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“When are the mages from Hasmal due to arrive?”
“Within the week, I believe.” Cullen paused, leveling a considering look at Madelena, who was poorly concealing an unusual amount of excitement. “You seem rather eager. Are you expecting someone?”
Perhaps she knew someone who had been transferred to Hasmal. Perhaps an old friend, or –
Cullen shoved that thought to the side. The Inquisitor’s relationships were none of his business.
Before she could answer, he shook his head. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry.”
Madelena shot him a warm smile from across the war table, and Cullen swallowed, hard, against the sudden pressure in his chest.
“You’re not prying. In truth, I am – I have family in Hasmal’s Circle.”
“I thought you were the only mage in your family?” She had mentioned once, off-hand, that there hadn’t been a mage born to House Trevelyan in five generations.
Her smile turned more considering as she tilted her head and looked at him, like he was a puzzle to figure out. “I’m surprised you remember that. But I never said they were mages – my uncle and cousin are both members of the Order there.”
For some reason, he had completely failed to consider that she might have family among the templars – a fact that made her grief over losing the Order to Corypheus much more understandable. And why her sentiments towards templars were far more positive than most mages he’d met. “Oh. Were you close?”
Looking down at her hands, Madelena rolled one of the table’s map markers between her fingers in a way that could almost be called nervous, as she responded, “Yes, actually. My cousin Tristane fostered with us since his parents died young, so he’s more like a brother than a cousin. And Uncle Martyn served at Ostwick’s Circle throughout my childhood, so he’d stay at the estate when he was on leave.” She paused, attention turned inward, smiling faintly at whatever memories she found there. “My mother would take my sisters to Orlais in the summers, but she would leave me at home with my father. Which really meant my grandmother, and Tristane, and Uncle Martyn. He was nearly a second father to me.” The smile faded a little, turning sadder. “He was also the one that took me to the Circle, when I came into my magic.”
Cullen grimaced. Most young mages came in cursing the templars that brought them, but usually those knights were ones who served outside the Circles. “That must have been… difficult.” The words felt awkward and leaden in his mouth as he said them, and Cullen kicked himself for his lack of eloquence.
Madelena didn’t seem to notice, however, and shook her head. “Honestly, it made it easier. I thought, at least if I can’t be home, I’ll still have family nearby. What was hard was finding out that he had resigned his position there. I thought he’d abandoned me. I refused to answer his letters for years. I was a woman grown before I understood that he’d done it for me – he sacrificed his Knight-Captaincy so I could stay in Ostwick, where he trusted the Knight-Commander, instead of being sent somewhere… else.”
The final word dropped like a stone between them, sending an uneasy feeling down Cullen’s spine. “Somewhere else” when it came to Circles in the Free Marches really only meant one thing: Kirkwall. Her uncle had sacrificed years of career advancement and a cushy placement to keep her away from Meredith.
Away from him.
He couldn’t even blame the man. Would thank him for it, in fact. Thinking of Madelena in the Gallows – it made his stomach turn, and not least for how he would have seen her, had he known her then.
The silence grew uncomfortable, and Madelena released the map marker she’d been toying with – one of his, he noticed, and tried not to think about the way that was making him feel – and slid it back to its fellows, straightening them into a neat line. “Anyway,” she murmured, “I worried for him, when I heard the templar leadership was summoned to Therinfall. I hope he’s alright.”
“He is.”
Madelena looked up from the war table for the first time since she’d begun speaking of her past, blinking in surprise, but waited for Cullen to elaborate.
“Knight-Commander Brycen sent word that he was sending his Knight-Captain, a man named Martyn, to supervise the transfer while he remained behind to secure the tower.”
Her smile was back, even wider than before, and for a moment Cullen let himself imagine that he’d been the one to put it there in truth, rather than simply delivering the message.
“Oh! That’s wonderful news. Please notify me as soon as they arrive?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Commander. Have a good night.”
The use of his title snapped him back to reality, and as soon as the door closed behind her, Cullen braced his hands against the war table and let out a deep sigh. Maker help him, he was a mess every time she looked at him – a ridiculous state of affairs when she was now his superior. But try as he might, he couldn’t put her out of his mind. Not since the night he found her collapsed in the snow, miraculously alive yet again, despite the suicide mission he had set her on. He knew it was foolish, and yet…
Pushing himself back upright, Cullen rubbed a hand over his face. It wouldn’t hurt to check in with the scouts – they might be able to give a more accurate arrival time for the Hasmal delegation. And he wasn’t about to let anyone else have honor of delivering the good news.
–
Despite his vigilance, a terrible withdrawal headache kept Cullen abed longer than he normally would be, and so he wasn’t informed of the Hasmal mages’ arrival until they were already at the front gate. Cursing, Cullen threw his armor on as quickly as he could, but by the time he walked out onto the bridge connecting his office to the main fortress, he could see Madelena throwing her arms around an older man in meticulously polished templar armor, while a younger man in Knight-Corporal plate looked on, grinning.
Even had Madelena not told him of the relation, he would have seen it – though Martyn’s hair was more grey than black, and Tristane’s curlier than Madelena’s own loose waves, both had the same square jaw and high cheekbones, the same bright, intelligent eyes.
He slowed his approach across the courtyard – no need to rush now, the loyalist mages had been ushered away by Vivienne, and the other Hasmal templars escorted to the barracks by the Inquisition’s own – watching as the old templar pressed something into Madelena’s hand, then turned and followed his men.
It was only Madelena and Tristane left, and moments before Cullen could step out of the shadows, he watched the young man shake his head in frustration.
“Andraste’s tits, Madelena, what are you thinking?”
Indignation stopped him cold, and Madelena’s body language echoed what he felt.
“About what, precisely?” Her tone was sharp and cold as the ice she commanded, but the man barrelled on, heedless, with the kind of confidence that only came from foolishness or familiarity.
“You let a goddamned templar from Kirkwall not only command your armies but advise you? Maybe the Ostwick Circle was too far out, but we heard things, Maddie. Terrible, brutal things, things so bad I won’t even repeat them. Things that made even the most mage-fearing templars in Hasmal shudder. And he wasn’t just there, he was their Knight-Captain. He knew! He allowed it! He’s dangerous, Madelena. Mages aren’t people to templars like him.”
Cullen closed his eyes against the sudden lurch in his stomach and the pounding in his head. The worst part was that he couldn’t fully argue. Everything about joining the Inquisition had been about leaving that life behind, but it always seemed to follow him, regardless.
The quiet steel in the Inquisitor’s voice forced him to open his eyes and focus past the pain.
“We heard, Tris. I know the stories. I know more than stories. I also know Cullen. He left the Order – whoever he was in Kirkwall is not who he is now. If he was, he wouldn’t be here.”
I know Cullen. The words chased themselves inside his head – this was not the Inquisitor’s defense of her Commander. Madelena was defending him. With a shaky sigh, Cullen leaned against the stone wall, grateful for the coolness of the bricks seeping into his forehead.
“People don’t just leave the Order, Madelena. I know, because if they did, I would have done it years ago.” A familiar bitterness twisted Tristane’s words, and Cullen almost laughed. Maker, but he sounded just like Cullen himself had, before Cassandra had offered him another path.
He watched Madelena reach out and take her cousin’s hands in her own. “I know you’re just concerned for me, Tris, but I’ve grown up a lot since the last time you saw me. I’m the Inquisitor. I trust my own judgement, and I trust Cullen. I’m not asking you to trust him, but I am asking you to trust me.”
A long pause, and then Tristane sighed. “Yeah, okay. I still think he’s bad news, but… I’ll try.” He squeezed Madelena’s hands and then released them, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Maker, but it’s good to see you, Maddie. I was so worried, when the war started…”
Their conversation faded out as the two of them ascended the stairs and headed into Skyhold, leaving Cullen alone with his thoughts, and his headache. Raising one hand to rub his temple, he slowly walked back towards his office, climbing the ladder to his personal quarters and locking the doors. He’d get no work done with his head this muddled, and he knew himself well enough not to try. Not bothering to change out of his armor, he slid down to the floor in the darkest corner of his room and closed his eyes as he leaned back against the wall, falling almost immediately into fitful, haunted sleep.
–
Hours later, once the sun had touched the western horizon and Cullen’s headache had finally broken, he summoned Tristane Trevelyan to his office.
The tall man had shed his plate for simpler leathers, but was no less knightly in his bearing for it. He folded himself into the chair opposite Cullen, the set of his jaw and challenge in his eyes making Cullen feel vaguely like he was the one who’d been summoned.
Shoving down the feeling, Cullen reached for his years of training as Knight-Captain and schooled himself to distant, collected calm, folding his hands loosely on the desk in front of him. “Knight-Corporal Tristane Trevelyan. Welcome to Skyhold.”
The man snorted in clear disdain. “Bit late, isn’t it? We arrived hours ago. Not that you were there.”
The insubordination in his tone made Cullen’s jaw tighten, but he forced it to relax. “I was, as it happens. I overheard your conversation with the Inquisitor.”
Tristane had the grace to at least look slightly uncomfortable for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest. “So you know that I have concerns about you.”
“I do. But that’s not what I called you here to discuss.” Nothing Cullen said to argue or deny would have even a fraction of the impact of Madelena’s words, so what was the point? Either he would trust in her, as he said he would, or he would not.
Confusion overtook the defiance in Tristane’s demeanor, and Cullen waited a long moment before continuing. “You told her that, if it was possible, you would have left the Templar Order years ago.”
“Well – Yes. After the White Spire, Dairsmuid, Kirkwall… it’s hard to believe that we’re protecting anyone, rather than simply playing jailors and torturers. And I don’t know about you, but that’s not what I signed up to be, when I took my vows. But it’s not as if there’s much choice, is there? Lyrium doesn’t grow on trees, last I checked.”
Cullen fought the urge to sigh and rub his eyes, settling for drumming his gloved fingertips against the wood of the desk. He could argue any number of points, but chose to ignore the needling, forging on ahead with his chosen tactic. “I agree with your assessment of the Order and its failings. That is, in fact, the reason I left. The reason I no longer take lyrium.”
That finally shocked Tristane out of his attitude, and he leaned forward, eyebrows knitting together as he stared at Cullen. “You – that’s – they said that’s impossible. You should be mad, or dead. Or at the very least bed-ridden.”
“The risks were great, but I judged them worth the chance to be free of that life. Of the leash the Chantry keeps ‘round our necks.” Cullen returned Tristane’s stare, unmoveable as stone, and watched as the younger man’s entire worldview upended itself. He knew well how disconcerting it all could be.
After long moments, Tristane slumped forward, elbows on his knees, with an expression that Cullen had often seen on Madelena’s face – consideration, indecision, the weighing of words. Eventually he raised his eyes, a tiny flicker of respect in them, and asked, quietly, “What’s it like?”
Cullen laughed humorlessly as he leaned back in his chair and dropped the Commander’s mantle. “Frankly? Awful. My blood burns, my muscles ache, my head sometimes feels as if it’s about to split open. And the Maker-be-damned need is always there, telling you that you know exactly how to make it stop. All it takes from you is your freedom, and eventually your mind. But it is worth it. The days where it impairs my ability to perform my duties are rare – this morning, unfortunately, was one of them.”
“I see. Is this something any templar could attempt?” Indecision was slowly starting to coalesce into determination, and Cullen was satisfied to know that he’d read the man right.
“It isn’t. There are a few factors – willpower, for one. Another is age, and the years spent taking lyrium. The less time since your vows, the better. Much past a decade of service, and the risks outweigh the chance of success considerably. Your uncle, for example, would likely not survive the attempt.” He paused, letting the gravity of that sink in, then continued. “It is a long, difficult path, one that I, after two years, have not reached the end of. But if it is one you would walk… speak to Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. She helped me. She could do the same for you.”
Tristane nodded, frowning in thought, ignoring the dismissal that had been laced into Cullen’s tone. “I will. …About Kirkwall, and the things I said –”
Cullen cut him off with a waved hand. “Have you ever actually met a maleficar, Knight-Corporal? Any firsthand experience with blood magic, abominations?”
“I – no. I’ve been present for failed Harrowings, but no true abomination.” The admission was reluctant, but at least he did not try to lie, as some templars did.
Taking a deep breath, Cullen steeled himself and forced out the words that still haunted him to this day. “When I was nineteen summers, not even a year after taking my vows, the Ferelden Circle fell to blood magic. The maleficars slaughtered innocent mage and templar alike. I was among the only survivors, and only because I did not break to torture as quickly as many of my brothers. When the tower was liberated… I was angry. I saw blood magic in the eyes of every mage. It was wrong of me, and excuses nothing, but Kirkwall had enough true blood mages to make it feel justified. Until it wasn’t. Meredith was practical, pragmatic, doing what she had to to protect the city. Until she wasn’t. And then I turned my sword against her, and left the Order itself as soon as another path was offered to me. I tell you all this only to say – Inquisitor Trevelyan has earned my faith, and my loyalty. I do not give either easily, anymore. You have nothing to fear from me on her behalf.”
Tristane pushed himself to his feet, and Cullen followed suit, taking the hand the younger man extended. “I believe you. I apologize for misjudging you… Commander.”
“Don’t. I would do the same in your position. And in truth, I am glad that Ma –” Cullen caught himself, stumbling over her name, said far too familiarly, “that the Inquisitor has such a fierce defender.”
Blue-grey eyes narrowed at the slip, and Tristane Trevelyan released his hand, for a moment wearing one of his cousin’s inscrutable expressions. “Of course. She is as a sister to me. I always have her best interests in mind.”
Cullen heard the warning in his tone as clear as day, and suppressed a sigh. Wonderful. “Speak to Cassandra. And if you have need of an ear, you are welcome to come find me. I cannot promise I will be much comfort, but I will do what I can.”
Tristane nodded, then bowed slightly, fist over his heart in a templar salute. “Thank you, ser.” Without a backwards glance, he walked out the door, and Cullen dropped heavily back into his chair. Maker, he hoped his meeting with Martyn the next morning would be less… fraught, that age would have tempered the intensity that the younger members of the family carried. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure his nerves would survive many more Trevelyans in Skyhold.