My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "What of them?"

  "A Seeker is here," a new voice spoke as a woman strode in through the open frame. She bore a chiseled look that put Cullen in mind of a dragon surveying her horde and about to snap off anyone that dared to cross her. He couldn't quite place the accent twisting up her vowels, but it wasn't Orlesian and that surprised him. She eyed up Addley, and with a dismissive snort said, "Leave us."

  Addley glanced at Cullen and threw her head back. She was prepared to disobey an order from the Seeker for him. He tipped his head to her to tell her it was all right. The Seeker wasn't going to cut him down in the office, probably. Sliding out the door, Addley kept an eye on the two of them before she more than likely slipped to the storage closet on the other side of the wall that overheard everything.

  "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine."

  Cullen blanched at the final part. No templar wanted to see a Seeker, that was a given, but the Right Hand of Divine Justinia and in Kirkwall. Andraste's tears, they weren't sending an Exalted March, were they? "Knight-Captain Cullen," he said while trying to bury the weariness in his voice and rise to attention.

  "Not Knight-Commander?" the Seeker asked, her sharp eyes cutting through him.

  "I was never officially granted that title." Not that I'd want it. "If the Divine was sending a Seeker to put the templars back in line, you're a few years too late." Cullen pointed out the door towards the west, "But you might be able to catch some before they begin their foolish endeavor to destroy thedas."

  Cassandra snorted at that and it threw him. He'd never seen a Seeker before, but every templar knew of them. The guards of the guards, when they were sent for something had gone or was about to go horribly wrong. He anticipated their arrival for months after the disaster, but no one came to drag the only remaining authority figure - namely himself - before the pyre. The Divine sent some aid for the refugees and a few of her own elite guards to assist. They were the most useless swordsmen he'd ever had to deal with. They wanted action and glory, but it wasn't monsters that needed killing in the aftermath. No one becomes a hero by moving stones to clear a path for wagons to carry supplies, but it had to be done.

  "I have not come to enact a tribunal for what occurred in Kirkwall," Cassandra said.

  Cullen snapped out of his reverie and nodded, "Good. It's doubtful we could find enough people to try the remaining templars, much less punish them."

  "Knight-Captain, you must agree that this madness has to end. Templars and mages are fighting in the streets all across southern thedas and innocent people are suffering for it."

  A flinch tore up his face from her words. Innocents. It was always the innocents caught in the middle. Innocents that drove them. Innocents that were the backbone of the order. But who was truly innocent? Could he even tell anymore? "And you need my templars to go wage your war, is that it Seeker? I'm afraid I don't technically command them what with the circles disbanding and the order dissolving into madness."

  "Yet they listen to you," Cassandra glanced down the hall in Addley's wake, "they rise up to shield you."

  Cullen shrugged, "They want guidance, as most do. I suggest what needs to be done and they do it."

  "That is what brought me to speak with you. In spite of all the chaos sewn in the wake of a tragedy of unheard of proportions you have maintained order. Not just order, you are repairing what was lost. That is impressive," the Seeker praised him, but it only strung deeper. No, he was doing what he had to, what he needed to. Not for those supposed innocents but to pay for his mistakes. Meredith wiped out the Circle, pulverized chantry law due to her own vengeful delusions, and she did it right under his nose. It was as much his fault as that rebel mage's.

  "I'm doing what I need to," he said.

  "You are out of uniform," the Seeker unexpectedly exclaimed, her eyes drifting across his faded blue tunic. One morning he woke, his back sore from shifting stones off a house crumpled by the head of Andraste, and he couldn't put on the templar armor anymore. He'd worn it day in and day out since he was eighteen years old, but now the thought of it touching him turned his stomach. He only saw his own broken promises glinting across every piece. So he slipped on the only shirt in his possession that hurt him in a different way. No one recognized it as being of warden make, but everyone came to know the once crisp blue meant the Knight-Captain was around. Wear and dust off the rubble faded the vibrant color to a softer almost grey hue.

  "I am no longer a templar," Cullen said, folding his arms across the tunic. "Last I heard there is no order to be a member of."

  "This is why I have come to Kirkwall, with a writ from Divine Justinia," Cassandra hauled out a book thicker than most mage tomes and bound in a rich leather. She waved it around as if it gave her power, but didn't pass the book to Cullen. "The Divine is hosting a conclave between the mage and templar leaders."

  "So I heard. I pray it succeeds but plan on it not," Cullen cut back but the Seeker didn't frown.

  "The Divine hopes the conclave will succeed, but if it fails she intends to bring back the Inquisition of old to put back together the tattered pieces and end this rebellion without destroying thedas in the process."

  "The Inquisition..." He'd heard the stories, all templars did. It was what birthed their order, but it was also bloody and, in the end, shattered under its own weight.

  "We've watched your progress with a close eye repairing what you can in Kirkwall and think you could offer much to assist the Divine. I came to ask you to lead our forces," the Seeker pressed. "To help bring order and security back to thedas."

  Cullen snorted and turned away from her. He'd spent the past six years blindly serving the forces of a mad woman. Her own anger led her to a madness, an anger he thought they shared for the greater good. That anger drove her to condemn Kirkwall and push them along this path of rebellion. And he never spotted it, never stopped it before it boiled over into every circle. He had that forever dangling off his neck. "And who would lead this Inquisition? Divine Justinia?"

  "No. She does not wish it to be seen as an arm of the chantry," the Seeker answered.

  "You then? Or some other Knight-Commander you've sworn to your cause?" Cullen continued. He couldn't do it, he couldn't put his blind faith in someone knowing how easily they'd twist the power to their own means.

  "We hope the Hero of Ferleden will be our Inquisitor."

  Lana? Cullen's fingers gripped tight to his chest. He'd tried to seal her away with the rest of his handful of sweet memories but she always found a way to bubble back to his attention. A few months after the chantry explosion a solitary letter appeared upon his desk addressed not to the Knight-Commander or even the Knight-Captain. It was meant only for Cullen. There was no signature indicating who sent it or from where, but he didn't need it. He knew from the two solitary words on the page, "Stay safe."

  The Seeker plowed through his silent reflection, "Sister Leliana is in Denerim right now attempting to track down Lady Amell's whereabouts. We hope that, despite her being a mage, she will see reason in putting an end to this fight."

  If anyone could move a mountain, drain an ocean, and fix the world it was Solona Amell. When he was on the brink of exhaustion and anger flooding his brain, he would remember the touch of her lips as he first kissed her. The way she parted them in surprise then kissed back even harder. His rage would cool leaving an ache in his heart that could only hurt him.

  "I'll do it," Cullen whispered closing his eyes. She knew, Lana knew what his own Knight-Commander was doing better than he did. Had tried to warn him before, but he wouldn't listen. How would she look upon him now, knowing that he'd slaughtered so many mages in the name of justice? He would bear the brunt of her hatred, her scorn, if he could provide some aid to her and be near her once again.

  "Beg pardon?" the Seeker asked.

  Cullen turned and faced her, "I will lead your troops to the best of my ability."

  Cassandra smiled as if she already anticipated his re
action. "Good."

  "There is...something you should know." Cullen massaged the back of his neck, struggling to find the words. As Cassandra nodded her head at him, he continued, "I've decided to stop taking lyrium." He couldn't stand the idea of the order having him either in body or soul.

  "You are yet standing," the Seeker said dissecting him with her calculating eyes.

  "It's been a few weeks without, I...if I cannot perform whatever duties you require of me. If I, if I do not live up to what you need, then..."

  Cassandra laid a hand across his forearm drawing his attention. "Commander, I swear on the Maker I will do my best to judge if you are able to continue to the best of your abilities."

  Cullen nodded his head, "How do we go about planning this Inquisition? What do you need from me?"

  "I have to wait for Leliana's forces to return with news but...in the mean time there is something you can assist me with." The Seeker unearthed another book from behind her back, this one plastered in a garish cover. She passed a far too familiar tale to Cullen and pointed at the cover smeared in a garish yellow text proclaiming it 'The Tale of the Champion.'

  "I need your help in locating the author of this book," Cassandra said.

  Cullen twisted the book around and smiled, "I know exactly where to find him."

  * * *

  Claws ripped apart her sleeve and raked across the skin. Blood welled up through the abrasion but she was too far gone to notice the pain. The hurlock jabbered something at Lana, its rotted teeth spraying spittle against her cheek. She tipped her hand up and willed an icicle into being off her palm to drive through the creature's stomach. It was enough to kill the darkspawn but also obliterated the vestiges of her mana. She grabbed her upper arm to try and slow the bleeding while sliding back. Three darkspawn remained and there was nothing left in her to finish the job.

  So this was how it ended. Lost in the twists of the deep roads, blood pooling from her wounds, and three darkspawn scrabbling over their dead brethren to finish off the hero of Ferelden. Well, she wasn't about to make it easy for them, even if that had been the entire point.

  A genlock tipped back on its back legs and roared. Lana shouted back, "Oh, sod off!" Swinging her staff blade forward, it slicked across the gargantuan's back leaving a line of red behind but doing nothing to slow the creature. "What happened to these damn things?! You shouldn't be so big!" she screamed again, still trying to slide away from the creature while jabbing her staff like a kitchen knife. There were no more spells in her arsenal, no one was coming, no one even knew she was here. At least no one would know how ignominiously she died. It was a strangely comforting thought as her back flattened against the wall. No escape for the hero of Ferelden. Her time finally came. The genlock hissed, stamping its feet across the ground like a bull about to charge.

  "Get on with it, already!" she shouted at it. Lopping into a run, the genlock sped towards her on all fours. It reared back, ready to strike her across the chest when fire burst upon its back. The genlock screamed, its skin crackling in flames. Lana twisted her hand around trying to figure out where the spell came from, her mana was still dead. How could she have cast it?

  Then a woman in red and black armor burst out through the caverns behind the darkspawn. She bore a blade nearly as long as herself and hacked through the last two hurlocks with an infectious madness. Ichor bubbled up from the greatsword's wounds and the darkspawn turned their attack on the unexplainable woman. Lana had bigger problems than this newest pawn on the board. The flames died across the genlock's skin and it twisted its teeth back to her. Slipping down, her fingers gripped onto the first leather hilt she found hidden in her boot. Underhanded, Lana slit a dagger across the creature's throat. Black blood gushed from the powerful beat of its heart, drenching across her robes. It stumbled from the final death throes and landed upon Lana, dragging both to the ground.

  Pinned under the genlock, she could just see the woman's massive greatsword chopping through the heads of the hurlocks, sending them scattering to the ground. The woman smiled at her destruction, then turned around to ask, "Please tell me this is the right one."

  "I am positive she's here," a male voice spoke behind her.

  "That's what you said last time, you know, before we walked in on an ogre."

  "85% positive, then."

  Lana wiggled below the genlock's corpse and limped to her feet. Using her staff as leverage, she rose to eye up her unexpected saviors. The woman was turned away from her, trying to mop up the darkspawn blood spattered across every inch of her. But the blonde man in a feathered coat blacker than the deep roads instantly struck Lana, "You!"

  Anders clucked his tongue, "Told you it was her."

  The woman spun away from the abomination and smiled. Blood was swiped across her nose but it was too red to be darkspawn. She cracked an even greater grin than before, as if that were possible, "I guess I owe you a drink."

  "Anders," Lana sneered. She was in no state to fight him, her own body threatening to shut down after two weeks in the deep roads, but she couldn't stop the rage boiling behind her eyes. The traitor here, right in front of her, after all this time. After all he did.

  The woman stepped in between them and stuck out her hand, "Solona, right? Solona Amell."

  Anders tapped the woman on the shoulder and whispered, "She hates being called that."

  Lana shoved away the woman's proffered hand and leapt into Anders' way, "Tell me why I don't kill you right now for what you did?"

  "Because I doubt you could hurt a kitten in your state," Anders cut back, but his eyes darted up to the woman and he mouthed 'This'll end well.'

  "Do not act as if you know my limits, Anders," Lana cursed, trying to summon all she could. "You betrayed your promise, the order, my trust and the faith I placed in you. In both of you."

  Anders blinked and his cocky smile slipped away at her mentioning Justice, as if she hadn't figured it out the moment both vanished from the Keep. Reports of a mage with glowing blue eyes in Kirkwall sealed the deal as far as she was concerned. The woman grabbed onto Lana's shoulder, her grip friendly but with a flexing dig to warn the mage that she could shatter her collarbone if she had a mind.

  "All right, let's not go into who betrayed who."

  "There's nothing to go into. The answer is obvious," Lana spat back, not taking her eyes off the abomination. Anders slunk back from her venom, his eyes darting up the wall to avoid her. Shame was a surprise; she never thought the man capable of such a thing.

  "You are her, right? Hero of Ferelden, big stopper of the Blight and slaughtered of darkspawn and all that?" the woman continued.

  Lana slumped forward in her grasp, "I am, and you are..."

  Anders interrupted, "This is the Champion of Kirkwall." Of course, who else would dare to travel with him after what he did?

  "Hawke, at your service," she said finally releasing her grip and then patting Lana on the back. The force was enough to crumple a deepstalker's skull, but Lana gritted through it. "It's great to meet you, in the flesh. Love your work, you know. Killing darkspawn, stopping blights. It's great all around. Did you know we're family?"

  "Oh?" Lana shook her head, trying to clear the never ending buzzing from her thoughts. In doing so, she glanced over at the abomination and saw him attempting to do the same. Once a grey warden, always a grey warden -- no matter how far you ran.

  Hawke was the only one unaffected as she beamed, "Yup, my mother's side is Amell. You're like a second cousin twice removed or something like that. They showed me charts once but I didn't get it. I was never very good at lineage shit."

  "Delightful," Lana said. She prodded at the wound below her shredded sleeve, then hissed as pain and more blood poured from it.

  "I can heal that," Anders said, but Lana glared at him.

  "Do not come near me."

  His eyes crumpled, but he kept his hands folded across his chest. She didn't want a thing from the traitor, nor anyone else for that matter. No one was sup
posed to come save her. Wrapping a strip of fabric around her arm, Lana knotted it with her teeth then asked Hawke, "How did you find me?"

  The Champion tipped her head at the sulking mage, "Some magic warden tingle, and not the fun kind neither. Oh, and we followed the trail of darkspawn corpses. Lots of those. Lucky thing we stopped by when we did too, eh? Seemed you were in a rather tight spot."

  "Yes, lucky," Lana glared at the dead genlock that nearly finished her. "I assume you have some reason why you trekked into the deep roads and risked blight to find me."

  Hawke's smile dripped off her cheeks and she shared a look with Anders. The mage dug into his satchel while Hawke continued to speak, "I did. I need a warden's help."

  "You have one already, unless he's forgotten how to help," Lana said.

  Anders grumbled but kept digging in the pack for something. Hawke shook her head, "A warden with access to all those wardeny things."

  "Wardeny things?" Lana repeated. Maker, keeping up with this woman was giving her a splitting headache.

  Anders finally extracted whatever they wanted out of the pack and handed it to Hawke. "I hoped you could solve this," she twisted around and thrust a small red vial towards Lana.

  "That almost looks like lyrium," Lana said. She reached her fingers towards it when a thousand voices echoed from inside of the thin glass, each chanting the familiar words of the archdemon. Sweet Maker! "What is that?!"

  "That'd be why I went to the trouble to find you, for you to solve the it and what its being is." Hawke passed the bottle to Lana. She held it between thumb and forefinger extended as far from her body as possible. Still the voices called from inside it, begging to draw her inward, to join them in a blissful serenity. For a brief moment that old curiosity gripped Lana and she wanted to dissect every inch of this red lyrium, trace its origins and discover what created it. How could lyrium have the calling burning through it? But it faded as soon as it caught, the dampener on her brain yanking her curiosity away. She came to the deep roads for one reason, and by the Maker's grace she was going to accomplish it.