda but decided against it. Anything that dissuaded her from trying to use his sympathies for her own agenda was probably good.

Nonetheless, his sense of unease deepened.

ooXXoo

Hawke was finally feeling somewhat confident about their plan. Now all they had to do was execute it.

They had successfully entered the Gallows undetected and now she, Varric and Aveline were hiding in an unused passage at the foot of the Seeker's tower. Donnic and Merrill had just left to implement their diversion, which would coincide with the change of the guard. Hawke hoped that in all the commotion they could easily gain the third floor of the tower unseen.

While she nervously counted the minutes, Varric was completely unfazed, looking as complacent as if he were sitting in his suite at the Hanged Man. Aveline, on the other hand, looked lost.

Aveline had radically improved since the most recent rounds of Merrill's healing, but it seemed her confidence was fundamentally shaken. As Hawke watched her leaning her shoulder against the wall in a pale replica of her accustomed stance, Aveline fretfully rubbed her hands together and twitched minute buckles on her armor. Always impassive, her expression now was more blank, like she was forcibly suppressing the turmoil seen only in her eyes. Not for the first time Hawke wondered if including Aveline had been such a good choice.

Feeling her scrutiny, Aveline looked up at Hawke and gave her a tight smile. Hawke nodded. Maybe everything would be fine.

She heard a distant shout, and then several more. "Show time," she whispered. They each prepared to move out as they heard running feet and saw several guards run past in the direction of the noise.

They slipped out of hiding and snuck toward the stairs that led up into the tower. As they passed a window, a glance outside showed Hawke the expected light show. The training yard below them was filled with a massive blizzard, pelting the flagstones and walls with glittering ice pellets that merrily reflected the raging firestorm licking throughout the yard at the same time. The combination of the two made for a truly impressive fireworks show that Merrill had been perfecting for its aesthetics and harmlessness.

Importantly, Hawke could see the yard surrounded by the outline of legions of mages and Templars drawn by the disruption.

She moved to catch up with her friends, heading up the stairs and passing the entry to the second floor just as a Templar burst through on his way down. They all shrank against the wall, where they stayed for a few minutes after they heard the Templar exit the stairwell at ground level. Soon after, they were tiptoeing out on to the third floor toward the Seeker's quarters.

Moving slowly around the curving hallway, they immediately stopped when they heard the familiar clank of Templar armor. They exchanged wary glances as Varric stole forward on silent feet.

When he returned he whispered in Hawke's ear, "Only one. No way around."

Hawke nodded, making a gesture for them to stay put while she tiptoed around the bend until she had the Templar in her line of sight. With a subtle gesture, she murmured a sleep spell and soon the guard was slumping to his knees and snoring softly where he leaned against the wall.

They quickly crept to the Seeker's door and Varric made ready to pick the lock. However, he looked up in surprise at Hawke as the handle merely clicked open, already unlocked. With everyone on high alert, they quietly eased open the door. Varric stealthily moved in first, but as he rounded the door, he immediately froze.

Guessing what they would find, she and Aveline quickly followed him in. Sitting in a high-backed chair that faced the door, fingers familiarly steepled before his face, the Seeker smiled at them like a spider watching a fly land in his web.

"You've brought friends this time," he purred. He glanced over his shoulder to the large, open window behind him. "Nice show, by the way. That should have the magic sense of every Templar in the building ringing for a while. At least long enough to mask any suspicious casting. Clever."

As always, he was dressed in black, but this time he had his Seeker amulet hanging outside his jerkin. Hawke watched it pulse in time with her rapid heartbeats and came to the terrible realization that he had known all along that she was closing in.

Aveline took a few almost involuntary steps closer, face drawn in confusion, and then froze. "You," she said in surprise. "I . . . know you."

The Seeker's mocking eyes fell on Aveline. "Ah, my dear Aveline, so nice to see you again. Indeed, for a few short moments, we were actually quite close. Such a shame you recall it so little."

Aveline trembled, her face contorting as if in remembered pain.

He turned back to Hawke. "And you. Yes. I see. You now remember too much." He lowered his hands, his eyes becoming cold and calculating. "So. Come to murder me, mage? Finally pieced together how I now own the Truth of you? How I can keep stripping away the Truth, little bit by little bit, whenever I choose?"

"I'm here to stop you from hurting anyone else."

"How noble. Not revenge, but protecting the honorable Knight-Commander. Never something as base as revenge, right my dear?" He chuckled.

"Oh, there will inevitably be some revenge mixed in. Never doubt that. But the reason you will die is so no one else need seek revenge on you ever again."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I see. The Divine will certainly find this turn of events . . . interesting. As will your Templar, no doubt."

Some twinge of guilt must have shown in her face, for he laughed again. "Oh, wonderful. He has no idea that you're a murderer now. Outstanding! Well then, that shall be my continuing gift to you, mage."

He stood up slowly but made no other move. She, Varric and Aveline stood still in a small semi-circle before him, each poised to attack the moment the standoff ended.

He lightly clasped his hands together and murmured, "So, shall we begin?"

Before he had finished speaking, Hawke's hand shot out, fingers outstretched and then quickly clenched. A glowing cage of blue interlocking lines appeared, surrounding the Seeker, and then slowly started to crush him. At this cue, Varric fired off a quick round of bolts at the same time as Aveline rushed in to pummel him with her shield.

One of Varric's bolts lodged itself in the Seeker's shoulder as the blue cage moved inexorably in on him, but the man didn't even flinch. Instead, he touched his fingers to his forehead, almost like a benediction, and seemed to shrug off the magical cage, sending a spherical disturbance in the air around him rippling out in all directions.

When the ripples hit Aveline an instant later, the guardswoman was suddenly hurled backward through the air, and when they reached Hawke, she felt her own magical cage somehow reflect back on her. Immediately, the blue strands of telekinetic force wrapped around her, tightening painfully as she gasped for breath, but before she could panic the spell ran out and disappeared, dropping her heavily to her knees.

As she took a deep breath and tried to stand, she saw that Aveline and Varric had been knocked down and were both reeling while the Seeker had already healed himself. Gritting her teeth, she immediately dipped into her magic and whipped out both hands to shoot arcs of lightning straight at the Seeker's heart.

He dove behind his chair at the last second, but not before the spell caught his arm. She heard the satisfying sound of sizzling as she quickly circled around the chair to face him.

Varric nimbly jumped to his feet and threw a small explosive flask at Frollo, in an attempt to stun him. But the Seeker was just as fast and already had backed away closer to the window.

Aveline had anticipated this move and was already on him. The determined look on her face was almost fanatical as she engaged him, smashing him back with her shield. The blow was deflected, however, by two wicked-looking, serrated daggers that had appeared in the Seeker's hands.

"Trying to regain something of what you've lost, Aveline," he jeered, making two quick thrusts toward her face which she just barely dodged.

"I stand for all of us," she declared, although her face paled at the jibe. She counterattacked with a heavy swing of her sword, but this time he caught her blade between his own, deftly ripping the sword from her grip with a practiced flip of the jagged edge of one dagger.

As the sword skittered away, Frollo followed with another touch to his brow which threw Aveline back again with a blast of pure force that knocked her into the wall with an audible crunch.

"Aveline!" Hawke cried. A quick glance showed Aveline tenderly picking herself up, but she seemed to have difficulty fully raising her shield arm.

With a roar of anger, Hawke closed in on the Seeker, hands crackling, but realized that she no longer had the advantage of surprise. Just as she released the electricity she felt a wave of spirit energy smash through her, knocking her and her companions all off their feet again. Her heart raced as she struggled to stand, but her mana had been drained. She scrambled for a lyrium potion to replenish herself just as another wave crashed over. The potion shattered at her feet as she toppled over, stunned.

Her senses reeling, she feebly rose to her knees while her stomach clenched and threatened to empty itself. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it and risked a look around the room. She fought a surge of despair when she saw that Aveline and Varric were both down. They were losing.

Concentrating on getting one foot leveraged underneath her, she heard chuckling. She looked up at the Seeker's ever-present smirk as he said, "Now, now, we can't have that." He hit her with another spell that roughly slammed her down to the floor and knocked the wind out of her. She groaned and tried to get up again, but realized she was frozen in place this time, pinned down by the invisible force of his spell.

He brushed his hands together and then sniffed disdainfully. "Now that that's done, mage, let's see if you have anything else hiding up your sleeve."

She saw his eyes flash red and the dark tendrils again stretched toward her, searching out her secrets. She tried to scream, but couldn't tell if she was successful before she was overcome by the invading darkness.

As before, Hawke felt dark magic crawling over her mind, seeking a weak point to enter and then the Seeker was pulling thoughts from her head like unraveling a ball of twine. She desperately tried to hold them back, at least one back, but she was slowly losing the battle. The blood-tinged images again flickered across her thoughts as he pored over them.

This time she saw herself sitting on the floor with Merrill. She felt again her joy as she discovered the baby, joining the despair and revulsion she felt from her revelations about the Seeker.

She heard Merrill's voice in her head, saying again, "Maybe the baby has magic of his own. Maybe it was the baby that . . . protected you."

"Ah ha!" Frollo crowed exultantly. "Now this interruption becomes worth it. A lovely new tidbit for the Divine. Indeed the Chantry will be very interested that the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall has a mage baby on the way. How delightful of you to come and share this news with me. My report to her will now be complete." He cackled. "Three new inmates for Aeonar!"

She was starting to shake through her paralysis with the effort to hold back on the one memory she didn't want him to see. At last he started to notice this focus and his magic shifted, probing more urgently and painfully. She moaned as this new violation made her physically sick.

Finally, as he started to unravel that one thread, she smiled. It was now too late.

He congratulated himself and dug into this new memory with relish, completely unaware of the silent shadow that had slipped in through the open window behind him. Just as he discovered the last-minute addition to their plan that Hawke had tried so desperately to hide, the shadow came to life. But before he had time to react, the Seeker toppled over, unconscious, and standing over him triumphantly was Isabela.

"Perfect timing, Isabela," Hawke said faintly, picking herself up off the floor.

"Well, Hawke, at least you still know how to show a lady a good time. Not even a day in port, and already I'm assassinating highly placed Chantry officials."

Hawke grinned at her, delighted that the serendipity of Isabela's surprise return just that morning had given them the edge they had needed.

Hawke quickly moved to the Seeker's inert body, seeing his sense starting to return. She knew she had just a few moments before his attacks would begin anew. She downed her last lyrium potion and cast a silencing spell on him even though she wasn't sure if it would even work on his strange brand of magic. She followed with a pulse of healing to the room, relieved to feel Aveline and Varric both recover, and drew her dagger.

But looking down at the etched blade, the same one that had killed Anders, she hesitated.

A terrible question rose unbidden. Am I a murderer now? She felt again the agonizing regret of that moment when she had last cast herself as executioner. When in the heat of the moment, tormented by shock and betrayal, she had enacted her own justice upon her friend. And, here she was again, being judge, jury and executioner. Just like Meredith.

She recalled the Seeker's comment about his final "gift" and knew that he was right. This would continue to gnaw at her, especially in light of Cullen's uncertain reaction to the whole situation.

Cullen. She then recalled the Seeker's threats toward Cullen, her family, and a cold certainty settled over her. She hesitated no more.

She took a determined step forward but only had an instant to notice silver eyes looking up at her as a roiling black cloud of darkness swiftly grew around the Seeker.

She and her friends all dove away as the cloud churned violently around Frollo, who had now regained his feet. Eyes glowing red, he began a monotone chanting with hands again steepled before his face. In response, the odd tattoos on his hands pulsed with light and the darkness at his feet branched into looming tentacles that reared and nodded above him.

So much for the silencing spell, Hawke thought drily, watching the Seeker in alarm.

As soon as the chanting ended, the massive tendrils of darkness attacked. Like giant versions of the magic he'd used to pillage their memories, the tentacles wove hungrily through the air and struck out at them all simultaneously.

Aveline deflected several blows from one with her shield, but on its third pass, the branch of darkness split in two against her shield and slithered around the edges toward her. They wrapped around her arm and although Aveline easily severed them with a slice of her longsword, Hawke could see the bright red scores on her arm where they'd attached themselves.

At the same time, Isabela was performing an intricate dance with another tendril, bobbing and weaving as it tracked and followed her swift movements. After a few moments, the pirate had completely tangled the tendril around itself, allowing her to begin slicing off sections with efficient swipes from her paired blades. The darkness recovered quickly, however, reforming itself and beginning the dance anew.

At the edges of the room, Varric tried a variety of tricks that hit the darkness multiple times at once, from fire bomb bolts to bolts that split in mid-air into multiple smaller, faster projectiles.

Hawke took all this in with a blink. Recognizing that their progress against the darkness was steady but slow, she decided their best approach was to go for Frollo himself. She could barely see him at the roiling core of the darkness, but his eyes were still a bright, burning red and he grinned maniacally at them.

"Your petty ploys are still no match for the ancient might of the Seekers of Truth," he shouted. Then he started to quote from the Chant.

"Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Hawke centered her power with a deep breath. Throwing her hands into the air, she summoned a massive electrical storm that rent the air with crackling lightning strikes. She watched the powerful bolts make contact with the eerie tentacles, tearing gaping holes in the darkness with a flash of blue light and a puff of smoke.

Frollo, however, sprang to life, dodging and weaving away from the deadly strikes with astonishing speed. Disconcertingly, his words never faltered.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written."

Isabela must have come to a similar conclusion about the Seeker, as she abruptly darted in behind him for a quick, two-handed strike. But just as she was about to connect with his spine, a massive branch of darkness wrapped around her waist and lifted her bodily into the air. She cried out as the tendril bit into her bare flesh, which was little protected by the typically brief tunic she wore.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him."

Aveline charged in, swinging her sword in frenzied arcs around her as she cut her way toward the tendril holding Isabela. One stout chop and the pirate was free and tumbling to the ground.

"Foul and corrupt are they
Who have taken His gift
And turned it against His children."

Varric started a flurry of attacks to distract the Seeker while Aveline grabbed Isabela's arm and dragged her to safety.

"No one kicks your ass but me, strumpet," Aveline grunted. Isabela smiled briefly through her grimace of pain. Meanwhile, Hawke stretched out with her healing magic to soothe the bleeding and weeping lacerations crisscrossing Isabela's dark skin.

"They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones."

Hawke was so focused on the healing that she didn't see the tendril coming for her until it had wrapped around her legs and was dragging her unceremoniously across the floor toward the Seeker. She was so taken off guard that it took a moment for her to feel the lancing pain from where the tendrils touched her, burning even through her robe.

"They shall find no rest in this world
Or beyond."

She let electricity crackle up from her hands and tried to burn through the darkness entangling her, but she couldn't get a good angle as she flew awkwardly across the room.

Next thing she knew, she was dangling upside down before the smirking Seeker. Immediately, she cast glittering streams of ice at him, but at the same time, felt the familiar wash of spirit energy draining away her remaining mana. She shuddered from the smiting as well as the encroaching feeling of helplessness.

"There is no escape for you, mage," he taunted. "Soon you will cower before the Chantry in repentance for your sins. You . . . and everyone you care about."

She fought back her panic, closing her eyes and reaching inside herself for the last shreds of mana. As she searched for a calm center from which to think, she felt an odd lurch, again like a key fitting into a lock, and then out of nowhere there was a surge of energy pulsing out of her. Opening her eyes in astonishment, she saw the pulse ripple through the air, cutting through the darkness and dispelling the dangerous tendrils. As they withered and evaporated before this strange new magic, she was of course summarily dropped on her head with a thud.

Scrambling back to her feet, she saw for the first time uncertainty on the Seeker's smug face. He staggered back, red eyes widening in shock. "How can this be?"

Her mana curiously renewed, Hawke reached out with both hands and bound him again in glowing lines of force, which this time seemed to hold him. His eyes darted in panic as she slammed him with a wave like his own spirit energy which seemed to draw the remaining darkness out of him. As she watched, the glow in his eyes sputtered out to a dull silver.

Her companions approached in a ring around them, breathing heavily but eyeing Hawke curiously.

"You still cannot win, mage. The Divine will hunt you down. No one defies the Maker himself without consequence!" Frollo sneered.

Hawke chuckled humorlessly. "Indeed. However, merely being a mage does not defy the Maker's will."

"Your Templar cannot evade judgment. Even if you murder me, you will all suffer the Divine's righteous justice!" he continued.

She felt a sense of foreboding at this very real threat. But before she could finish drawing her knife, suddenly Aveline was there, sword flashing. With a quick, brutal thrust, the Seeker was dead, his life's blood pooling beneath him.

Hawke gaped at Aveline, who stood over the Seeker's corpse with an implacable look on her blood-spattered face. In a hollow voice, she murmured, "Justice." Then she moved away to stare out the window.

They were all stunned to silence at Aveline's ruthlessness, but Isabela was the quickest to recover. Impatiently wiping a smear of blood from her cheek, she said, "Well, come on then. Let's get this cleaned up. We need to ditch the body before someone comes looking."

They tidied up the room as well as they could, lowering the corpse in a sack down to the base of the tower where a small boat bobbed silently on its mooring. Isabela attached a big grappling hook to the windowsill and dropped the heavy rope over the side.

"Down we go, my lovelies. I'll climb down once everyone's out."

"Bela, was it a difficult climb?" Hawke asked as she waited for her turn.

"Between the rough masonry and those bright white flowers burrowing their way up the tower, it was a piece of cake. But, whoever thought to add such vines to the Circle Tower is just asking for trouble . . ." she replied in amusement.

Hawke chuckled, imagining mages escaping down the Tower that way and wondering if the Knight's Bloom story might have some truth to it.

It was an easy task to immolate the Seeker's remains and scatter them into the waters of a nearby cove where no one would ever find them. It was soon done and Cullen and the baby were safe.

They all stood silently, watching the waves wash the evidence out to sea. Hawke held the Seeker's amulet in her hand, morbidly fascinated at how it continued to pulse in time with her heartbeat.

She wondered how she could ever tell Cullen about any of this. Even if she had not struck the final blow, the Seeker's blood was still on her hands. Literally, she realized in chagrin, making a mental note to take a long, hot bath when she got home.

On top of everything else, she had infiltrated Cullen's Gallows to perform this foul deed. What would he think? She tried to imagine his expression as she owned up to the night's events, but she could only picture the distant, hurt look in his eyes every time she'd seen him since their fight. He was so principled, he may not understand. She wasn't sure she wanted him to understand her shameful, burning need to destroy the Seeker before the man could destroy them. Cullen was too good. Certainly too good for her.

Finally, Varric spoke up, drawing her back from her dark thoughts. "So, Hawke, what was that back there? I've never seen you do anything like that before."

Aveline and Isabela watched her wordlessly, clearly also curious.

Hawke sighed. "It seems that the littlest Templar wanted to do his part as well . . ." She put a hand protectively over her stomach, still in awe of the remarkable power she had tapped there.

Everyone's faces reflected her own surprise. Then Varric chuckled. "Well, at least you've finally picked out a nickname . . ."

ooXXoo

As Hawke tiredly stepped into her bedroom just before dawn, she had that sense again of another presence. Not taking any chances this time, she immediately pulled on her magic, electricity crackling wickedly between her hands as she tried to counter any threat. Then, just before she released the energy, her mouth fell open in surprise.

In the bluish flickering light she saw Cullen sitting calmly on her bed. He was clad only in tunic and trousers, his face unreadable as he watched her impassively.

She let her magic evaporate away, throwing the room into darkness again. She quickly lit a lamp and approached him cautiously. She saw his eyes flick down the front of her robe which she knew was scorched from her struggle with the darkness and splashed with the Seeker's blood.

They were both silent until his mouth quirked up at the corner. "Expecting someone?" he asked dryly.

She laughed, hearing a slightly hysterical edge to it, and then swallowed nervously. "Not . . . exactly."

He was quiet for a beat and then, in a deceptively casual voice, said, "There was a bit of a disruption at the Gallows tonight. And, I hear the Seeker is . . . unaccounted for."

Chapter 22: A Matter of Time

Summary:

Cullen confronts Marian about the eventful week she's had and the Grand Cleric regroups.

Hawke had to remind herself to breath as she stood rooted in place. She knew that Cullen would find out eventually. After all, they had murdered the Seeker on his doorstep and Cullen was very good at his job. But this was much sooner than she had expected. She couldn't help but glance wide-eyed at the door behind her, wondering if there was a squad of Templar waiting to cart her away.

"No one knows yet. The man could even have just . . . left without saying anything." He spoke without inflection, his expression still neutral, which put her even more on edge.

He stood up and walked over to lean his shoulder against the mantel, crossing his arms. "But, that's not why I'm here. There are some things I have to say to you that couldn't wait." He gave her a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Admittedly, I thought you'd be home sooner."

Her pulse raced in trepidation and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear him out. She shrugged wordlessly as she continued to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, part of her still thinking about how quickly she would be able to reach the door.

His eyes dropped and he started a somber perusal of the rug. "I've done a lot of thinking about . . . us this week."

She held her breath again. This did not sound good.

"You . . . were right. I'm ashamed to admit that I was using a double-standard where you are concerned. I . . . never really think of you as a mage, as having to struggle with what that entails. That's my own failing. It's my duty to protect you. It's also my duty to protect the people around you, although that usually isn't necessary." His lips lifted briefly in a wan smile, which disappeared as he gave a deep sigh. "Usually, you don't even need me."

"No, Cullen, I d—"

"Please. Let me finish.

"I . . . I also know that you're not the only mage who could function like this outside the Circle. We need to start to have better faith in our Harrowed mages, who have proven their strength against temptation.

"In a different world, I suppose such mages could . . . could do what they like, go where they like, with their own Templar protectors to keep them safe wherever that may be. But that just isn't practical. I don't have the resources. My ranks get thinner every day.

"The only feasible model right now for all mages is to protect them together. In the Circle. It works. It's necessary. But that doesn't mean there aren't other models, somehow, somewhere, that would work better. I just . . ." He looked up at the ceiling as if searching for answers. "I just don't know what they are. So for now the Circle is what we have. What I have."

He still sounded intensely conflicted, but she'd never seen him this introspective before about his duty. It reminded her of his reflections that day on the ledge at the Wounded Coast, but then he hadn't gone nearly so far. She could see what this was costing him and she ached in sympathy, wishing she could make things easier for him, his duty simpler and less onerous.

He gave another bone-weary sigh, shaking his head, and then looked back at her. "Does that mean I should put you in the Tower? Probably." He gave a half-hearted, bitter laugh and raked his hand roughly across his eyes for a moment. "There would be more Templars to keep you safe."

He dropped his hand from eyes, pushing away from the mantel. "But providence has given you your freedom at the same time that it has brought us together. Outside the Circle. And . . . in my heart, I know that I can protect you. That . . . I'm all you might need." The intense look he suddenly shot her made her whole body flush with heat, so raw and vulnerable was the emotion there. "Maybe this is a model that could work just . . . for us. For our . . . family, if we so choose."

Hawke started at his use of that word. They seldom talked about the future and had never really talked about a family. Given her new circumstances, this was a welcome—if surprising—sign.

Seeing her expression, he suddenly looked worried, face closing off. "If . . . if you'll still have me, that is."

Cautiously, she started to close the space between them, a small frown between her brows. "So you're suggesting . . . what? That I get my own . . . personal Templar?" she asked uncertainly. When she reached him, she bit her lip and then gently cupped his cheek with her palm. "That he'll keep me safe, always, wherever I go?" she whispered. She gave him a tremulous smile. "I think all the girls will be jealous."

He made an inarticulate sound deep in his throat and crushed her against him, lifting her off her feet as he buried his face in her neck. She held him just as tightly, wrapping her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him closer. She felt his heart beating savagely against hers and was comforted by the simple fact that her own was beating normally and in time. Locked in his embrace, feeling him solidly pressed against her, she gave a broken sob and finally started to feel like everything might be okay. That the horrors of the last week were really in the past and they could start to look forward to the future.

He broke their tight embrace only to start kissing her hungrily while he maneuvered them toward the bed. She pawed at his clothes, trying to remove them quickly, but with a firm hand on hers, he stopped her.

"Gently, love. We have all the time in the world," he said with a smile, reaching up to her face and tenderly wiping away the few tears that had escaped. He then began to kiss her slowly and deliberately while unclasping her mage robe one excruciating button at a time.

"But . . . Cullen . . . it's almost dawn," she managed in between kisses.

"Leon is covering for me in the event that I'm not back tonight," he assured her, a promise in his eyes, before returning to his leisurely removal of her clothing.

All the time in the world. She closed her eyes with a dreamy sigh, knowing this for a beautiful fiction, but was content to enjoy what time they had before the world inevitably intruded on them.

ooXXoo

Cullen ran his fingertips lightly up and down Marian's hip where she lay spooned against him. In silent accord they watched the dawn sky brighten outside her tall windows, almost like an affirmation. The pale light crept into the room and started to limn the naked curves of her body under his hands.

He had used every technique he could think of to wed her to him again, body and soul. With their feelings so open and near the surface, their lovemaking had been as intense as their first time—although without any overenthusiastic magical interruptions this time. Now he was floating in exhaustion, but he resisted the lure of sleep. He felt her shift against him.

"So, Cullen, did you come to these realizations about us . . . tonight, then?"

"No, I actually came to them shortly after our disagreement."

"Really? But you've seemed so . . . distant this week."

"So have you. Marian, you wouldn't even look at me. I thought that you couldn't forgive me for having doubts. For . . . leaving that night. I thought that I had lost you."

"I guess I was worried that if I looked too closely, I'd see resentment in your eyes. Or worse. But, I could never blame you for having doubts. I know it was a shock for you to think we disagreed on something so . . . fundamental for you."

He was quiet as he thought about this. Shock was probably the right word. "It just took me some time to realize that we never really disagreed. We both know that Templars and mages belong together . . ."

She gave a throaty chuckle at this as he started a slow trail of kisses down her spine that made her shiver. "Hmm . . . don't distract me. So, then, why did you come here tonight? Why couldn't it wait?"

He leaned into her back, hooking his hand around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I . . . had a feeling you were doing something reckless tonight. I couldn't stand the idea of something happening without this being resolved between us. And, ahem, it seems that I was right." He gave her nip on her shoulder which made her yelp.

Turning serious, he asked softly, "So are you going to tell me what happened?"

She was quiet for so long, he started to wish he could see her face. "I thought we were past the need for secrets, love," he gently chided. "In the training yard tonight, I presume that was Merrill's new light storm you were telling me about. Somehow, you were there. Why?"

"I'm . . . not sure you want to know."

"Marian, I need to know."

There was another long pause. "The Seeker is dead."

He sighed. "I had begun to suspect something like this," he said resignedly. "So, he really was after you? Did he attack you?"

She gave a strangled laugh that ended in a sob. "Not . . . not precisely."

This puzzled him and he wished again that he could see her face. "Then, what happened? How did he die?"

"We killed him."

"We . . .?"

"Well . . . I . . . did, with Aveline, Varric, and Isabela."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the last name, but those were questions for later. It was vexing having to draw out every little detail from her and he was becoming increasingly concerned. "I don't understand. Did this happen at the Gallows tonight? Why were you even there? Presumably it wasn't just to kill him."

He felt her go rigid at this. Wordlessly, she slipped out of bed and wrapped herself in her robe. Her eyes looked haunted and suddenly he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He propped himself up on an elbow and waited for her to say something, but she paced instead.

"Marian? Talk to me. You couldn't have gone there to kill him deliberately. In . . . in cold blood. There must be something else to this."

A guilty spasm crossed her face. "I just couldn't take the chance . . ."

He felt his eyes widen in dismay at her admission. If she'd murdered someone, there must be a reason. "So you . . . learned that he really was after you? He . . . he was a threat?"

"He—" Her face twisted in anguish and she turned away to look into the fire.

Cullen waited, letting the silence draw out. He saw her shoulders rise and fall again as she continued to stare at the flames.

Finally, he said softly, "Please. Help me understand."

She reluctantly turned back to him, looking defeated. "He was a threat. But he wasn't after me." She paused again. "He was after you."

Her soft words hit him like a slap in the face and many things suddenly fell into place. I should have known.

"The Divine knows that you turned against Meredith at the end. They've always known, or suspected. And now the Seeker knows everything . . . knew . . . everything . . ." She took a shuddering breath, continuing in a rush, "He was going to charge you with insubordination. Insurrection. Fraternization. The whole reason he was here was to gather evidence to prove it to the Divine and Knight-Vigilant. I was just a . . . tool to use against you. Collateral damage. He thought that your judgment had been compromised from . . . consorting with a . . . mage." The last word was little more than a breath. "He knew all about us. He thought we'd conspired together somehow to overthrow Meredith. He wanted to send us to Aeonar."

At last he recovered his voice. "How did you learn all this?"

"You know that Aveline has been . . . ill. Well, it seems there was a bit more to it than that." She haltingly told him about the forgetfulness and distraction both Aveline and she had been experiencing recently, that it had been caused by the Seeker forcibly stealing their memories.

He could only listen in horror, shocked that it seemed some of the scarier bedtime stories about Seekers were actually true. And, that he had been absent for all of it.

"Did he harm you?" he demanded, sitting up.

She looked away but not before he could see the pain in her eyes. "The Seeker's methods were . . . not pleasant. At least Aveline doesn't remember that part."

"Then, how did you put it all back together?"

"I . . ." She bit her lip and then gave a slightly breathless laugh. "I've been trying to think of a happier way to tell you this. I'm . . . pregnant."

Time seemed to stop for him as he absorbed this news. Then he felt so many emotions at once he almost couldn't sort through them. Jubilation. He was going to be a father! Sadness. What a world to bring a child into. Panic. What does a baby have to do with the Seeker's death?

She stood before the fire and watched him uncertainly. She had wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to brace for his reaction. He decided he didn't want to ruin this moment for them, so he let everything else recede for a moment.

He slipped out of bed and joined her by the fire. Gently taking her face in his hands, he kissed her, trying to put all his love, all his hope, all his dreams into that kiss. Then he wrapped her in his arms, resting his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. When he opened them, all he said was, "Thank you."

She smiled and a single tear worked its way down her cheek. "Oh Cullen, you won't believe it. I actually touched the baby, with my magic. It was so . . . beautiful. That's how I found out. Then, that's also how the . . . memories came back. Somehow the baby . . . he healed me."

As Cullen held her close to his heart, she finally told him the rest, what she remembered, what she plotted. What she did.

"I know what I did was extreme. I just . . . I couldn't . . . I just couldn't let him . . ." Her words slowed to a stop, but Cullen's mind swirled with a dozen realizations and questions.

Chief among them was that this had all happened because of him.

How could I not have understood the danger the Seeker presented? How could I not have guessed that he was after me? How could I have let my lies put us in danger?

How could I have let this man threaten my family? How could I have left her alone? How could I have let him hurt her?

How could I not have guessed that she was protecting me? Why hadn't I protected her?

How could she have gone to such extremes? . . . and, why hadn't it been me instead?

Slowly he noticed that she had continued speaking. ". . . but, I want you to understand. It wasn't just vengeance. It was my choice . . . my turn to protect you. So I did what I had to do."

He sighed. "This is on me now. My responsibility to bear, as it should have been all along."

"No! This is my fault. My guilt to bear. Cullen, I couldn't let you kill a Chantry Seeker. That's something I know you couldn't do. Something you shouldn't do. I never meant for you to have to—"

"Shh . . ." he interrupted. He took her face gently in his hands again. "You have done what was necessary, what I should have been wise enough and brave enough to do myself."

"But, it's my sin. I'm the . . . the . . . murderer." Tears welled out of her eyes, spilling down her face.

"Marian, from the story you've told me, you seemed to have sufficient cause to strike back at this man. I don't fault you for that. He clearly was a threat to us all. I would have done the same thing in your place." He paused and then went further. "And, this is different from what happened with Anders."

He saw her flinch at mention of her friend and look away. He knew it still ate at her, that she had been the cause of her friend's death, and it seemed he was correct in assuming that this had brought all those feelings back to the surface.

"He was the murderer. And, while, yes, he should have stood trial for his crimes, you did what you thought was right at the time. Honestly, given all the facts, a trial likely would have resulted in the same ending. Only you wouldn't have to bear this unfathomable guilt." He sighed. "Marian, you're going to have to forgive yourself someday."

"Maybe I don't deserve to be forgiven. For any of it," she whispered, staring abjectly at the floor. Tears dripped unchecked onto the carpet.

"Everyone deserves to be forgiven. It's the only way we learn from our mistakes and move forward." He stepped close, putting his hands on her shoulders. "And, as for the Seeker. You should never have had to take such measures on my behalf. It should have been me protecting you. Both of you. This is my duty." And, with this, he placed his hand on her flat stomach, which did not yet reveal the new life growing within her.

He took her face in his hands again. Slowly, he leaned down and kissed each tear track, working his way across the bridge of her nose and down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. Her breath hitched and her eyes closed. He pulled back for a moment to admire the beauty of her tear stained face, the stubborn strength of her jaw, the gentle curve of her cheek. He saw her lower lip quiver as she trembled. He feathered a kiss across her lips, whispering, "Marian, you are my life. Anyone who threatens that life should answer to me. Will answer to me."

ooXXoo

Cullen listened and waited, but a week later there still was no outcry about the missing Seeker. The man had been so mysterious it was too easy to let people think he was just tending to his own business elsewhere. There was talk about the strange light show at the Gallows, especially when none of the Circle mages confessed to the rather impressive prank, but nothing that pointed to the Seeker. Or, thankfully, to Marian.

Only Cullen and Leon were aware that the recruit stationed outside the Seeker's quarters that night had ashamedly reported falling asleep for an extended period of time. They let him off with a light rebuke and asked him to keep the occurrence to himself. It seemed the news was contained. For now.

Cullen could only hope that the Seeker had not yet reported his findings to anyone. Marian was optimistic about this, she said, based on some of the Seeker's more cryptic comments. From what they could piece together, they assumed the Seeker had been sent by the Divine. While this ominously suggested Her Perfection still was concerned about Kirkwall, it gave them hope that Frollo hadn't been able to check in yet. They couldn't tell if the Grand Cleric had had any involvement in his investigation, but given the Seeker's disdain for Augusta, thought it unlikely. Until someone made another move against them, all they could do was wait for the other shoe to drop.

Cullen did his best to stop Marian from constantly worrying about it, encouraging them both to resume their normal routines. He was pleased that this meant he wasn't sleeping alone anymore, although it also meant he had to resume his pre-dawn sneaking back to the Gallows.

Merrill continued her efforts to help Aveline by studying the Seeker's amulet. It still eerily kept time with Marian's heartbeat and grew warmer and brighter the closer she came, which suggested that it functioned something like the phylacteries the Templars used for tracking mages. But since the Seeker had used it somehow in erasing Marian's memories, they were hopeful that it could hold some clue to restoring Aveline's.

Merrill was as astonished as anyone at the baby's apparent assistance in the fight against the Seeker.

"I don't know if it might be some weird Templar thing—no offense, Cullen—or if any mage baby at these early stages might have similar abilities if properly . . . channeled. But, honestly, I wouldn't worry about our littlest Templar," she assured them. "He seems healthy and strong, in spite of all the excitement."

Cullen still shook his head at the nickname, sure that it was Varric's doing.

The diamondback game at Marian's also resumed, with the welcome addition of Isabela and Fenris now that they had returned to Kirkwall. Isabela, however, seemed to be disappointed that they weren't playing at the Hanged Man.

"But, it's so quiet and clean and . . . civilized here," she told Varric with a wrinkle of her nose. "How can you stand it?"

Varric shrugged. "It's not exactly safe for Hawke to show her face there anymore."

"Well, it's not really safe for anyone there, now is it? But that didn't stop me from renting my usual room again," she grumbled.

Having finally met Isabela, Cullen could now much better understand the stories he'd heard about the pirate captain. What he couldn't understand was Isabela and Fenris. A stranger couple he had yet to meet, himself and Marian included. Where she was bold, extroverted and crass, the tattooed elf was broody, taciturn and articulate, and yet somehow they seemed to work.

Cullen learned that Isabela had spent the last seven months introducing Fenris to the jolly chaos that was the pirate capital of Llomerryn, in her home country of Rivain. But, after a couple of recent jobs there went badly, they had decided it might be a bit safer back in Kirkwall for a time.

Apparently it was sheer happenstance that had the couple returning to Kirkwall the morning of Marian's planned assault on the Seeker. Isabela had gladly become the secret weapon that even a Seeker of Truth couldn't see coming when she stole in through the window of the tower.

Much amusement was had at Cullen's expense about the Knight's Bloom providing such easy access to the tower's upper levels, in spite of Marian's valiant attempts to take responsibility for the vines. He could only laugh himself, having no regrets about authorizing them.

Despite his reassurances to Marian, Cullen was still uneasy about covering up the sordid affair. Although he trusted that he and Leon could keep the secret, it seemed that all bets were off if another of these mind-reading Seekers came along. In any case, he knew that someday, someone would come asking after the silver-eyed man. It was just a matter of time.

ooXXoo

"Christiane, where is the Seeker?" Augusta demanded as the Mother entered her office.

Christiane froze in surprise. "The Seeker? I . . . I'm afraid I don't quite know, Your Grace. I . . . I suppose I haven't seen him very much this past . . . oh, week or so."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

Christiane suddenly looked flustered. "I . . . I have not had the pleasure of interacting with him much since he has joined us in Kirkwall. I haven't been . . ."

"Find him. Send him to me."

"Of course, Your Grace. I will ask Cullen about it."

Augusta's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Christiane, your role at the Gallows is to be aware of things like this. The Seeker is key to our plans. I do hope that nothing has gone . . . amiss."

"I'm sure everything is fine. I . . . I will talk to Cullen and we will look in to it. I'm sure we will resolve it shortly."

"Using a Templar to monitor a Seeker of Truth." Her voice dripped with scorn at the irony of the statement, making Christiane flush.

"Your . . . Your Grace . . . you don't think— But, Cullen would never—"

Augusta scowled at Christiane, finally annoyed at the woman's too familiar use of the commander's given name and now her defense of him. "Mother Christiane, you would do well to remember your purpose in Kirkwall. You were not brought here for your opinions. You are here because of your ruthless ability to get a task done. This seeming . . . partnership you apparently think you have with the Knight-Commander does not exist. I hope you have not developed a sympathy for the handsome Templar. Recall that we are rehabilitating him to our purpose, but if we cannot succeed, he will be removed just like that mage."

"Yes. Of course, Your Grace!" Christiane's eyes studiously watched the floor, her cheeks flushing even more deeply red.

Augusta observed the Mother's mortification with some chagrin. She had hoped Christiane's captivation with the Knight-Commander would be an asset in winning him to their way of thinking, but now she was beginning to reconsider. She was glad that this business would soon be over.

"Against that eventuality, Christiane, you should start to identify who is most loyal to him and who is more loyal to the Chantry. After all that nonsense with the Righteous, there must be Templars still at the Gallows who are similarly disgruntled with the Knight-Commander. If we must move against him, we will need to be ready."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"But, first, find the Seeker, wherever he is, and send him to me." She couldn't wait any more for whatever Frollo's convoluted endgame might be. She needed his information and she needed it now.

ooXXoo

Marian sighed, glancing at Cullen. "You don't need to hover," she reminded him again.

Initially, Cullen had been adorably flustered about the notion of having a baby, but now that he was more comfortable with the idea, he had started to fuss over her. It was starting to drive her a bit crazy.

Sitting in the study, she couldn't read more than two sentences in her book before he was offering more over-solicitous help.

"But, isn't there anything I can . . . do?"

"The only time I might possibly need help is when I'm puking my guts out every morning, when conveniently, you're already gone," she grumbled.

He looked so crestfallen at her comment that she immediately wished she could take it back.

"Cullen, please don't worry so. I'm really fine." She set down her book and walked over to him.

"I hate having to sneak away. Oddly, I wish I were here for your morning dash to the basin. It's where I should be."

"You're here when it's important, love. And, believe me, you'd rather be gone for those episodes." She chuckled and then took his hand. "It won't always be like this. We'll find a way to get official permission for us. Somehow we will. Who knows what conclusions people will jump to when I get big and round. Maybe that will be our chance." She smiled ruefully as she pictured herself waddling up all those stairs to the Keep each day.

"I don't want them jumping to any conclusions. I want everyone to know how happy we are. How . . . proud I am," he fumed.

She mentally kicked herself. Somehow she couldn't seem to say any of the right things today. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. "Who cares what people think, so long as we're together. That's what's important."

Although he had his arms around her, his body remained rigid and he wouldn't meet her eyes. Something was really upsetting him, so she waited to see if he would tell her more.

Finally, he said, "It isn't the . . . gossip I worry about. We deal with enough of that already." He glanced at her and she puzzled at the shadows in his eyes. "I . . . want the baby to know where he came from. To know . . . who his father was and that he loved him. To have a family . . . a . . . family name he can be proud of." He flushed at this admission.

Oh Maker. At last she understood. She felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner that, as a foundling, Cullen had never had such certainties growing up. "Cullen, he will always know where he came from, because you will be a part of his life. As you are mine. Always. And, he will never be able to escape the tales of how brave and noble and wise his father is. No matter where we are, or what our name is, you will never be a secret or a mystery for him."

He looked down at her, something like hope dawning in his eyes, and his body started to relax against hers. She tenderly touched his face, wondering what else she could say to comfort him.

She recalled when he used to call her the "scion of the Amell family" and realized now why there had always been a slightly ironic tone in his voice. Amell. Hawke. The long, twisting family trees her parents' surnames evoked were something she had always taken for granted. They were illustrious, surely, but had they ever had any real bearing on her life? Not until she had moved into the ancestral Amell estate and that was just geography.

"The names aren't important anyway. The people are. So long as we're together, all three of us, he'll be happy and know that he is loved. That is something to be proud of."

She leaned up and kissed him gently, but his kiss in return was intense and earnest, like he was trying to convince himself of her words. He then held her closely against his chest, laying his cheek against her hair.

An idea occurred to her. "Come with me," she said, taking his hand and leading him upstairs.

She took a deep breath and opened the door to her mother's old room. In the three years since Leandra's death, Hawke had only come in here a handful of times, although she knew Orana snuck in from time to time to dust.

As she stepped over the threshold, she felt a sort of peace for the first time as she let her new mission settle over her. She walked over to the bureau, to the small, inlaid jewelry box that had been the one thing her mother had brought when they'd fled Lothering. She opened it and quickly found her quarry.

She turned back to Cullen, who had stopped on the threshold with a look of uncertainty. She smiled and beckoned him closer.

When he stood in front of her, she took his hand and then upended a small pouch into his palm. With a tinny clink, two simple gold rings tumbled out. They had no markings or adornments, but somehow it was obvious that they were a perfectly matched pair.

His eyes got round and flew to hers, filled with questions. And anticipation.

She gave him a tentative smile. "My parents' rings, carrying many years of love, commitment and joy," she explained. "I know we don't have official permission from the Chantry to get married or even to have a relationship. But, with these rings and before the Maker himself, Cullen, I want to pledge to you that I want us to be together. Forever. I . . . know that we may not be able to wear them publicly yet, but someday I hope that we can."

Watching for his reaction, she finally saw the shadows dispel. The smile he gave her was infinitely tender as he wordlessly took the rings from his palm and then gently slid one on her finger and the other on his. A perfect fit. They both gazed down at their joined hands, the rings somehow making them look . . . different. But right.

After a minute, he slid the rings off again. Then, with a determined look, he reached for her locket where it lay at her breast, put the rings inside, and closed it with a loud click. "This is also my pledge to you, that when we can, I will marry you, Marian Hawke, before the Maker and the world. You already know you have my heart. I want you to carry these for us next to yours. Someday, we will walk in the sun together. I promise you that."

He pulled her into a gentle but sensual kiss that had her tingling all the way down to her toes. When he released her, he splayed his hand across her stomach. "And, you're right. No matter what happens, he will always know that he is loved, because he will see the love that brought him to this world burning brightly." He gazed at her in wonder. "I am a lucky man."

"You're damn right you are!" she said, chuckling and smiling up at him. She placed her own hand over his on her midriff. "And, so is he, to have such a father. Erm . . . he . . . or she. Humph. Who said it was going to be a boy, anyway?"

"I did," he said, nuzzling her ear and trailing his lips down the edge of her jaw. "Call it a hunch, after all the time I've spent becoming attuned to you."

"Oh really?" She laughed, shivering deliciously. "Well, Ser Cullen, we do, after all, want to make sure that you're right, so perhaps some more . . . attuning is called for." She smiled at him wolfishly.

"My lady, I live but to serve," he said, abruptly lifting her into his arms and making her cackle with delight. He then carried her down the hall and into their room.

Chapter 23: Insurrection

Summary:

Grand Cleric Augusta finally moves against Hawke and Cullen while the country starts its descent into chaos.

After another fortnight of waiting, Augusta was no longer optimistic about finding the Seeker. Christiane could discover no sign of him anywhere in Kirkwall and Augusta doubted that he would deliberately disappear for this long without saying something. Not when they were so close to completion. She reluctantly began to consider the possibility that something had happened to him.

Unfortunately, he had disappeared with all the information he had found, which meant she was no closer to ousting the troublesome mage from the Viscount's seat than when she had arrived in Kirkwall three months ago. She was so aggravated by this that soon the Chantry clergy were quite obviously staying out of her way. Yet, just as she was beginning to despair of a solution to the Hawke problem, she received some unexpected news.

Augusta was looking out the window, noting how peaceful and almost beautiful Kirkwall looked from a distance, when she heard Christiane come in.

"You wanted to see me, Your Grace?"

Without turning around, she asked, "Have you heard the news, Christiane?"

"What news, Your Grace?"

Augusta turned, unable to suppress the smile on her face. "Ostwick's Circle has fallen to the mages."

"F— Fallen? You mean, the mage uprising there was . . . successful?" Christiane gasped. "That is terrible news, no?"

Augusta chuckled and then sat down. Christiane followed, watching her uncertainly.

"Terrible, yes, but also . . . an opportunity. Our wait has come to an end. We no longer need the Seeker's information to move against the mage."

"But, won't the people resist this. We have no real grounds."

"We have grounds now!" she crowed. She handed the missive from Ostwick to Christiane.

Christiane's eyes widened as she read.

"This is exactly what we needed," Augusta gloated. "Tomorrow it begins. You know what to do."

ooXXoo

Cullen had been working since before the sun came up, his early-morning routine allowing him to get quite a bit done before anyone came around to bother him. The down side of this, however, was that people now knew right where to find him if they needed something.

A hesitant knock on his office door interrupted the still silence of the morning. Looking up, he saw Tilda hovering on the threshold, as if uncertain of her welcome. Things had remained tense between them since their discussion of her proposal.

"Have you heard the news about Ostwick?" she asked quietly.

He leaned back in his chair with a frown, the same somber mood falling over him as when he'd first heard. "I have. Grave news. Do the mages know yet? How are they taking it?"

"So far, I've mostly seen uncertainty. Some excitement. No one knows what it means."

He laughed humorlessly. "I know I certainly don't. But, my real concern is what will happen with the other Circles. Ostwick wasn't the only place seeing such turmoil."

She looked at him closely. "You . . . were expecting this?"

He shook his head. "I had heard there was discontent, but a full rebellion? No, that is a surprise."

They both fell silent.

"I imagine . . . something like this makes my proposal impossible now," she said slowly. They hadn't discussed it any further since that day.

He sighed. "Yes, Tilda, I'm afraid so. Now is not the time for experimenting, even if there are some . . . promising innovations we might . . . consider," he admitted grudgingly. "It's just too dangerous, for everyone."

"But, Cullen, we've been able to do so much . . ." she said in a regretful voice.

"I know. But, no matter how much we've accomplished here in Kirkwall, there are too many outside interests at play. The Divine continues to be concerned about us. This rebellion will no doubt just intensify the scrutiny of every Circle in Thedas."

"Of course, you're right." She grimaced. "I . . . I've been meaning to apologize for being so . . . indirect in bringing you my proposal. I shouldn't have involved Hawke. I only heard much later that there had been a rift between you two. I would hate to think I had anything to do with that."

"Everything is back to normal now, Tilda. No harm done." He smiled, feeling generous now that everything was resolved with Marian.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad. I—"

Suddenly Bodahn burst into his office at a run. "They've taken her," he declared breathlessly.

Cullen shot to his feet. "Marian? Who's taken her?"

"Templars arrested her. They . . . came to the estate at dawn."

"On whose authority? On what grounds?"

"They said . . . sedition."

Tilda gasped and shared a concerned look with Cullen.

Cullen turned back to Bodahn, alarm sharpening his focus. "Do you know where they took her?"

"I . . . I don't, messere. I suppose I would have thought . . . here."

"Not that I am aware of." He glanced quickly at Tilda, who shook her head as well. "I need to look into this," he said apologetically to her.

"Of course! Go." She paused on her way out the door. "Cullen, this seems awfully suspicious in the wake of the events in Ostwick."

"That was also my thought." His mouth thinned to a grim line. "Looks like I'm going to have a talk with Christiane."

Tilda left and Cullen turned back to the dwarf. "Bodahn, please go back to the estate in case she comes home for whatever reason. And, I'll—"

Just then, Mother Christiane traipsed into his office. "Ah, Knight-Commander. I hope I'm not interrupting." She glanced disdainfully at Bodahn.

Cullen looked the dwarf steadily in the eye. "I will take care of it, Bodahn. You have my thanks."

The dwarf nodded and bowed himself out.

"Just the person I was coming to see," Cullen said curtly to Christiane.

"How convenient," she said, smiling pleasantly and sitting down.

As the door shut, Cullen got straight to the point. "Where is she?"

"You need to focus on your own future. It could be very bright if you make the appropriate choices."

"Where is she?" he demanded again, trying to keep careful reign of his temper.

Christiane sighed. "You're better off without her, Cullen. She is the instigator of the Circles' rebellion. Ostwick's Circle has already fallen. Who knows who might be next?"

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "What?"

"They rise up in her name, Cullen. Hawke is now the rallying cry on the lips of rebelling mages across Thedas. After those events with Meredith, she is seen as the symbol of the Templar's unyielding power over the mage. The Grand Cleric is within her rights to protect Kirkwall from further unrest from the mages here. Having a mage as Viscountess—the very mage whose name is being chanted in uprisings across the country—is . . . untenable."

"But . . . she saved the Circle that day!"

"Cullen, don't you see? It doesn't matter what really happened, only what people think. Throughout the Free Marches, people think she decimated the Circle here when the mages rose up. She sided with the Templars, the supposed oppressors. And what's worse, she's a mage herself!"

"The people of Kirkwall have always supported her," he insisted.

Christiane snorted. "They are a vanishing minority. She's much too politically dangerous now to be allowed to go free. You can't save her. And, if you don't distance yourself from her, you will be implicated as well."

His temper flared into full-blown rage and he felt the urgent need for violence bubbling up within him. "Christiane," he gritted, "you will tell me where she is being held, or Andraste help me, I may do something we will both regret."

She sighed mournfully, shaking her head. "No, that won't be necessary, Cullen."

Christiane rose to her feet and opened the door. A dozen Templars stood in the hall. Two knights stepped up to block the doorway, standing at attention as if awaiting her orders.

She clasped her hands patiently. "You now have a choice. You will work with us to build the strong Circle and the strong Kirkwall we need or you will also be . . . removed. We don't want more charges of insubordination, now do we?"

She smiled at this, the knowing gleam in her eye suggesting that she may know more about what happened with Meredith than she had led on. Quite a bit more, it seemed, and only now did he realize that he had gravely misjudged her.

Cullen eyed the knights who stood menacingly before him. "Stand down, men. That is an order."

The knights, however, ignored him.

Cullen recognized several of them as the deceased Ser Alrik's cronies. They had always been much more circumspect in their attitudes toward mages than Alrik and some of the more sadistic knights, which was why Cullen had allowed them to retain their positions. Apparently now he would bear the consequences for his leniency.

"Cullen, these men are loyal to the Chantry. Don't think you can foment additional rebellion here." She turned to the knights. "Please escort the Knight-Commander to a holding cell, politely and quietly." She looked back at Cullen. "He merely needs some time to consider his options."

Cullen quickly weighed his more immediate options and realized that it was too risky to fight back just yet. Especially before he knew where they were holding Marian.

Clamping down his jaw, he complied and let himself be led away to his own dungeon. As he glanced down the hall, he caught a glimpse of Bodahn peeking around the outer door, watching with round eyes.

ooXXoo

Cullen had a new appreciation for the notion of cooling your heels in prison now that he had been sitting in the dungeon for hours, surrounded by cold stone and beset by an icy draft. He was freezing. His anger had run its course and so his only remedy now was vigorous pacing to keep his body temperature up and his mind focused.

He had heard no sounds of battle, so he could only conclude that Christiane's silent coup had succeeded. The idea that the Templars under his command could betray him so easily was hugely demoralizing. He hoped it meant that most of his knights didn't actually know what was happening yet.

Not that he really knew what was happening, either.

He supposed that he and Marian had been naïve to think that they were safe with the Seeker gone. Christiane would only get her orders from the Grand Cleric herself, so it seemed the woman was making her move against them at last. At least now, the lines had been drawn and they could stop playing nice.

If only he could get out of here.

He had finally put a stop to his frantic speculations about Marian after he had worked himself into such a frenzy of dread during the first hour that he had made himself physically sick. Now he carefully kept his thoughts compartmentalized, focusing only on where to look for her. There was still a chance she was being held somewhere at the Gallows, but with time slipping away, he concluded that Christiane would be his best source of information.

Now if only he could get out of here.

He heard the echoing click of heeled shoes approaching the cell and shortly he saw Christiane enter the room. She stood well back from the wall of bars that separated them, noticeably wary of any escape attempts he might try.

"Cullen, I've come to give you your second chance. Your opportunity to join us, for the good of Kirkwall."

"Us, Christiane? From whom does this offer come? Everyone knows that it is the Grand Cleric who holds your leash."

Christiane's eyes flashed at the insult. "You know nothing," she sneered. "Who do you think has been protecting you from her?"

He snorted skeptically, which made her step toward him.

"Cullen, don't you see? I know that you were covering up what happened to the Seeker. I believe that he was the victim of foul play that night of the light show in the training yard. I spoke to the Templar who mysteriously fell asleep outside Frollo's room that night. I presume you must have killed the Seeker and suppressed the evidence."

He remained silent, realizing yet again that he had underestimated her.

She took another step toward him, a frightening light in her eyes, and started to wring her hands. "But, you needn't worry. I . . . I haven't told the Grand Cleric. She doesn't need to know. And, now that the Seeker is gone, it will be easy to conceal your past . . . indiscretions. You can still be saved!" She took another step closer, her eyes pleading with him. "Please. Let me save you. There's so much good we can do in Kirkwall. Together."

"Christiane, I . . ." he started, looking down in a show of confusion.

"Yes?" she answered hopefully, stepping closer again.

Suddenly his arm shot out from between the bars, grabbing her roughly around the neck and pinning her in front of him against the cell wall. She gasped in surprise as he knocked the wind out of her. By the time, she could take a breath to scream, he had his other hand over her mouth.

"You will open this cage, or Andraste be my witness, I will snap your neck as you stand," he hissed in her ear.

She squeaked something from behind his hand.

"I'm going to remove my hand, but if you scream, I promise you will regret it," he said severely and then loosened his hold on her mouth.

"I don't . . . I don't have the key," she whimpered. Tears were streaming down her face and dripping on to his hand.

Then, he heard a deep chuckle.

"Nice plan, Lover Boy, only next time maybe make sure she has the key first?"

Framed in the doorway was Varric with a huge smile on his face, backed by Aveline, Merrill and Fenris, all trying not to laugh.

Cullen smiled in relief, releasing Christiane into Fenris's custody when they all entered the room. "Perfect timing. I honestly wasn't sure what I was going to do next," he said with a chuckle.

Aveline walked toward Cullen. "You know, I once warned Hawke that I probably wouldn't be able to break her out of the Gallows if you were to have her arrested. I never would have imagined that I would be breaking you out of here."

Varric strolled forward, cracking his knuckles loudly. "Now, allow me." He pulled out some shiny tools from a pouch at his waist and after a few twists and pulls, the lock on the cell clicked opened.

Fenris had caged Christiane against the wall with a wicked, two-handed broadsword that was longer than she was tall. The fearsome warrior's intricate tattoos were glowing blue and he glowered at her menacingly. The whole effect seemed to have petrified her with fear.

Cullen exited the cell, clapped Varric on the shoulder briefly in thanks, and then strode to Christiane. He grabbed her by the neck and pinned her roughly against the wall.

"Now, Christiane, let us begin again. Tell me where she is, or I will run you through!"

Christiane was a little wild eyed and answered promptly. "She's . . . at the Chantry."

"Where in the Chantry? They have no cells in the estate there."

"Not the temporary Chantry, the new Chantry. You'll probably find her in the newly built cells underneath the cathedral construction site."

"What do you mean underneath?"

"There are warrens of old ruins underneath much of Hightown. The Grand Cleric has incorporated some of them into the new cathedral."

"Incorporated in what way?"

"You will see. And, if I were you, I would hurry . . ." she added forebodingly.

Cullen stood back. "Varric, can you lock her back in the cell?"

"Of course. But, anyone will be able to hear her down here. Are you sure don't want me to . . .?" Varric trailed off, his unspoken suggestion hanging in the air.

"No. She doesn't matter. All we need is enough of a head start to get out."

Once Christiane was secured inside the cell, Cullen turned to her. "I thank you for the information. In return, you may keep your life. Maker have mercy on you."

"Cullen, you are making a mistake!" Christiane cried. "The Grand Cleric will show you no mercy."

"Good. Because she will also receive none." He looked at Marian's companions. "Let's go."

While they all filed out of the room, Merrill grabbed Cullen's arm and stopped him.

"I thought perhaps you could use this." She handed him the Seeker's amulet which pulsed slowly but faintly. "If it does work like a phylactery, it might help us find her."

As he took the amulet in his hand, feeling the warmth of each steady pulse, he was almost weak with relief. She was alive. After those hours in the cell, he hadn't allowed himself even to hope for fear of being overwhelmed with despair again. He shut his eyes for a moment and then looped the amulet's chain around his neck. He slipped it inside his shirt where he felt it pulse next to his heart, a steadfast reminder that she was nearby and waiting for him to find her.

"Thank you, Merrill," he managed to get out around the lump in his throat.

She gave him a quick smile, squeezing his arm in understanding, and moved to catch up with the others.

As they rounded the last corner out of the dungeons, they ran into Isabela keeping watch from a shadowy corner.

"It's about time! It seems our escape route is cut off. Do all the ruddy Templars in this fortress know about that so-called secret Darktown tunnel?" she asked in irritation.

Cullen peeked around the corner and saw a group of knights blocking the passage out. He knew this must be Christiane's doing. Thinking through their options, finally he said, "I think we should try the courtyard exit."

"You mean, the Gallows' front door? Did they addle your brain in that cell?" Isabela asked in exasperation.

"There hasn't been an outcry of any kind, so I suspect not everyone knows what's happened. We may be able to just walk out of here without being challenged."

"That is quite the risk," Fenris rumbled.

Varric whistled appreciatively. "And, here I thought Hawke's planning skills were bad. You two make a better couple than I thought."

"No," Aveline interjected, "it's a gamble, but it could work. Of course, if it doesn't work, we're sitting ducks in that courtyard, with the harbor at our backs."

"Well?" Cullen looked around at the group.

"Don't worry, Cullen," Merrill said cheerily. "We question Hawke all the time, too, but we're still with you. Lead the way."

The plan seemed to work, as they walked through the bowels of the Gallows and gained the main floor without incident. They had received several curious looks from the apparently oblivious Templars and mages they passed, but no one moved to stop them. Cullen tightly gripped his sword and shield as they moved through Templar Hall, relieved that he had been able to grab them from his office as they passed by.

The square outside Templar Hall was eerily quiet as they emerged under the cold grey sky. Their footfalls down the steps seemed to echo loudly as they approached the exit to the courtyard. Apparently, their luck had finally run out, however, when in through the gate emerged a massive force of armed men. From the look of their tarnished Templar armor, Cullen could only conclude they were members of the Righteous.

The former Templars stopped in shock, facing the companions in silence for a moment, until their leader yelled, "It's the Knight-Commander! Stop him!"

Cullen was impressed to witness Marian's companions all simultaneously burst into action. Fenris gave an intimidating battle cry and a blue pulse of lyrium-fueled force magic threw back the Righteous standing before him, stunning them as they fell. Aveline rushed in behind him, ramming her shield into the nearest enemy and knocking him out cold, just as she was already engaging the next in a steady rhythm of attack and counterattack.

Behind them, Varric was laying down a suppressing fire with his crossbow, still wisecracking as he went. Nearby Merrill was muttering and waving her hands, conjuring a crackling inferno that engulfed the small square and caused the Righteous to break formation in their haste to escape the flames.

Cullen felt his focus narrow to his immediate environs as the tide of the battle swept him up. He was momentarily distracted, however, when a blur of long dark hair suddenly appeared next to him, hamstringing the man who apparently had been about to run him through. Isabela stood up, gave him a wink, and then nimbly catapulted herself at another nearby group of Righteous followers.

Cullen turned to his next assailant, a former knight he remembered for his particular cruelty toward mages during their Harrowing. He could only speculate that Christiane had offered to reinstate the Righteous under her new regime. Ducking under a desperate swing, he caught the man's sword against his own, using the guard to twist the blade out of the man's grasp. Disarmed, the former knight stumbled back in panic and was soon pummeled unconscious with Cullen's shield.

The fallen zealot, however, was quickly replaced by three more heavily armored men closing in on Cullen. A quick glance around the square revealed that despite their skill, his group was still badly outnumbered. Focusing again on the three before him, he felt a tickle at the edge of senses and immediately tried to dispel any surrounding magic just as he felt the smite hit him.

He was thrown backward and landed heavily against the flagstones. He scrambled to his feet just as a sword struck sparks from the stones right where his head had been. A quick parry of a second sword heading toward his neck blocked most of the force of the blow, but the tip of the blade still skidded up toward his face, slicing deeply into his cheekbone. Spinning away from the strike, he used his momentum to barrel into the third man, laying him out with a single blow of his shield.

He backed away carefully from the two remaining men. Now that he had regained his balance, he easily stepped back out of the path of another wild swing and executed a precise counterstrike that he felt bite into the man's torso, dropping him. Cullen released a blast of spirit energy that knocked the other man to his knees and followed with a brutal armored kick to the man's head that put him down as well.

As he turned to assess the next attack, he felt a familiar infusion of warmth flooding his cheek and then his skin was knitting itself back together, healing the damage. He stretched out his senses and followed the trickle of magic back across the square to its source, finally alighting on Tilda who stood on the steps from the mages' Tower with her arms outstretched. She caught his eye for a moment and then turned away to continue directing the mages and Templars that were streaming out of the building.

Soon, the square was filled with people, greatly evening the odds as mage and Templar alike engaged the Righteous. No doubt surprised at this sudden rally, the Righteous were slowly being beaten back. Cullen heard Tilda continue to call out orders to both groups while another mage was slowly conjuring a huge barrier of fire between the mages on the stairs and the Righteous trying to reach them.

"Ser!"

Cullen turned and saw Leon fighting his way toward him.

"Ser, the First Enchanter says you should go. Find Serah Hawke. We can take care of this incursion of infidels."

Cullen looked up at Tilda in surprise. As he watched, he saw her raise her arms above her head again, her face contorted in concentration as another enormous wall of fire erupted near the courtyard gate, effectively cutting off most of the combatants from the exit. She looked at him from across the square, nodded her head, and then flapped her hands at him, like she was shooing him away. He nodded and then turned back to Leon.

He clapped the Knight-Captain on the arm. "Leon, do what you can to calm things down here. After the Righteous are vanquished, don't let it come to Templar fighting Templar. We need to be united at all costs. Whatever happens, stay true to the Order. I'll send word once I've rescued Marian."

"Of course, Ser."

"And Leon . . ."

"Ser?"

"Thank you."

"It has been my honor, Ser Cullen." He clasped his fist across his chest in a sign of respect and then ran off.

Cullen caught Aveline's eye. "We're done here!"

She nodded, yelling to the others. "We are leaving!"

Like the experienced unit they were, Marian's friends all instantly disengaged from the battle and slipped around the edge of the fire barrier to move toward the gate. Just as the last of them exited into the courtyard, he heard a roaring. Then the way behind them was completely blocked by crackling flames, cutting off any pursuit. Cullen mentally thanked Tilda again and then rushed across the quiet courtyard to the harbor quay.

As luck would have it, the boat was standing at the ready and shortly they were gliding toward the city. Concentrating on the steady pulse of the amulet against his chest, Cullen only hoped they wouldn't be too late.

Chapter 24: Mage Circle

Summary:

The Grand Cleric finally confronts Hawke with some harrowing results, while Cullen races to save her.

The steady drip of water echoing from somewhere in the dank cave had dulled Hawke's senses enough that she no longer had any sense of how long she had been waiting in the cold cell. She knew that the Templars had shown up at her house near dawn, since she had seen the sun just starting to gild the distant windows of Viscount's Keep during their trek through the silent streets of Hightown. But, now that she was underground, she had no frame of reference. Hours? Days? She wasn't sure.

She had been escorted down a rickety wooden stairwell near the new Chantry cathedral and into a labyrinth of ancient tunnels that seemed to be part of the complex she had once explored with Sebastian. The ruins they had encountered underneath the Lady Harriman's estate had looked similarly ancient but abandoned and decayed. These, on the other hand, showed signs of recent renovation.

Her cell was clearly the result of new construction, with its bars and magically locked door forged from brand new steel. The cell sat inside a larger fortified structure, however, that was much older and shared a style with those other ruins. The ancient carvings and ghoulish statuary, combined with the dim lighting and rough stone of the surrounding natural cave, gave the prison a disquieting sense of silent menace.

Adjacent to her cell was an enormous circular room encircled by a band of runes carved into the smooth stone floor. From where she sat on the floor of her cell, manacled hands wrapped around her knees for warmth, she thought she could see a slight shimmer in the air just above the circle's runes. It reminded her of warding circles she had seen, but she didn't recognize any of the glyphs.

Recalling the demon Lady Harriman had found down here to use in her plots against Sebastian's family, Hawke began to wonder what else might be lurking in the dark around her. The shadows seemed to snicker softly at her and she felt faint murmurs ripple against the edge of her senses. Something was here . . . and it was watching.

She shook her head again in disbelief at her latest predicament. Waking up to find Templars on her doorstep had evoked her worst nightmares and it had taken her some effort to contain her child-like terror of being dragged off to the Circle. Only the thought of what Cullen would say if she had killed innocent Templars had helped her control her immediate instinct to lash out and run. But, now that she had exhausted her ideas for escaping, she was starting to wish she had resisted her arrest. She had expected to be taken to the Gallows, where Cullen would ultimately have set everything to rights. She had not expected to be thrown in some dark oubliette underneath the Chantry and forgotten.

A brief shimmer and spark near the rune circle caught her attention and then she heard the tramp of heavy feet approaching. Most of the footsteps stopped, however, and soon only one set continued into the ancient prison. As the massive entryway creaked open, Hawke looked up into the haughty stare of the Grand Cleric herself.

Augusta. Of course.

The Grand Cleric stopped before the cell, her hands clasped behind her back. Her cold eyes revealing no hint of emotion as she watched Hawke stiffly get to her feet and face her. They studied each other for the space of several breaths.

"I love what you've done with the place, Augusta. The new Chantry is truly a wonder to behold."

"I'm glad you like it since it was specifically designed to hold you and . . . your kind."

"My kind?" Hawke responded in amusement.

"Yes, the builders of old knew something about containing magical threats."

"I don't seem to be the one making the threats here."

"Your mere existence is a threat. A mage as the Viscountess of Kirkwall? That threatens the very fabric of our society. Magic exists to serve man—"

"And never to rule over him," Hawke interrupted. "Yes, I know the Chant. The thing is, Andraste then went on to talk only about maleficarum. Those who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. Not all mages."

"Do not quote the Chant to me, mage," Augusta spat, her face twisted into a hateful sneer. "Prideful mage-lords like you were responsible for tainting the Maker's Golden City and causing him turn His face from us. It is our sacred duty to protect against such horrors ever happening again."

She shook her head and then continued in a resigned voice. "It is the worst kind of example you set, suggesting that mages can walk freely among us, can set themselves above the common man. Moreover, due to your influence, the Circle itself has become lax, with mages interacting with the outside world, seeking additional freedoms."

Hawke heard the echo of her conversations with Tilda and recognized that some of Augusta's fears were warranted. They were unresolvable arguments about the Circle that had raged since the founding of the Chantry. Because of this, Hawke now knew that she and Augusta would never have a moment's peace between them.

Augusta continued in a brisk tone. "But I don't have time just now to see to your religious education since you are not long for this world, Hawke. With you gone, we can secure Kirkwall against any further mage problems here."

Hawke felt a chill as she saw her death in the Grand Cleric's eyes. At least now I know the stakes.

"Augusta, you know these charges against me are spurious. I've done nothing wrong."

"That, of course, is patently false." Augusta sighed. "The Seeker was supposed to reveal your crimes so you could be properly punished, but curiously, he seems to have disappeared. Along with his evidence."

"You brought the Seeker here?" Hawke asked in disbelief, seeing the final puzzle piece fall into place.

"Yes," Augusta hissed, her calm façade finally slipping, "he was supposed to be here at my bidding, not haring off on some purpose of his own. Not getting himself dropped in a dark hole somewhere and jeopardizing everything." Regaining control with some effort, she grimaced in annoyance then shrugged. "No matter. I suppose I could always cheer myself up later by charging you with his death . . . or something worse. Alas, for now, I'll just have to settle for some mild sedition, branding you as a political prisoner."

"But, I have nothing to do with the mage Circles rebelling. This is absurd and no one will believe it."

Augusta chuckled humorlessly. "On the contrary, Hawke, you may not be involved directly, but all across the Free Marches, the tale is told of how the Champion supported the Templars to eradicate all mages in Kirkwall. The rebelling mages cry out your name as the embodiment of what they fight against. And, even here in Kirkwall, people whisper fearfully of how a mage could have risen to such a position of power over them. When they learn that you've been removed to protect them from more mage uprisings and a repeat of what happened here nine months ago, they'll be relieved."

Augusta walked over to the strange rune circle on the floor of the prison. "Especially when they learn that you tried to escape custody by calling on demons, who ultimately overpowered . . . and killed you."

She walked slowly along the edge of the glyphs, being careful not to step too closely to them. Hawke could see the air around the wards tremble at Augusta's proximity, confirming that the protective glyphs were active. But what were they protecting against?

"You'll actually be the first mage to test my new prison. Traditional confinement is sometimes not as . . . motivating as a prison with slightly higher stakes."

She turned back to the holding cell and smiled, an unholy glee creeping into her eyes that made Hawke recoil. For a woman of the cloth, Augusta was enjoying the prospect of her death a bit too much.

Curious, Hawke tried to stretch out with her magic to touch the edge of the circle, but the Templar wards on the manacles binding her wrists immediately shocked her and siphoned off her mana. The pain must have registered in her face since Augusta smirked.

"You can't use your . . . skills here, mage. But, no matter. With or without your magic, once you enter my mage circle, you won't be leaving it."

As if in response to Hawke's touch, the glyphs around the circle flashed. Then, with an abrupt crack, in its center appeared a massive pride demon. Its twisted and spiky body shimmered like the spirit world from which it had been spawned, and its inhuman eyes glowered at them.

"Augusta, what have you done?" Hawke cried. "Now you're consorting with demons?"

"Oh no, Hawke, apparently it is you who has been consorting with demons, in an unfortunate bid to escape justice," Augusta replied with counterfeit sadness. "You see, once you enter the binding circle, the only way to leave again is as a corpse. A very tidy way for the Chantry now to deal with mage troublemakers."

"How could you of all people have truck with a demon? You must know that it's twisting you to its own ends. No wonder you've been so hell-bent on my destruction!"

Augusta just laughed, a chilling but decidedly sane sound. "And, wrong yet again. Of course I know about the dangers of demons, which is why this one has stayed fully bound here in the ruins since we found it this way. No, mage, I've not been tampered with. My motives are purely driven by my sacred duty to Blessed Andraste and the Maker."

Suddenly, Augusta's eyes narrowed in anger. "How typical. Yet again, you invoke demons and magic as an excuse to tear down your enemies. Just like with Meredith. Telling lies of her corruption and possession, instead of owning up to the truth that you killed her for her views on mages. Well, we will continue her work, remaking the Kirkwall Circle into one the Divine can be proud of."

"Cullen has already achieved that! He has rebuilt the Circle into a place of learning and peace after Meredith's barbarities. He won't let you do this."

Augusta laughed dismissively. "Either Cullen has already joined us or he has been removed as well. His choices are simple and my patience is now at an end for mage sympathizers."

Hawke began to panic for the first time. For all her efforts, Cullen was still in danger. "Where is he? What have you done?" she demanded, hearing the fear in her voice.

Augusta shrugged. "He has been dealt with. Now . . ." She clucked her tongue, turning away abruptly as if her attention were now on something much more pressing.

Hawke's chest tightened painfully. But, she didn't have time to despair.

The Grand Cleric walked to the prison's entryway, opening it wide and snapping her fingers twice. Filing in behind her was a column of Templars who strategically positioned themselves around the room. Looking at them closely, Hawke could now recognize the slightly different insignia on their armor, indicating these were the Templars who had accompanied Augusta from Val Royeaux, not any of Cullen's. Two peeled off toward Hawke's cell, unwarding the lock and opening the door. They grabbed her by the arms and roughly dragged her toward the rune circle where Augusta stood waiting with arms crossed.

The demon watched them carefully. In a deep rumbling voice, it addressed Augusta. "Free me, priestess, and I can offer you more power than you could—"

"Ugh, not this again, Guardian," Augusta said in annoyance. "You know your lures have no power outside the boundary." With a dismissive flip of her hand at the Templars, she said, "In she goes."

Marian dug in her heels, struggling against the much stronger Templars holding her. "Augusta, please, at least remove the manacles. Give me a fighting chance."

Augusta's face furrowed in consternation. "Why would I possibly do that? It serves my story of your demise just as well to remove them after we fish out your dead body." She signaled again with her hand and the next thing Hawke knew, she was hurtling through the invisible barrier and landing heavily on the floor inside the rune circle.

Seeing the demon's circle up close, Hawke could now make out the numerous blood spatters crisscrossing the floor, a sinister memento of past prisoners. She immediately scrambled to her feet, eyes darting to take in the now visibly flickering dome of the containment ward that surrounded her . . . and the demon.

It chuckled, a sound which seemed to reverberate around the circle. "More offerings for the Guardian." Then it sniffed the air. "Aaaah. But this one has magic. Finally, a worthy morsel."

The Guardian started to stalk toward her slowly. She backed up toward the edge of the ward, twisting her hands futilely against the manacles which didn't budge even an inch. She dipped down into the well of her mana but came back dry thanks to the earlier draining. She backed up again but heard sizzling just as she felt a searing burn in her shoulder where it had glanced against the magical barrier

Great. She ground her teeth in frustration that the seemingly invisible barrier was now its own hazard once you were inside it.

The massive demon slowly shifted its stance. Then, faster than she would have thought possible, it charged at her. At the very last minute, she dove to the side, executing a clumsy roll and regaining her feet with an awkward push from her bound hands. The demon skidded into the barrier with a loud thud accompanied by more sizzling. But as it stood up, it shook itself briefly like a wet dog, and its burned flesh blurred and was remade whole.

And, self-healing. Wonderful.

It looked at her with a smile, seeming to enjoy toying with her, since she was clearly no match for it without her magic. It continued to stalk her around the circle, sometimes herding her around the edge and other times running at her full-tilt while she jumped out of the way, all the while watching her with its inhuman eyes. She vaguely wondered why it was just using brute force instead of any of its elemental magic.

Hawke just barely managed to skip out of the way of another charge, feeling the wind of the demon's passage as it barreled into the barrier next to her with a loud crackle and hiss. She awkwardly teetered on her feet, losing her balance as she stumbled back, but she still somehow managed to twist, push off the floor, and regain her feet in a semi-graceful tumble. She almost smiled in relief as she backed away to the other side of the circle in preparation for the demon's next charge.

Watching the Guardian carefully, she saw its beady eyes seem to drill into her for a moment, and then it smacked its lips delectably and leered at her. A quiet corner of her frantic brain finally recognized that the pride demon was actually feeding off of her small victories in eluding him. Her pride in surviving thus far was its appetizer. While the thought sickened her, she also realized that this was preferable to the demon moving on to the main course . . .

She wasn't sure how long it had been stalking her around the circle, but she knew she was starting to tire. She had succeeded in staying just a step ahead of it so far through adrenaline alone, but now she saw her movements become sloppier as her muscles protested their exhaustion.

She had just landed awkwardly on her shoulder while avoiding its latest advance, feeling the new bruise adding itself to the many others turning her body purple, when the demon stopped. The air around it pulsed for a moment, and then a large circle of blue flame erupted around her.

She cursed. It seemed the Guardian was also tiring of the game. If she didn't move quickly, she would soon be paralyzed, so she darted in the straightest line out of the blue circle, running up against the barrier again.

As it had intended, she had little space left to maneuver. It slowly closed in, blocking her in a wedge between the barrier and the paralyzing blue circle. It chuckled, acknowledging that the end was near.

Her mind raced, along with her pulse. In a last minute gamble, she darted past its feet, rolling just underneath its grasping talons. She thought she had succeeded until the long spikes on its forearm caught her across the back, slicing deeply. Crying out in agony, she blindly scrambled away, but it was soon on her again.

Scrabbling awkwardly on her knees, she tried to dodge its slicing talons, but its claws ripped painfully across her thigh. She instinctively jumped back, desperate to get away, and fell backward into the barrier. The combination of the burning crackle of skin and her piercing scream was horrendous, but in a strange twist of luck, the burn seemed to have cauterized the horrible wound on her back. She slid to the floor again, taking gulping breaths and not appreciating at first that the demon hadn't finished her off yet.

The demon tilted its head then gave another low chuckle. "Not quite fast enough. Your time has now come to an end, mage. It has been . . . a pleasure," it rumbled.

Shaking with reaction and bleeding from her injuries, she could only rise to her knees and wait for the final blow. It was stepping toward her, grinning in delight, when suddenly she heard a hoarse shout.

"Marian! No!"

She turned and saw Cullen rushing through the prison's entryway, followed by her friends who immediately engaged the attacking Templars. Drawing his shield from his back, he was running at full speed toward her. Toward the barrier.

"NO! Cullen, stop!" she shrieked in unreasoning terror. "If you cross the circle, you'll never escape!"

Without even pausing, he ripped Merrill's satchel with her lyrium supply from her shoulder, and then he ran through the shimmering barrier. He skidded to a halt just in front of her, barely in time to deflect the demon's next savage swipe with his shield.

Cullen stumbled for a moment as it knocked him back, but he quickly regained his footing, dropping the satchel at her feet and bracing for the next blow. As it glanced off his shield, he reached behind him to grasp her manacles. She felt rather than heard his murmured incantation. With a loud click, they snapped open and fell inert to her feet.

Wasting no time, she dove for Merrill's bag and greedily swallowed a lyrium potion. She felt her mana start to course through her as she whipped her hands around to send a crackling bolt of electricity flying toward the creature, followed with a massive wave of fire. Cullen was now harrying the creature with his sword, bashing its deadly talons away with his shield, and following with lightning quick counterthrusts.

The Guardian staggered back under this new onslaught, seeming to reassess its strategy. It raised its hands and sent a blast of ice shooting toward Cullen. They each dove out of the way, resulting in them being separated on either side of the circle. She called up a massive fire storm that raged chaotically throughout the enclosed circle, flames licking painfully at the demon's bony limbs as they reached out toward Cullen.

She took an unsteady step forward but felt the room tilt sickeningly as her head spun and her strength flagged. Looking down, she finally noticed that her leg wound was bone-deep and gushing blood, which in turn was rapidly making her lightheaded from blood loss. She was anxious at wasting precious minutes on herself, but dutifully closed her eyes to focus inwardly and heal what she could of her leg and back.

When she reopened her eyes, she saw the demon take a brutal backhanded swipe at Cullen on the other side of the circle. His lips moved in a silent prayer and then a blast of spirit energy roared toward the creature, knocking it back. She quickly jumped back to make sure she didn't also fall victim to the smiting.

The Guardian shook its head and then, with a thrust of both its hands, sent another wave of ice toward Cullen. But this time, Cullen couldn't avoid it and seemed to freeze solid in his tracks.

"Cullen!" she cried out, counterattacking with the most damaging spells she could muster in a flurry of elemental projectiles. But while her attacks seemed to slow the demon down, they couldn't stop its inexorable advance on Cullen. Eventually, the ice effects dissipated and Cullen started to step back. But not before the demon had dealt him several direct blows, any one of which would have incapacitated most men.

Her heart almost stopped as she watched Cullen falter and then finally fall. The scene appeared to run in slow motion for her while she watched helplessly. She saw him drop to one knee and then, with a final blow from the demon, he was thrown backwards. He hit the magical ward with a searing hiss and a crunching thud, while his sword skittered away.

She tried again to slow down the creature with her own wave of ice, but even though its steps slowed to a crawl, it relentlessly continued toward the fallen knight. No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to divert its focus from Cullen.

He succeeded in struggling to his feet, favoring one side where she suspected he had broken some ribs and held up his shield as the demon attacked again. Remarkably, his shield arm held, shuddering from the force of the blow, but she knew he wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer.

Her mind desperately sought any kind of a plan. In a last ditch effort, she ran forward and scooped up Cullen's sword from where it had fallen nearby. She concentrated and poured her magic into it, making it crackle and hiss with elemental energy.

A panicked glance showed her Cullen was now down on both knees, holding desperately to the shield as it shuddered again from the demon's latest blow.

Supplementing her strength with a bit of conjured force magic, she threw the sword with all her might at the demon. It soared through the air and made a crunching sound as it buried itself almost to the hilt in the Guardian's chest.

The creature paused, momentarily surprised. It looked down at the sword curiously and then started to laugh.

It turned toward her and grinned. "Valiant attempt, mage, but it seems you've missed my heart."

She smiled fiercely. "I don't need to hit your heart."

Then she threw her arms up into the air, summoning a massive electrical storm that crashed down around the demon. Before the Guardian could even cry out, the lightning strikes were drawn to the enchanted sword embedded deep in its chest. Acting like a magical lightning rod, the sword channeled the tremendous energy from the lightning storm straight into the heart of the creature. It shuddered violently for a moment, and then, with a colossal rending sound that echoed throughout the cave, it exploded in a blinding flash of light.

As the Guardian's remains slowly fell to the ground in a series of wet plops, she was already dashing to Cullen's side. Being closer to the blast than she, he had been knocked off his feet again. Covered in gore, he was struggling to stand, grimacing in pain and breathing in short gasps. A closer look showed his lips were turning slightly blue as the break in his ribs interfered with his breathing.

Just as she skidded to her knees next to him, she felt the magical cage surrounding them groan and then waver and disappear. An instant later, tickling at the edge of her senses, she heard a faint giggling and whispering. The sound grew, seemed to swirl around them, and then suddenly went silent.

Without a word, she hurriedly began peeling away Cullen's breastplate then slid her hands over his chest, making him hiss in pain as she probed around. Satisfied that she knew the extent of his injuries, she quickly sent a concentrated pulse of healing magic into him and mended the broken bones and contusion on his lung.

Before he could take more than a breath, she threw herself into his arms, which closed around her convulsively. He sighed her name into her hair while she buried her face against his neck. After a minute in this close embrace she noticed something warm throbbing against her chest. Pulling back, she saw the Seeker's amulet lying between them on Cullen's chest. It was incandescently pulsing in time with her rapid heartbeats.

He smiled at the startled look on her face. "I'll use any advantage I can to protect you."

She sighed and leaned into him again, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his. "Augusta made me think . . . I thought . . ." she breathed.

"I know," he whispered. "At least I knew you were still alive. When Bodahn first told me you'd been taken . . . I've never been so frightened."

She pulled back to look at him, touching his face with a smile. "I thought nothing frightened you anymore, my brave Templar?" she teased softly.

"I thought so, too, until I imagined something happening to you." His eyes narrowed. "So . . . did I hear you say Augusta was here?"

Hawke sat up and quickly looked around the room. She saw her friends mopping up the remaining Templars, but no sign of Augusta. She got to her feet uneasily, eyes still searching the room. "She was. She's not among the fallen?"

He stood as well. "It seems not. I didn't see her when I came in, but then . . . I was a little preoccupied," he said with a laugh.

The others slowly started to gather around them, all showing various signs of battle, but thankfully nothing serious. She sent out a pulse of healing to the group anyway and cleared away the scrapes and aches in preparation for anything that might lie ahead. She then helped Cullen put his breastplate back on, wiping off as much of the distressingly fragrant demon muck as they could from themselves and Cullen's slightly blackened sword.

"I think I saw the Grand Cleric bravely run away just as the Templars attacked us," Varric said. "Who knows where she might be now."

"Is that who that old biddy was?" Isabela said. "Hmm, you always seem to draw the negative attention of the high and mighty, Hawke. Maybe you should retire soon so you can actually see middle age."

"We should get out of here before anyone else comes looking," said Aveline. "The Grand Cleric is unlikely to just give up."

"Yes, but where to?" Hawke asked. "My house is probably the first place they'll look. Maybe the Gallows?"

Cullen snorted. "It was all we could do to escape from there the first time now that Christiane has taken control." He quickly told her about his incarceration and the ensuing battle with the Righteous. "Without a clear, common enemy like the Righteous, I think the Templars could still turn on us. Especially if the Grand Cleric is behind all this."

"So, it's come to this?" Hawke said faintly.

Cullen sighed. "I think so. Now that they suspect our involvement with the Seeker's disappearance, I think our lies are finally coming home to roost."

"Hawke," Fenris began slowly, "since I anticipate the order for your arrest still stands, perhaps you should leave town for a time. At least until you can sort this out with the powers that be."

Varric chuckled. "The powers that be. In Kirkwall, isn't that the two of you?"

Hawke and Cullen shared an amused look.

"Apparently not today." Cullen rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "Maybe Fenris is right. We can't do much to clear our names if we're stuck in a dungeon somewhere."

"Just say the word, Hawke, and my crew can have us underway in less than an hour," Isabela offered.

"Thank you, Isabela," said Hawke, "but, I . . . I honestly hope it doesn't come to that." She looked at Cullen. "First things first. Aveline's right, we have to get out of these tunnels. We're too vulnerable down here."

"Agreed," Cullen said.

"Also . . ." Hawke said, "I felt . . . something as the rune barrier came down."

"I did, too," added Merrill. "Like that Guardian might have been guarding against something else down here. We need to be careful."

"What? More threats in the creepy, demon-filled caves? Who would have thought?" Varric joked. "I hope someone remembers the way out."

Chapter 25: Friends and Enemies

Summary:

In a final confrontation with Augusta, Hawke and Cullen must fight for their lives and legacy in Kirkwall.

Their trip back to the surface was not nearly as fast as their passage down. Led by the amulet's frenzied pulses the first time, Cullen had been practically running to find Marian and save her from whatever was causing her heart to beat so frantically. But, without such a guide for the return trip, they got lost time and again. Cullen worried that the setbacks would make them vulnerable to further attack, but the only threats they encountered along the way were dead ends and wrong turns. Varric's joking suggestion of following the passageways that smelled the least foul ended up being a good one, and eventually they found their way out into the new cathedral construction site.

Night had fallen and the moonlit cathedral was eerily quiet as they emerged from the tunnel. Drifting clouds across the full moon made the lighting uncertain, resulting in shadows that shifted and rippled with the blustery breeze. The vague outline of the future cathedral could be seen in the design of the half-built walls. They stood at the edge of a large open area that would someday be the nave. At one end, large wooden scaffolding upheld the beginnings of the raised dais. Piles of stone and other building materials dotted the floor, making for treacherous footing in the half-light.

They crept forward and headed for the wooden staircase that now led down into Hightown proper. Rounding a retaining wall, however, they froze. Standing between them and the staircase were Augusta and Christiane, and behind them, armor glinting in the moonlight, were rows upon rows of helmeted Templars.

The only sound was the whistling of the wind as the groups eyed each other. Cullen couldn't identify most of the faceless Templars in the poor lighting so couldn't tell where their allegiance would lie. But he prepared for the worst.

Standing with hands clasped, the Grand Cleric was the image of saintly patience, except that she couldn't hide the gleam of triumph in her eye. "However has this woman escaped custody?" Augusta said disingenuously, looking at Marian. "Knight-Commander, I hope you have done your duty and recaptured Serah Hawke."

"Your Grace, with all due respect, these charges are false. Viscountess Hawke has done nothing wrong," Cullen replied while warily glancing at the knights backing her.

"Nothing wrong?" she scoffed. "She is an apostate and political agitator. Do your duty! Or, I will find someone to do it for you."

"No. I will not support this travesty of justice."

"If you cannot, then we will. Knight-Captain!" Augusta's voice rang out sharply.

At her command, Leon stepped forward, moving his helmet under his arm. He saluted Augusta, but looked uneasily at Cullen. "Your Grace."

"Knight-Captain, please take Serah Hawke into custody, on charges of sedition and resisting arrest, as well as Ser Cullen, on charges of insubordination."

"Your . . . Grace?" Leon said, eyes darting again at Cullen.

An almost imperceptible wave of movement ran through the assembled Templars at these orders. Marian looked over at Cullen, a question in her eyes. He shook his head slightly, wanting to see how this played out first.

"You heard me, Captain. Proceed," Augusta ordered.

Leon shifted uncomfortably, drew his sword, and then walked toward Cullen.

Although he had encouraged the Knight-Captain to keep the Templars united, Cullen was still disheartened that Leon would turn against him. He couldn't help but recall a similar situation, hearing his own voice demand, Knight-Commander, step down! Perhaps these were his just desserts for what happened with Meredith.

He gripped his sword more tightly, preparing for the inevitable conflict since he would not go quietly this time. Leon stopped in front of him and then abruptly spun around to face the Grand Cleric. "Templars, to me! Protect the Knight-Commander!" he shouted.

There was a palpable hesitation as allegiances shifted. Then chaos erupted as the Templars started to break rank. Some stayed in place behind the Grand Cleric, while some ran to Leon's side, flanking Cullen.

Into the mayhem, Augusta shouted, "Templars, do your duty! Arrest them! I demand that you arrest them!"

When the dust had settled, it looked to Cullen as if roughly half the knights had moved to back him, while the other half still remained somewhat in formation supporting Augusta. Silence fell again as everyone stood still, balancing on a knife's edge as they seemed to finally recognize the enormity of what was about to happen. Something he had hoped to avoid: Templar against Templar.

"I see," Augusta snapped. "So, you've all chosen to side against the Chantry. Against Blessed Andraste herself. And in favor of what?" Her face twisted in a sneer. "An apostate and her lover? This is what you've abased the Templar Order to become? Mage thralls? Supporting a woman who would set herself above you, as the mage-lords did before her, bringing Sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world?"

Cullen had another acute sense of déjà vu as once again he found himself standing against his superior in support of Marian Hawke. However, he felt no uncertainty this time about his motives. Instead, he felt oddly strengthened by the knowledge that he would protect this woman to his last breath, no matter the challenge or the odds.

"Augusta, we stand for order and rationality," he replied steadily, his voice carrying through the cathedral. "Your attack on the Viscountess is baseless and paranoid. Marian Hawke has always been a supporter of the Circle and the Order. She is our best example that mage and Templar can work together. We can stand against the chaos that has befallen the other Circles. Please, there are ways to resolve this peacefully. It doesn't have to come to this."

Augusta's eyes narrowed. She then spread her hands out in resignation, as if this were all out of her hands. "Oh, but it does, and it has. You threaten the very foundations of our faith. The only way to stand against the chaos is to eradicate it. Templars, arrest them all!"

Marian and her companions grouped in around Cullen as the knights flanking Augusta edged forward. Reluctantly, the Templar factions approached each other, preparing to engage, when suddenly a mighty wind ripped through the cathedral site, halting everyone in their tracks.

The shadows undulated with the shifting clouds, mottling the ground in moonlight and darkness. Then, from one moment to the next, the shadows were filled with every type of demon imaginable, seeming to rise up from the ground itself.

Between Cullen and Augusta, there was a swirl of purple mist, and out of the mist stepped a desire demon. Violet eyes shining beneath curling horns, she sashayed forward with her long whip-like tail thrashing about her mostly nude form. She looked around with a provocative smile and then turned to face Augusta.

Augusta bravely stood her ground. "Stay back, demon. You have no place here in this sacred cathedral of the Chantry. Begone," she said in a strong voice.

The demon gave a sultry laugh, rhythmically shifting her weight so that she seemed to be swaying before them. "But, this has ever been our place, Augusta," she purred, her resonant voice echoing dissonantly among the jagged, incomplete walls. "For ages we have been caged below, yearning for the light. And, with the death of the Guardian, the cage is now open. We are free. We are grateful . . . to you. You brought us our salvation."

Cullen watched the demon suspiciously. If the Guardian's death had released them, then truly it was Marian who was responsible, not Augusta. Unsure what game was being played here, he took a step toward the desire demon. "In the name of the Maker, keep your distance, fiend."

The demon, however, ignored him and the legion of armed humans surrounding her, instead gliding closer to Augusta. The nearest Templars stood on guard, but seemed uncertain what to do.

"Stay back!" Fear crept into Augusta's voice.

"But, Augusta, there is no need to be fearful. We are not at odds. My only desire is to reward you." The demon's singsong voice became mesmerizing and she swayed sensually before Augusta.

The Grand Cleric stared at the demon, seeming rooted in place, and then made an infinitesimal shift of her weight. Then another, and another, unconsciously mirroring the demon's hypnotic movements. Seeing how easily Augusta was succumbing to the demon's influence, Cullen began to suspect that this was why the clergywoman had been targeted instead of Marian.

"I am Ambition," the demon continued. "Hear what I can offer you. A strong Kirkwall that is peaceful, prosperous, and pious, where the Viscount is properly god-fearing and supportive of your Chantry. An obedient Circle, where the mages cower properly in their cells while listening to the Chant of almighty Andraste."

"Augusta, don't listen to her!" yelled Marian. "It's a trick. Don't let her inside your head."

Augusta glanced over at Marian in disdain. "I don't need your help, mage! I don't need anyone's help. I will save Kirkwall! It is the Maker'ssss wiilll." Her final words came out in a hissing exhalation of breath just as the demon vanished.

"Augusta, no!" Marian cried out.

Augusta shuddered. Then her grey eyes darkened, flashing violet as the demon looked out from behind them. She stretched out her arms and took a deep, sighing breath. "First things first, Hawke," she said in Ambition's singsong voice. "You die." She gave a feral smile, and then a rippling blast of spirit energy suddenly shot from her fingertips toward Marian.

Everyone dodged out of the way at the same time as the demons all came to life and attacked. Shades slithered among the construction debris as rage demons popped up randomly out of fiery molten pools. Demons of hunger and sloth stalked toward the humans, looking to feed on their baser desires just as they struck out with vicious claws and flame.

It no longer mattered what side anyone had chosen moments ago as they were all now united against this new threat. The Templars, as first-line defenders against demonkind, immediately engaged their ancient foes, beating them back with righteous fire and armed might. At the same time, Marian's companions worked in concert, threading through the battleground and complementing the Templars with their unique talents.

Across the cathedral grounds, the ripple of Templar Holy Smite was joined by the blue glow of Fenris's lyrium-fueled talents. Aveline charged through the horde like a one-woman battering ram, a wave of gibbering fiends breaking upon her shield. Darting in and around the fighting, Isabela tumbled and spun, incapacitating many a demon with a swift backstab or hamstring. Varric had climbed up on the scaffolding which gave him the perfect bird's-eye view of the battle for Bianca's deadly volleys.

Marian and Merrill moved out to the edges of the melee to avoid any stray Templar talents. Cullen followed, positioning himself so he could intercept any incoming attacks while Marian cast. Nearby, Leon had fallen into a similar formation to protect Merrill.

The desire demon's call for Marian's death had driven the creatures into a frenzy, with many actually crying out for Marian's blood as they closed in. Working together to repel them, Cullen and Marian quickly fell into a rhythm of attack and defense. A group of slavering demons and shades would close in on him when a sudden clap of thunder would herald Marian's hammer of force pummeling them to ground. While the creatures writhed helplessly, Cullen would move in to destroy them, one after the other, and then wait for the next wave.

This time, however, as the last shade dissolved back into the ground, he felt a burning score on his arm. A rage demon had popped up behind him, fiery claws cutting through his armor like it was butter. He immediately spun and struck out with his blade at the same time as he drove it back with a tightly directed pulse of spirit energy. Then with a lunge, he ran it through and watched the molten pool at its feet evaporate as it perished.

He looked around and saw that a knot of hunger demons had bypassed him and were closing in on Marian. He ran toward her, but had to dodge out of the way as the creatures were suddenly hurtling bodily toward him, catapulted back by a shock wave rippling out from Marian's position.

The closest demon wobbled to its feet, but was so disoriented that it practically threw itself onto Cullen's sword. The others were as easily dispatched, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

He looked back at Marian and saw her decimate a line of shades with thrust of her hand and a single arc of electricity. His mind flashed back to the battle at the Gallows, feeling again his awe of her terrible power. However, she immediately ruined the impression by giving him a delightfully crooked grin, which was made all the more roguish by the fact that she had a smudge of black ichor running across one cheekbone. He smiled at her with a fond shake of his head.

He turned back to the on-coming creatures and started to despair that they would ever stop, as the demon Ambition continued to summon more to her aid. While Cullen could easily best any one of these minor demons, their sheer numbers were beginning to take their toll. The rage demon's score on his arm had soon been joined by other minor injuries. He knew they would tire soon, so in a gamble, he decided to take the fight to the desire demon.

Approaching the possessed Grand Cleric, Cullen saw that Ambition no longer felt any need to hide herself. Augusta's eyes glowed brightly violet and her expression had become a twisted mockery of the Grand Cleric's usually stern countenance. With the demon lurking behind her eyes, Augusta's face was consumed with hunger, passion and delight, emotions Cullen had never seen the Grand Cleric evince. Her hands had morphed into demon-like claws, with long sharp talons that she gleefully wielded like weapons.

He rushed forward, ruthlessly smashing Ambition with his shield. She fell back, stunned, and he followed up with several quick counterthrusts of his sword. She was now bleeding profusely from multiple wounds, but still she smiled up at him.

"Come to me, human. And, do try your best," she purred. "The only one who is truly harmed is your dear Grand Cleric." She chuckled at this. "Not that you would particularly care."

While she taunted him, she struck out with lightning fast reflexes and inhuman strength, talons coming within inches of his jugular as he just ducked away. She then followed up with a heavy strike with her closed fist that threw him backwards with its force and left a dent in his armor.

As he regained his feet and started to move back toward her, a huge ball of licking flame materialized in the air and sped toward him. He threw himself out of the way then shot a focused wave of spirit energy toward her.

Ambition stumbled back before his Templar talents, face contorted in pain. But then her delighted grin was back as she threw another blast of fire at him that he barely dodged.

"None of you can escape the righteous wrath of the Chantry," she cackled in a warped imitation of Augusta's voice. "Both you and the apostate will die tonight. And, the Divine Justinia will bless us all for delivering Kirkwall from your perversions."

Cullen found is disconcerting to hear Augusta's thoughts somehow filtered through the demon's extreme desires. He couldn't help but wonder how much of Augusta was really in there, a thought which made him hesitate for a moment.

However, the twinkle in the demon's eye gave her away, and he realized that this was part of her game, to confuse him into pulling back on his attacks. He renewed the fury of his blows, which finally made her concentrate on defending herself instead of taunting him. As he continued to focus her attention, he noticed peripherally that the horde was appreciably starting to thin around them since she was no longer free to draw new demons into the fight.

He flinched when suddenly a trio of shades that had tried to flank him was pinned to the ground in a thunderous pounding of force magic just behind him. This was quickly followed by a chain of branching and arcing electricity that destroyed them and then jumped to shock Ambition as well. He smiled grimly, knowing that Marian was now at his back and the demon's end was nigh.

He pressed Ambition further, and she became increasingly desperate, dodging his blows while suffering stinging ice blasts from Marian. Finally, his shield caught the demon and dropped her heavily to the floor. She whimpered in pain, an unnervingly animalistic sound, then her eyes flashed and she rose up to her knees.

She smiled up at him with a knowing look. "Cullen, do not be rash," she crooned. "I can give you so many things . . . You already know this to be true. You have been tempted before, but your desires run deeper now."

"There's nothing you can offer me, demon," he spat, closing in on her.

"But what of those things you have yearned for ever since your time in Ferelden. A peaceful life, at one with your deep faith in the Maker and the Order, but with the family you have always desired by your side. A family that is safe and secure . . ."

His head started to spin, and he rubbed his eyes. Then, the warm, sun-soaked landscape swam before him as he tried to shake off a sudden bout of vertigo.

His eyes cleared and he was comforted by the familiar sight. He was at the gates of the Denerim Chantry, his Templar armor gleaming in the last rays of the late afternoon sun. He took a deep breath, reveling in the warm summer air. His favorite time of year. He was supposed to be doing something, he vaguely recalled, but couldn't immediately think of what it was.

He stopped to chat idly with the Sister at the gate when he heard a call.

"Papa!"

Looking up, he saw a small boy running toward him through the crowd of townsfolk before the gate. Marian walked up behind him, smiling indulgently. This must be what I was doing. I was going home.

As they drew near, the Chanter at the gate looked at the boy fondly and said, "A learned child is a blessing upon his parents and unto the Maker."

Cullen picked the boy up in his arms with a proud smile and Marian laid her hand on his arm, gazing at him almost . . . possessively.

He looked into the boy's grey eyes and had the feeling again that he should remember something. Something important. As he tried to recall what it was, he felt the hand on his arm suddenly tighten convulsively and Marian's face twisted in pain. He looked at her curiously and then distantly remembered another occasion where she was frightened, when the boy was saying, I froze the pond today, papa!

Cullen stiffened in shock, at last realizing that this was the boy from his nightmare. This was not real. The image shattered into a million lies and his sight cleared. He saw that the demon Ambition had drawn close to him and had placed her hand on his arm. But now she grimaced in pain as a glowing, blue cage of force slowly crushed her.

"You can't give me something I already have!" he snarled. And with that, he sank his blade deep into her chest. Just before she fell, he could see Augusta's clear grey eyes look out for a moment in surprise. Then she slid to the ground, dead.

ooXXoo

When Hawke finally reached Cullen's side, she had to take several deep breaths before her heart no longer clenched in fear. She had been too far away to stop the demon from ensnaring him, so had done what she could to slow it down with the crushing prison before running closer.

She touched his shoulder where he stood over Augusta's crumpled form, but when he looked up at her, it seemed to take him some effort to recall his focus. Studying him in concern, she could see a shadow of the demon's charm linger for a moment in his eyes, and she wondered what he had seen.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You're still . . . you?" She wasn't really worried . . . but . . .

He shook his head like he was dispelling the last of the demon's influence and then smiled at her reassuringly. "Still me." He reached out to touch her locket and, with eyes twinkling, added, "I doubt I'd get out of fulfilling my pledge to you that easily."

She grinned in relief, and then her eyes roamed over him. "And, still in one piece?"

"I'll live. Unfortunately, Augusta cannot say the same," he said grimly.

Their eyes were drawn back down to the fallen Grand Cleric, who looked more peaceful in death than she ever had in life. How ironic that, for all Augusta's righteousness, it was her ambition to save Kirkwall that had been her undoing. As usual, Kirkwall had repaid the woman's concern with demons and magic, an all too common occurrence in this city.

Cullen squeezed her hand and recalled her attention to the surrounding battle, which seemed to be winding down. Ambition's demise had turned the tide. With no more reinforcements, the demons quickly had lost their advantage and the horde had been broken. As Hawke watched, Templars were efficiently corralling and destroying the few remaining creatures.

As the demon threat receded, however, so did their unity of purpose.

The Templars gathered uncertainly in small listless groups around Hawke and Cullen, many no doubt wondering if it was now time to arrest the couple. Hawke's friends also regrouped behind her, weary but alert. Without the Grand Cleric there forcing everyone to choose a side, allegiances suddenly became murky and objectives unclear. The awkward silence was only broken by the creak and jingle of armor as everyone shifted warily, unsure whether the fighting would begin anew.

Then, out of the shadows stepped Christiane with a self-satisfied smile on her face. Hawke had no idea where the woman had been hiding herself during the battle, but she was unharmed and completely free of the battlefield gore covering everyone else.

Christiane strutted into their midst and observed the tension with interest.

"Templars, stand down," she commanded. Her voice was unusually forceful, and the knights all immediately fell in line, reforming their ranks with obvious relief that someone was taking charge. "Knight-Captain Leon!"

Naked blade in hand, Leon ran up from behind her and tried to catch his breath. He paused, eyes darting between Cullen and Christiane for a moment, and then finally turned to Christiane. "Your Reverence?"

She looked at Leon steadily, a mysterious glint in her eye. "Secure the cathedral, Knight-Captain. Then take your men and move out to protect Hightown." She looked at over at Hawke as she said, "We must make sure no demons have escaped to harm Kirkwall."

Leon hesitated, but Cullen clapped him on the shoulder and nodded at him once in encouragement. So, Leon departed with the knights and started issuing orders for protecting the city.

The cathedral soon grew quiet again as the Templars moved away, but Christiane only watched Hawke and Cullen where they stood together, backed by Hawke's friends.

Once they were alone, Christiane finally said, "You should go while you can. There is only so much I can do. The Seekers are on their way. Augusta had already summoned them. They will be here tomorrow. The next day at the latest. I doubt either of you will ever be safe in Kirkwall again, since they no doubt will have questions about the deaths of Frollo and Meredith . . . and . . . Augusta." Her eyes glittered as she listed the sins that would likely be laid at their door.

Hawke frowned. "Christiane, why let us go? Why help us?"

Christiane smiled, but her eyes remained strangely enigmatic. "You need not worry, Hawke. I am not helping you. I am helping myself. Yes, there were things I . . . desired." For an instant, her eyes flicked to Cullen and then back to Hawke. "But there are other things I want and it is easier for me to get them with you gone. Both of you."

"Christiane . . . I—" Cullen started.

"Go! Now!"

"Thank you, Christiane. Maker watch over you," he said, grabbing Hawke's hand to leave while they had the chance.

As they turned to go, Hawke looked back over her shoulder once. She saw Christiane smile strangely after Cullen, her eyes darkened to an intense purple for a moment from their usual limpid blue.

"Maker watch over you, too, Cullen," she purred. Then she turned and sashayed away.

ooXXoo

Their flight through Hightown had been tense, as they dodged various Templar and guard patrols, but they ultimately made it safely to the Hanged Man. Cullen tried not to be depressed by the fact that such a foul smelling place was now their only safe haven in Kirkwall.

They quickly came to the conclusion that Cullen and Marian's best chance of clearing their names was to stay out of custody. If Seekers, plural, were on their way, the couple needed to get out of town as soon as possible.

Once decided, everyone moved swiftly to help provision them. Before leaving to prep her ship, Isabela lent Marian some clothes to replace her tattered dress and seemed to have chosen an outfit that, in a departure from Marian's usual finery, was as tight and revealing as possible. Not that Cullen minded particularly. He regretfully abandoned his distinctive Templar armor, stripping down to tunic and trousers and borrowing a heavy cloak. He decided to cover the emblem on his shield rather than leave it behind, figuring that, if need be, he would replace it and his blackened sword once they were somewhere safe.

In the interest of haste, only Isabela and Fenris would accompany them, and everyone else would rendezvous later to sort things out. Marian fretted over her people back at the estate, but Varric assured her he would take care of them.

The sky was just starting to brighten as they crept toward the dock. Pausing within sight of Isabela's ship, they distantly saw armored troops filing off another recently docked ship and heading toward the city. As they passed by, Cullen recognized the dark armor and white eye and sunburst symbol. The Seekers had arrived. Their time was up.

By the time the sun had risen above the horizon, they were headed out of the harbor. They sailed beneath the giant twin statues guarding the narrow channel into Kirkwall and Cullen finally breathed a sigh of relief. Marian walked up beside him, putting her arm around his waist, and together they watched the forbidding stone walls of Kirkwall recede in the distance.

Chapter 26: Goodbyes

Summary:

Following their flight from Kirkwall, Hawke, Cullen and friends regroup and try to decide where to go from here.

From the top of the cliff where he and Marian were strolling, Cullen could see a swift, sleek ship pulling into dock. Its sophisticated bearing contrasted sharply with the more modest fishing vessels otherwise populating the small village where they had taken refuge. Unable to see its colors from this distance, he could only guess that it came bearing news. News that had been scarce in the two weeks since they'd fled Kirkwall.

The fishing village of Marlsburg was about 30 leagues down the coast from Kirkwall. It was small enough not to have its own local garrison of Templars at the Chantry and far enough from Kirkwall to give them a respite while they reviewed their options.

When they had first arrived, Marian had been frantic about the loose ends they'd left behind, and it had been all he could do to stop her from rushing back to Kirkwall. Luckily, Varric showed up three days later with Bodahn, his son Sandal, and the dog, as well as several small bundles of Marian's and Cullen's belongings. Bodahn, with his usual sixth sense about Marian's needs, had already discretely collected their essentials when Marian hadn't returned home and the Seekers had started asking questions about her whereabouts. Although the estate was under surveillance, it had been easy for Bodahn and his son to disappear one day while walking the dog. In parallel, Varric had convinced a kind noble family that owed Marian a favor to hire Orana.

Bodahn had only been able to spirit away the things Cullen had kept at the estate, which were now contained in one meager satchel. Cullen ruefully acknowledged that everything he really valued had been there anyway, so he tried his best to focus on the positive: that at least he had some clothes that fit and, somewhat impractically, the book Marian had given him for Solstice.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get any of your stuff out of the Gallows, Lover Boy," Varric had apologized. "Seems your friend Christiane has put the fortress in lock down as she consolidates her power in Kirkwall. Even I'm not talented enough to sneak in there now."

Apparently Christiane had wasted no time. She had installed herself as acting Grand Cleric, and although she had appointed Leon as acting Knight-Commander, it was clear she was really running the Gallows as well. She already had reverted to many of Meredith's old policies regarding the mages, revoking the freedoms Cullen had instituted. It cut him more deeply than he would admit to see his hard work unraveled in just a few short days. Picturing Tilda's response to these changes, he imagined it wouldn't be long before discord returned to the Kirkwall Circle.

Four days later, more news had arrived along with Aveline, Donnic and Merrill, and most of their belongings.

Aveline already had been questioned multiple times by the Seekers regarding Marian and Cullen's disappearance and Augusta's death. Apparently the story from Christiane was that Cullen had killed the Grand Cleric during his unlawful rescue of Marian from incarceration. Aveline and Seneschal Bran had tried to dispute these charges, but the evidence was rather damning in light of Christiane's "first hand" account.

After several veiled threats that suggested Christiane was removing any potential barriers in her rise to power, Aveline figured it was only a matter of time before she was implicated in the debacle as well. They were all shocked to learn that, in an attempt to avoid any negative consequences for the guard, Aveline had resigned her post as Guard-Captain. Then, citing all the instability and increasing strictures imposed by Christiane, the trio had decided further that it was time to move on from Kirkwall.

That had been the last news they had heard from the city and Cullen was anxious to know more. He turned to Marian. "There's another ship docking. Why don't we head back?"

She nodded and then turned to retrace their steps back down the picturesque bluffs where they had taken to walking in the afternoons. He joined her and tried to take her hand, but as with every other time he had tried to touch her in public since their exile, she gently pulled away.

He sighed heavily, deciding to say something this time. "Marian, no one can see us out here. And, even if they did . . . no one knows us. We don't have to be careful here."

"I don't want us to get too comfortable. I don't want us slipping up when we return to Kirkwall." She made it sound as if this were imminent.

"Return to Kirkwall?" he said in surprise. "I don't see that happening for some time yet. Maybe . . . we should be getting comfortable."

"No! We will go home. Once I set the record straight and clear our names. Once I find a way to fix this . . ." Her face was set in determined lines as she watched her feet pick their way down the steep path.

This seemed to confirm his suspicion that she was blaming herself for everything that had happened. "You know, this isn't your fault," he said softly.

She was quiet, but the stubborn set of her jaw clearly indicated that she thought it was.

"The Grand Cleric and Christiane have caused this," he continued, "with their intolerance and discontent."

"Intolerance of me. A mage."

He stopped walking and waited for her to stop and face him before he continued. "And retribution for what happened with Meredith. And intolerance for reason and fairness in the rule of a mage Circle. There are many factors leading us to this point. If we're assigning blame, I share as much as you do. If not more."

"I won't let us lose another home," she said mulishly. "Not without a fight."

"Maybe . . . it's time we begin to look at this differently. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise."

"A blessing that we're fugitives?" She didn't bother to hide her incredulity.

"Well, not that part of it," he said with a smile. "But, I've been thinking . . . maybe we should just . . . leave. Embrace this as our chance for a new start somewhere else. Together. Without all the strictures that have been keeping us apart."

She was silent, staring at him wide-eyed, and suddenly the legion of insecurities he'd been holding back broke loose.

Before he could stop himself, he was backpedaling. "Unless . . . you don't want us . . . together. You know . . . just because we're both on the run, doesn't mean you're necessarily stuck with me. If you want—"

"No! Oh Maker, no, Cullen! How could you possibly . . .?" She advanced on him and roughly grabbed his tunic in two tight fists. "I do want us together. I need us together. I love you! I just . . . feel so horrible . . . so responsible for what you've lost. What about everything you've built in Kirkwall? Everything we've built?"

A small, tight knot in his stomach started to relax at her words. He took her shoulders gently in his hands. "Does any of that really matter if it is already destroyed or perverted with lies and slander?"

"So, you think we should just give up?"

"I think . . . even if we end up clearing our names, a lot of damage will have been done. Especially with Christiane now in charge, I don't think there's any way things could go back to the way they were. We'd just be waiting for the next challenge, the next threat, and constantly fighting more battles. Is that the life we want for our child?" He paused and then gave a small laugh. "And, honestly, I think our chances of getting our relationship blessed by Christiane are, um, rather small."

This elicited an involuntary gurgle of laughter from her. She loosened her grip on his shirt and sighed. "Cullen, what about the Order? How can you leave it behind?"

"Marian, the Order is always with me." He put his hand to his heart. "It's my inner moral compass. And, my duty. My duty has just . . . evolved now to protecting you and our family. I still have my purpose, and thankfully, I'm still able to fulfill that purpose. That's all any man can ask for."

While she considered this for a moment, he asked, "Is Kirkwall so hard for you to leave behind?"

She looked away, solemn eyes reflecting the churning sea that tumbled below them while she worried her lower lip. "Kirkwall has become my home. Almost eight years and I feel more a part of the people here than I ever did growing up in Lothering. It has given me my purpose." She looked back at him. "But can I leave it? I realized a few months ago that, yes, I could. The only thing I can't leave is you." She looked down at his shirt, idly smoothing the wrinkles she'd caused there. "You know . . . my Templar said he would always keep me safe. What else can I do but go where he goes?" She looked back up at him with crooked smile.

A relieved grin spread across his face and he felt the last of his uncertainties fall away. He pulled her into his arms, gratified that this time she didn't pull away, and held her closely. He closed his eyes and felt the stirrings of hope that his mad idea could work.

She rested her head against his chest. "You know, we'll be fugitives for the rest of our lives. Dodging Seekers and who knows what. Also not much of a life."

"So long as we're together, that's all the life I want or need. A life where we can finally walk in the sun."

He felt her smile against his chest. "Hmm, a life where one of us will finally have to learn how to cook."

He laughed long and hard at this, feeling the unspoken tensions from the last two weeks fully unwind at last. "You've found the fatal flaw in my plan!"

She looked up at him from the circle of his arms, smiling fondly. "Well, if Ser Cullen can put down his Templar arms, I suppose I can be brave enough to pick up a cooking ladle." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose this is also my chance for a normal life again."

He chuckled. "Hmm, I don't know that mage and Templar fugitives settling down together to welcome their precociously magical new baby would be most people's idea of normal."

She grinned. "I guess we're not most people. But, I do like the sound of the settling down part."

He tightened his arms around her and dropped a kiss lightly on the top of her head. "Now we just have to figure out where that will be."

ooXXoo

As she and Cullen walked into town, fingers locked together, Hawke could now see that the newly arrived ship was flying the Prince of Starkhaven's colors. She felt her stomach clench at the thought of seeing Sebastian. She was ashamed that she hadn't been in contact with him since he'd left Kirkwall, a short but eventful three months ago. She hadn't known what to say about Cullen, especially with her recent relationship ups and downs.

They entered the village's single inn, heading automatically to the private common room set aside for their use. She stopped uncertainly on the threshold. Sebastian was already in deep discussion with Aveline, Donnic and Varric, but they fell quiet when she and Cullen arrived. Sebastian's sharp eyes immediately noted their entwined hands. She smiled at him tentatively, and although he gave her a smile back, it was the Prince's diplomatic smile that masked any real emotion.

Cullen squeezed her hand, giving her a look of encouragement, and then wordlessly left room. The others followed and soon she was alone with the Prince. Now that her hands were free she couldn't figure out what to do with them, so she wrung them nervously.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you," she said.

"Actually, I've been in contact with Aveline and she had already warned me." His brow creased briefly. "I . . . was worried about you. You were in such a depression when I left . . . I wanted to make sure you were well."

"Still, I should have told you myself. I'm sorry you had to find out that way. It all just happened so fast . . . Was it really just a few months ago that we were dancing at a ball?" She gave a small laugh that just came out sounding awkward.

He approached her, replacing the Prince's smile with genuine warmth, and put his hands on her shoulders. For a moment, his face shone with the depth of his love for her, giving her a brief glimpse of what she had missed out on, but then it was gone, hidden behind his enduring friendship. "You don't need to apologize, Hawke. I have faith that everything works out as it should. Seeing the obstacles you have each overcome to be together, it seems that it was meant to be. I . . . also heard that the Maker has already blessed your union, and . . . congratulations are in order?"

She blushed and felt her lips involuntarily curve into a contented smile. "It seems so."

"Your Templar works fast, I will say that for him," he said with a lopsided grin. "I wish you both happy, Marian. Truly." He let go of her shoulders, taking her hands. "May the Maker watch over you and yours and guide your steps through the challenges to come."

"Thank you, Sebastian." She rashly threw her arms around him and embraced him tightly.

He gently disentangled himself. "I suppose I should let everyone know they can come back in without feeling uncomfortable around us. I have important news everyone should hear."

It wasn't long before all her friends had joined them in the common room. It had become their custom to gather in the evenings this way, ostensibly to strategize their next steps; however, more often they spent it chatting, playing cards and laughing, as if trying to enjoy these stolen moments away from the real world.

Looking around the room, Hawke tried to fix everyone in her memory. Isabela and Aveline were exchanging insults with their usual fondness. Varric was passing out drinks, insisting again that it would help everyone's thinking process and needling Cullen that he needed one most of all. Sandal and Merrill were trying in vain to get the dog to do tricks with bits of scraps from dinner, while Bodahn admonished them for spoiling the warhound. Fenris and Donnic were using the downtime for a quick hand of diamondback, each wordlessly frowning at their cards. At last her gaze fell on Sebastian and she realized that he had been watching her. He gave her a half-smile and then quickly looked away.

Once everyone was settled, Sebastian's first words threw the room into silence. "The Kirkwall Circle has fallen. The mages have finally rebelled against Christiane's strict new measures, following the rest of the country into chaos." He looked at Cullen. "This time, even some of the Templars have rebelled against her in support of the mages, the new Knight-Commander Leon among them." He then turned to Hawke. "Hawke, you might be pleased to hear that they again rebel in your name. But, this time, as a defender of mages."

Sebastian frowned, and if it were possible, his expression became even grimmer. "Also, word has come down from Val Royeaux. You and Cullen are considered fugitives from justice. You've both been officially charged with the deaths of Seeker of Truth Frollo and Grand Cleric Augusta. I . . . think there's little hope that you'll be able to return to Kirkwall, or even the Free Marches, for the near future. In fact, you may not truly be safe anywhere within the Divine's influence."

Hawke felt her mouth fall open as she stared at him, knowing she shouldn't be surprised at this but feeling stunned all the same. Trying to focus on something concrete, she asked, "Sebastian, what about Aveline?" She still felt horrible that Aveline had been drawn into this.

He looked over at the guardswoman. "From what I understand you are still a person of interest in the investigation. But, I was told that if you were to stay away from Kirkwall, it is unlikely to progress beyond that. No one else, to my knowledge, has been specifically implicated."

Aveline nodded her head in understanding, but Donnic looked concerned. She put her hand over his with a smile. "Good then that we were planning on leaving anyway," she said softly to him.

Hawke was still trying to absorb all of this, that she and Cullen had been branded murderers. That Aveline was essentially exiled from Kirkwall. It all seemed so unfair, but then again, she and Cullen were ultimately responsible for killing Frollo and Augusta. She was starting to feel better about Cullen's plan since it seemed now their chances for clearing their names were becoming increasingly slim.

"What of the Viscountess's seat?" Cullen asked.

"It looks like Kirkwall is headed for another power vacuum," Sebastian said. "The nobles don't know what to think about the charges against Hawke, but no one is brave enough to step forward. What's more, Christiane has made it clear that she will not extend her support toward appointing anyone new." He snorted. "Publicly she says it's because she is hopeful Hawke will someday prove her innocence and return to Kirkwall."

"So it's Meredith all over again," Cullen said softly.

"Indeed. Only worse. At least Meredith was forthright about her intentions, extreme as they were. Christiane, on the other hand, seems to speak with a forked tongue.

"On the bright side," Sebastian continued, "I've been in contact with King Alistair and Queen Elissa. Hawke, they've agreed to give you asylum in Ferelden." He nodded at Cullen. "Both of you. For as long as you need. I have a ship and escort ready to take you to Denerim in safety."

Hawke blinked in surprise at this and then looked up at Cullen where he stood just behind her shoulder. He nodded once, giving her a tender smile, and she knew that despite this offer of asylum, they would proceed with their own plan.

"Sebastian, thank you so much for arranging this for us. We're so grateful to you, and to the King and Queen, to all of you, for your help and support," she began, looking around the room.

Sebastian gave her a searching look, eyes narrowing. "But . . .?"

"But, we've decided . . ." she said, reaching up for Cullen's hand where it sat on her shoulder, "to disappear. Alone." The room fell into silence again as everyone seemed shocked by this.

"Despite the considerable protections the King of Ferelden can offer," she continued, "we'll never truly be safe out in the open. You said so yourself, Sebastian. I doubt the Seekers will stop looking for us, and we're too easily found if we're in Denerim. Instead we disappear, and no one will know where to find us."

"Disappear?" Isabela said. "You mean, even from us, don't you?"

Hawke took a deep breath. "We think that the less you all know of our whereabouts, the better. Now that we know what Seekers are capable of, we can't risk putting any more of you in danger."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Aveline. Aveline had later admitted to her that part of the reason she had resigned as Guard-Captain was because of her continuing struggle with her memory. Even with what Merrill had been able to learn from the Seeker's amulet, the healing still hadn't been a complete success. Aveline and Donnic had decided to take it slow for a while and would be heading back to Ferelden, along with Merrill, who would continue to try to do what she could.

"What, Hawke? You think we can't keep a secret?" Varric asked.

"I—" Hawke had to stop, unable to speak around the lump in her throat as she too vividly recalled her own experiences with the Seeker.

Cullen smoothly stepped in. "We don't want anyone to have to take that risk for us. You've all already done so much. It's time we stop endangering anyone else."

"Where will you go?" Sebastian asked at last.

"We have some thoughts on that . . . that we won't share," Hawke said. "But as a decoy, I was thinking that you take ship anyway, like we'd been discussing. Isabela, you and Fenris take Bodahn and Sandal to Orlais, and Sebastian, you go to Denerim as you'd planned, taking Aveline, Donnic and Merrill, while we leave from here on foot, under cover of darkness. Hopefully that will be enough to put anyone off our trail for a time. After that, we'll just have to be clever." She smiled up at Cullen, who squeezed her hand where he still held it at her shoulder.

"Hawke, are you sure it is wise to go alone?" Fenris asked, eyes narrowed in concern.

"To be honest, I think we'll have more success getting away with fewer people. And, we won't be alone for too much longer." She laughed, pressing her hand to her stomach where she thankfully wasn't showing yet. "So, we'll need to move swiftly."

"So this is goodbye, then?" Merrill said sadly.

"Only for a time. We'll always be able to find each of you, and we will, once things become safer. You can't get rid of us that easily," Hawke said with a smile.

Varric chuckled. "Daisy, don't worry. There's no way Hawke's story would end yet. Just you wait . . ."

ooXXoo

The morning seemed to come too quickly, as Hawke and Cullen tiredly gathered their meager belongings and prepared to slip away before the sun rose. As she closed her pack, the slender gold band on her finger winked at her in the candlelight, making her smile.

Their last act before becoming nameless fugitives had been to go to the small village Chantry the night before and get married. While not the extravagant fairytale wedding her mother had always imagined for her, it was all the more precious for its simplicity and for being witnessed only by those who were most dear to them, during their last moments together as a group. They had observed the occasion with only a crown of daisies Merrill had woven for Hawke, and of course, their rings, which had survived their adventures safely tucked inside her locket. She knew she would always cherish the look on Cullen's face as the Reverend Mother gave the final blessings on their union, and they had officially slipped the rings on at last.

Afterward, they all had returned to the inn and said their final goodbyes. Most were short, since it felt like everything had been said.

Varric was going to return to Kirkwall. To keep an eye on the situation, he had said.

"Honestly, Hawke, no offense, but the machinations of the Chantry and the politicians rarely affect the daily lives of the citizens in Lowtown anyway. Life will go on. And profitably.

"Erm, speaking of which, here," he said, handing her a weighty sack that clinked with coins.

"What is this?"

"The Seekers will probably confiscate your holdings, and I don't want you to be destitute. It's what I could get my hands on with short notice."

"Varric, I can't take your money!"

He turned an odd shade of red, making her realize that she'd never actually seen a dwarf blush before. "It's not really mine. It's yours. I . . . didn't quite give you your fair share after the Deep Roads. Think of this as making up for it, with interest."

Hawke laughed, not caring a fig since her share already had been more than she could have spent in a lifetime. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, which made him blush even more. "If it makes you feel better. Thank you."

"Well, you've always been hopeless with money, so this should tide you over 'til Lover Boy gets you two on your feet," he said gruffly.

"Varric," she started with emotion, "I don't know how to—"

"Then don't. We'll see each other again. Count on it." He nodded and then strolled off.

She had tried to apologize again to Aveline for everything but had been firmly told to sod off.

"Hawke, we've been needing a change for some time," Aveline had insisted. "I'm looking at this as our chance to set down some roots for once. I've been a soldier for so long, maybe it's my time to just be a woman. And a wife."

Hawke had further embarrassed Aveline with a big hug, which the warrior had actually returned for a brief moment. Aveline had then turned away quickly, hurrying to her room with Donnic while a muffled sniff drifted back to Hawke.

Hawke's goodbyes with Isabela and Fenris had been short, neither of them being partial to emotional farewells. The pirate actually had business in Orlais from her fledgling trade enterprise. Fenris had convinced her to try some legitimate work on the side and apparently it was becoming quite profitable. She had assured Hawke that it was no trouble to take the dwarves with her, making a crack about how that was the least exotic cargo she'd ever carried.

Sending Bodahn to Orlais, where he'd recently talked of going, was the only thing Hawke could really do for him after his years of dedication and service. Since her recommendation no longer meant much, Sebastian had provided him a letter of reference which she hoped would open any door they might need.

It bothered her that she hadn't actually gotten to say a true goodbye to Sebastian. When she had finally located him, she had been intrigued to see him speaking to Cullen. She hadn't been close enough to hear what they were saying, but after a few minutes they had parted with a firm clasp of hands. Sebastian had looked at her from across the room for a moment, nodded his head, and then returned to his ship. Sadly, she supposed they'd already said their goodbyes. With a silent look of understanding, Cullen had put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to their room for a few hours of sleep.

As they tiptoed out of the inn in the pre-dawn darkness, she felt Cullen's hand creep into hers. She locked her fingers in his, and when she looked up, he gave her a boyish grin. She felt her heart flutter with happiness. The curious feeling crept over her that everything was as it should be, and at once she knew that they had made the right decision.

With their few belongings on their backs and the dog at their side, they walked into the sunlight just breaking over the distant hills, hand in hand, toward a new beginning.

Chapter 27: Epilogue

"Isn't it strange how quickly fortunes can change," Cassandra repeated after Varric had finally fallen silent.

"You wanted to know why the Champion isn't in Kirkwall anymore," Varric said with a shrug. He shifted back in his chair, trying to measure up the Seeker's intentions now that she truly had heard the whole story. Up through Hawke's departure, anyway.

Cassandra just shook her head in amazement.

"What's the matter, Seeker? You seem shocked again."

"I didn't think your story could get any more fantastic, Varric."

"Thank you. It is one of my particular talents."

She ignored his quip, saying almost to herself, "A special agent. Here. In Kirkwall." She frowned. "Given the truth about Meredith, what happened with Frollo is . . . regrettable."

"You'll find no argument from any of us," Varric said in a hard voice. "Aveline, least of all."

"I think, given the circumstances, we would be willing to overlook the incident with the Seeker. There is a certain . . . justice to it. But, you expect me to believe that the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall was acting on some kind of . . . petty personal vendetta against the Champion? That she succumbed to a demon, of all things, which ultimately caused her death? That her successor, the Grand Cleric Christiane, currently is possessed by one?"

"Hey, is it really so hard to believe after everything that happened with Meredith? You must have been aware of Augusta's . . . prejudices. And, it's not like demons are so uncommon in stories about Kirkwall."

"At least in your stories, no," Cassandra muttered, looking away. Then she sighed. "If what you're saying is true . . . then I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that this part of the story is also more complicated than I was led to believe. For such a hero to be charged with murder seemed peculiar, to say the least."

"Two such heroes," he said pointedly.

Her eyes became calculating. "I suppose it would be possible to remove the charges from Cullen's record. Reinstating him, however, would be more . . . difficult, given his . . . shift in allegiance."

"And, especially with a demon running Kirkwall, I suppose."

"Those are very serious accusations, dwarf! And, based on your story, have very little evidence. Even for you."

He shrugged again. "I mention it merely as a warning, Seeker. It's up to you to decide what to do with it." He then sat up straighter in his chair, eyes narrowing. "So how is all this going to help? You've already lost all the Circles. In fact, haven't all the Templars rebelled, as well. I thought you decided to abandon the Chantry to hunt the mages."

"Not all of us desire war, Varric," she said, suddenly sounding both resigned and yet earnest. "Please, if you know where the Champion is, you must tell me. She is a hero. A woman that the Templars respect. Someone who was there at the beginning. The Champion could stop all this madness before it's too late. She may be the only one who can."

His eyebrows went up in surprise. "Is that what this is all about? In that case, I wish I could help you."

Cassandra stood back, looking down at him. "Just tell me one thing then—is the Champion dead?"

His eyes briefly lit up, as if in some private joke. "Oh, I doubt that."

"Then you are free to go, Varric. May the Maker watch over you during the dark times ahead of us."

ooXXoo

Cullen patiently awaited the recruit's next attack. When it finally came, he deflected a textbook thrust and dodged a wild, useless swing at his head. Deciding it was time to teach the boy a lesson, he summarily boxed him with the flat of his sword and dropped him in the dust.

Donnic chuckled as Cullen approached him. "I guess that's something we still need to work on," Donnic said.

"Indeed. But, he's learning." Cullen removed his practice gauntlets and wiped the sweat from his eyes. "Definitely too soon to move on to dispelling and smiting, however. He needs to master the basics of combat first."

"Messenger," Donnic said abruptly, prompting Cullen to look up at the Dalish courier running into the central square of their small village.

The local Dalish clan was one of the few groups with which they had regular dealings and felt they could trust during these chaotic times. In the two and half years since they had left Kirkwall, the situation with the mages had gone from bad to worse. With all the Circles fallen and the Templars off either hunting or protecting the mages, the Chantry was in a shambles, scrambling to consolidate its power. It was hard to tell what side anyone might be on, so they were wary of those with whom they did business. But the Dalish elves were certainly no friend of the Chantry, making them a natural ally.

Cullen's eyes tracked the messenger, noting that, instead of going to the central posting board with general news and messages, he headed straight to Marian.

She didn't immediately notice the messenger, as she was in deep discussion with Aveline. The two women were sitting on a bench on the shady verandah of the cottage Marian shared with Cullen, which had also become the de facto mayor's office under her leadership.

She and Aveline currently had an uncanny resemblance as they were both heavy with child and expecting to deliver any day. Always one to treat events of this magnitude with their proper gravitas, Marian had turned it into a competition to see who would give birth first. She was disgruntled that the best odds were currently on Aveline. Marian sat with an unconscious hand rubbing her extended belly, while also keeping an amused eye on the children's nearby lesson.

Underneath an adjacent tree, Merrill was teaching the youngest apprentices how to freeze dandelions, which had resulted in a cloud of dandelion puff, snowflakes and raucous squeals of laughter floating through the central square. Leon stood nearby in case anything went awry, vigilant but with his usual fatuous smile when he gazed at Merrill.

A curly-haired little boy had given up on dandelions, his amber eyes narrowly focused instead on a swirling sphere of ice and snow between his hands which quickly turned into a tightly contained snowball. Before Leon could stop him, the boy had thrown the snowball at Merrill. Shrieking with glee, he then ran away as fast as his stout little legs could carry him. When Leon caught him a few steps later, he dumped another snowball on Leon's head and chortled in satisfaction, his red-gold curls bouncing.

Cullen saw Leon give the boy a firm talking to and then could feel the ghostlike touch of Leon's talents gently stripping away the child's mana. The boy wriggled and giggled at the sensation and then wrapped his little arms around Leon's neck for a big hug.

Cullen shook his head at his son's precociousness, trying not to laugh. At two years old, Malcolm was alarmingly advanced. He couldn't yet string together more than a handful of words, but had already mastered several of Marian's more intuitive elemental spells. The irony that the littlest Templar had been born a mage was not lost on them.

Marian speculated that when she touched Malcolm's consciousness in utero and healed her memories that he had somehow absorbed something from her as well. Teaching him in earnest to control his powers had been their initial catalyst for settling here deep in Ferelden's Brecilian Forest, far from any human settlement. When Marian had worried she might not have the breadth of skill for his training, she had started to seek out like-minded mages. Moreover, since a toddler lacked even the most basic impulse control, they had also begun to recruit Templars who had defected from the Order, like Leon.

Leon had become the most adept at dealing with small children and had soon become Malcolm's primary protector. Watching Leon laugh fondly at his son, Cullen was reminded again of why he had trusted this man so implicitly, despite Marian's repeated condemnations of his intellect; Leon had great heart and a strong moral center. He had been one of the first Templars to join their group.

Now they had a small village, populated primarily by mages and former Templars, where magical training was integrated with learning letters and numbers and the village guard was also responsible for protection against magical accidents.

In addition to Templars, the guard included new recruits who were taught the Templar talents that did not require lyrium. While lyrium was useful for increasing one's magical resistance, its addictive properties, which were ultimately degenerative, together with its strict control by the Chantry made it a luxury they had decided to do without. Like the other former Templars, Cullen was slowly trying to wean himself off of the substance. It wasn't going as quickly as he would like, but Marian had insisted on a very gradual regimen, reminding him that the degenerative effects weren't likely to set in for a few decades.

Early on, they had contacted Aveline and Donnic, who in turn had tracked down Merrill, and they all had joined the growing little community. Merrill had become the lead teacher at their new school and Aveline was now Marian's right hand in managing the village's administrative concerns.

Over the years, Aveline's mind had continued to heal, but she had still never quite achieved Marian's level of success. While Aveline had recovered all her lost memories of the Seeker, she now had worrying lapses in short-term memory from time to time. As a result, she had decided against having any kind of leadership role with the guard, saying she didn't feel comfortable having control over life and death situations when she had these periodic impairments. So it was left to Cullen and Donnic to shape up the recruits into their new fighting force, although they still judiciously relied on her input and experience.

The messenger mounted the cottage steps and said something to Marian. Cullen felt a brush against his senses as she magically confirmed her identity with the courier who then finally handed the message to her. The confirmation procedure meant that it could only be from one person. She gave its contents a cursory glance and then looked over at the training yard, seeking him out. Their eyes met across the distance and he gave her a nod. She nodded back. Message acknowledged, they would now talk about it later.

He smiled as he suddenly he felt a change in tempo in the warm pulses from the amulet he wore near his heart. Perhaps in response to Marian's use of magic, the baby in her womb had woken up, its faint staccato heartbeat playing counterpoint to her steadier one. They had discovered during her first pregnancy with Malcolm that the Seeker's amulet picked up on both heartbeats since Marian's blood was flowing through both of them. He had finally gotten over the concern that he was intruding on her privacy and instead enjoyed having his own direct connection to the baby.

They had often considered getting rid of the amulet, worrying that it might ultimately provide some way of tracking them. But, since they didn't know how to destroy it properly, it seemed more prudent to keep it with them. Plus, it had its uses. Cullen had been uncertain about continuing to wear it, but Marian had insisted that it made her feel safe and close to him, that her personal Templar would always be able to find her. She had added that she just wished she had one for him.

He smiled again, thinking of how well their own version of a Circle of magi was working out. They had found a better model after all.

ooXXoo

That night, Marian was standing on the veranda of their cottage, watching the stars wheel overhead and toying with the locket around her neck. No longer carrying their rings, her locket now contained tiny portraits of Cullen and Malcolm, courtesy of the new blacksmith who was also a talented artist.

Her thoughts drifted, but kept returning for some reason to her strange encounter years before with Flemeth, the powerful old witch of the wilds. Marian was surprised that she could still remember the witch's prophetic words after all this time, which had never made much sense to her. We stand upon the precipice of change, Flemeth had said. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment . . . and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.

Is this my moment to leap? Marian wondered. Or did I miss it already?

She shook her head at the fatalistic turn of her thoughts, laughing at herself a little. Yes, very profound, Marian.

She finally had stopped referring to herself as Hawke . . . most of the time, at least. She and Cullen had decided that, as fugitives, last names were another unnecessary luxury. It also made some things easier for their new family, without all the baggage of history, good and bad. Of course, this was easier said than done. Not because she hadn't believed all the things she'd once told him about how people were more important than names, but because, after so many years of being known by that one moniker, it was simply a hard habit to break.

After a time, Cullen walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and the baby, and dropping a light kiss on her ear.

"Is he asleep?" she asked.

"Finally, but I had to include the story about the high dragon this time."

She laughed. "I see."

"So . . . what did Varric have to say?"

Varric had found some ingenious way of sending them critical information without actually knowing where they were. With the use of clever dead drops, intermediaries who only ever knew part of the picture and some kind of magical identity confirmation, they knew they would be safe even from a Seeker's deadly mind tools. This way he kept them up to date on the happenings in the world when he could.

Through Varric, they had learned of Sebastian's rising influence in the Free Marches as a champion for mage rights, setting him in direct confrontation with Christiane and the Divine. They had also kept tabs on Isabela and Fenris and their continuing life together at sea. Isabela had somehow come into possession of several additional ships and had grown the fleet into a veritable trade empire, turning her into a legitimate businesswoman, much to her chagrin. Through Varric's complicated system, Isabela sometimes provided harder to find items for their little village. To keep her hand in more illicit enterprises, the pirate had insisted.

Varric had decided to remain in Kirkwall, saying he enjoyed the danger and uncertainty of the near-police state it had become under Grand Cleric Christiane. It seemed he was finally experiencing the downside of this decision, however, as the latest round of Seekers had found him at last.

"You'll have to read it to believe it," Marian said with a nod to where the letter sat on the nearby bench. "Apparently, the Seekers are finally trying to find the actual truth of what happened in Kirkwall. A nice case of too little, too late. Interestingly, after everything, they seem to want my help to set the world back to rights."

Cullen read through it quickly and then sat down heavily on the bench to process it. A moment later she lowered herself down awkwardly next to him.

"So how do you feel about that?" he asked.

"Hmmm, the notion that somehow I could fix the world is . . . tempting. To somehow share our ideas about what a Circle can be. Stop worrying about being discovered. It's a world I'd love to give to our children."

He waited for her to continue.

"If we went, we'd have to give up everything we've built. Again. And, there's no guarantee they would actually listen to the former Champion of Kirkwall. They've been drowned in violence and hate now . . . I don't think I would even know where to start. Plus, the children would have to stay here, where they can be safe. And, maybe it would be wise for you to stay with them."

After a pause, she asked, "So, what do you think?"

"About staying behind while you run off in pursuit of danger? That is not likely to happen." He chuckled. "About you saving the world? It's a nice idea. I have a hard time believing there isn't some new generation of hero ready to take on this challenge though." He put his arm around her. "You've done your part. Maybe it is time to rest."

"Maybe you should tell that to your offspring here." She rubbed the top of her belly, near her ribcage, grimacing. "If she doesn't stop standing on my ribs, I may never sleep again."

"She's a fighter, this one." He smiled. "Like her mother."

"Well, she needs to learn that there is a time to fight and also a time to sleep."

"Maybe her mother needs to learn that lesson as well."

She gave him a measuring look. "So . . . you don't think that this is our time to fight?"

He thought about his response for a moment. "I think . . . our life here is worth fighting for and getting involved with the Seekers could well jeopardize that life. Even if their good intentions are genuine and the Divine herself were to issue us a full pardon."

She sighed. "You're probably right. I guess . . . sometimes it's hard to let go of the Champion in me."

"You don't have to let go of it. But also consider all the other things you are. A mother. A wife. A leader. A teacher. Those roles are important, too."

She considered this and then grimaced as the overactive baby pushed off on her ribs again. "Ugh, and a fat, tired pregnant woman."

"A beautiful and alluring pregnant woman," he murmured, nuzzling her ear then pressed his lips just underneath the corner of her jaw.

She shivered and gave him a devious smile. "Mmm, you keep that up and you may not get any sleep tonight either."

He grinned. "Not that I'm averse to the idea, but are you sure? With the baby so close?"

"Cullen, I will do anything to get this baby to come sooner." She leaned in and gave him a lingering kiss.

"Hmm . . . is that giving you an unfair advantage over Aveline?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"Well, if you're really worried about fairness, I suppose you could go sleep with her, too, but I don't think Donnic would appreciate that very much."

"No, no, I just don't want her hurting me," he said with a laugh. "She still has a mean right hook."

Marian chuckled and laid her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "It's too easy to dismiss how bad it is out there when we're safely tucked in here, isn't it? I don't know how much longer we can ignore the rest of the world."

"My world is right here, so I'm prepared to ignore the rest indefinitely." He tightened his arm around her and dropped a light kiss on her hair.

She smiled against his shoulder and took a deep breath, letting the calming fragrance of Knight's Bloom wash over her from where it curled up the side of the cottage. A scent that now spoke to both of them of home.

Fin

Notes:

A/N: Well, there you have it, patient reader, with all the imperfections of a first time writer. Despite these imperfections, I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks again for reading!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of the Knight's Bloom Series series »