*******************************************
"You recognize it, do you not?" Meredith asked. "Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads." She gave the sword an almost loving look.
"It does look familiar," said Hawke. "It also drives people mad. Which explains quite a lot, now that I think about it."
Meredith's gaze returned to Hawke. I'd suspected that the Knight-Commander hated the Champion, but even I wasn't expecting to see that much loathing in her eyes. "Enough insolence, Champion. I tolerated your apostasy. But you chose your side and now you will share this Circle's fate." She turned her head to her Templars. "Kill the Champion!"
“Knight-Commander, you said we were going to arrest the Champion!”
A single Templar stepped from the ranks. His face was hidden beneath his helmet, but his uniform identified him as an officer—a high-ranking one at that.
The Knight-Commander went pale with rage. “You will do as I command!”
The officer stood his ground. “No. You have gone too far. This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, stand down. I relieve you of your command.”
Meredith pointed her blade directly at the officer. “My own Templars have fallen prey to blood magic. You’re all weak, letting the mages control your minds! I will protect this city myself. Starting with the Champion’s death!”
The Templar officer drew his sword and stepped between his Commander and the Champion. “You’ll have to go through me.”
*******************************************
The Elder One had a name. Corypheus.
And Varric, apparently, had a friend who had encountered the creature before. “She’s going to meet us on the battlements. Bringing her down here might cause a bit of a stir.”
Cecily respected Varric’s wish for secrecy until they were climbing the half-crumbled stairs, out of earshot of anyone except the birds overhead.
“It’s Hawke, isn’t it?” She hoped she didn’t sound too awestruck.
Varric nodded. “Since you’re the Inquisitor now, do you think you can keep Cassandra from killing me?”
Cecily grimaced. That task might be beyond Andraste herself.
Two figures were waiting for them on the battlements. One was the most striking elf Cecily had ever seen. For a moment she thought he was Dalish, but as she grew closer she could see that the tattoos on his face and arms were not clan markings—they shone pure silver, as did his pale hair.
The woman next to him seemed almost ordinary by comparison, at least at first glance. She was wrapped in a long, dark blue woolen coat worn over leggings and boots; her staff was as plain as a military quarterstaff, and she carried a small knife at her belt. Her dark brown hair fell in untidy waves around her shoulders and half concealed one eye from view.
Juliet Hawke wasn’t quite as Cecily had pictured her, but there was something in the way she carried herself that spoke of confidence, of power. Cecily had no trouble imagining this woman facing down a qunari Arishok.
The Champion spotted them first. A wide smile spread across her face. “Varric!”
Varric returned the smile in kind. “Hawke! Good of you to come.” He stretched his hand towards her.
“I’ve been crying myself to sleep without my trusty dwarf. How could I stay away?” Hawke reached out and clasped Varric’s forearm. The easy familiarity of the gesture spoke volumes. “Maker, but it’s good to hear your voice again, Varric.”
“Right back at you, Hawke.” Varric looked over her shoulder. “And you brought Fenris! Nice to see you, elf. Are there any slavers still foolish enough to leave Tevinter?”
The elf’s mouth quirked. “Always.”
“Well, keep at it. You may kill them all yet.”
“I shall enjoy the attempt.” Cecily strongly suspected Fenris wasn’t joking.
Varric turned to her. “Inquisitor Trevelyan, allow me to present my friends. This is Fenris, scourge to slavers everywhere. And this is Juliet Hawke. Since you’ve read my book, I’ll assume she needs no other introduction.”
Protocol lessons hadn’t prepared Cecily for meeting a living legend, so she settled on a slight curtsy, the kind a hostess would make to a visitor of equal or greater rank. “Serrah Fenris. Serrah Hawke. It is an honor to welcome the Champion of Kirkwall to Skyhold.”
After a slight pause, Fenris gave her an awkward half-bow and Hawke extended her hand to shake Cecily’s. “Thank you for the welcome, Inquisitor,” the Champion said. “Although I don’t use the Champion title much anymore. So. Corypheus. Not dead?”
“Not even a little, apparently,” Varric sighed. “You and the Inquisitor have a lot to discuss.”
*******************************************
It took the better part of an hour for Hawke to explain how and why she’d fought Corypheus. The Champion was unsettlingly certain that she’d killed him—which meant that they were probably dealing with a creature that could come back from the dead.
In theory the Grey Wardens, who had imprisoned Corypheus in the first place, should have been their best lead, but according to Hawke’s brother something was terribly wrong with the Wardens. The Champion had thrown herself into helping Carver and a small, scattered band of his comrades figure out what was going on. Their next step was clear: find Hawke’s contact Stroud, who had been headed to Crestwood.
With that established, Varric left to find Hawke and Fenris a place to sleep for the night. Then Fenris murmured something in Hawke’s ear, said “Please excuse me, Inquisitor,” and slipped off as well. Cecily found herself alone on the Skyhold battlements with the Champion of Kirkwall.
Maker, please don’t let me embarrass myself.
“Is Serrah Fenris all right?” she asked politely.
Hawke nodded. “He likes to map all of the potential exits before he spends the night in a place—a habit he acquired after he escaped his former master. At Skyhold that might take him a while.” She sighed. “I tried to talk him out of coming here. Aveline even found him a nice slaving ring to go after, but he insisted on following me instead. Not that I’m not glad for his company. I am. But … I know he would die to protect me. I prefer to limit his opportunities to do so.”
Cecily wasn’t sure what to say to that. Hawke smiled ruefully and changed the topic. “So. Inquisitor. That’s quite a title. Does it come with a hat? All good titles ought to come with fancy hats.”
“No. But it came with a very large ceremonial sword that nearly broke my arm when I lifted it. Seeker Cassandra tends to forget that not all of us are hardened warriors,” Cecily said wryly.
“Ah yes, the Seeker.” The Champion’s blue eyes glinted. “Varric had some interesting things to say about her. He also had quite a bit to say about you.” She crossed her arms and looked at Cecily, clearly appraising her. Cecily fought the urge to stand up straighter. “I must say I was surprised to hear that Varric had gotten involved with the Inquisition. He’s never been one for religion. You’ve obviously made an impression on him.”
“I’m glad,” Cecily said honestly. “I like him—and I think he keeps the Inquisition a bit more grounded.”
“Take good care of him, all right?” Hawke’s tone was light, but there was deep affection in her voice as well, and a bit of worry. “Sure, he’ll make up crazy stories about you and it’s hard to get a straight answer out of him sometimes. But once he’s decided you’re worth the trouble, he’s got your back for life. And he’s decided. I can tell.”
*******************************************
As the two women descended from the battlements, they ran into the Inquisition’s Commander. In Cecily’s case, literally; she rounded a corner and crashed into him with slightly embarrassing force.
“Cecily! Inquisitor. My apologies,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady her.
Cecily started to say something about how it was entirely her fault—since it was—but Cullen’s attention had snapped to the person with her.
Hawke’s mouth dropped opened and her eyes went wide. “Knight-Captain!”
Cecily took a step back and looked warily between them. The two were clearly surprised to see one another, but she sensed no hostility.
The Commander inclined his head. “Champion.”
The other mage shook her head and chuckled bitterly. “Just Hawke, if you don’t mind.”
Cullen grimaced sympathetically. “Serrah Hawke, then. It is good to see you well. And as for me—it’s Commander now. I am no longer with the Templar Order.”
“I take it you didn’t like the Order’s new red lyrium retirement plan,” Hawke said.
Cullen barked out a laugh. “No, I can’t say that I did.”
“Probably a good choice.” Hawke pushed her hair back. “I … I don’t know if you want my thanks, for what you did in the Gallows. But you have them.”
“And you have mine.”
“For what?” Hawke said. “For playing my heroic role in the destruction of a city?”
Cecily tried to keep the shock from her face. Was that truly how Hawke saw the rebellion at Kirkwall—how she saw herself?
“Kirkwall would have destroyed itself with or without you, Serrah Hawke,” Cullen said gravely. “The conflict between Orsino and Meredith was not of your making.”
“And Anders?” Hawke asked, her jaw tightening.
Cullen sighed. “Yes. Anders. I do not envy you that burden. But I cannot judge you for not anticipating his plan. How could I, when I stood at Meredith’s side and did not see how mad she’d become? In the end it was his choice, not yours.”
The two of them simply watched each other for a moment. Cecily waited silently, not wanting to interrupt something that was clearly so important to both of them. Finally, Cullen spoke again. “Lives were saved because you were in Kirkwall, Champion—Hawke. Never doubt that.”
Hawke met the former Templar’s gaze. “The same goes for you, Commander.”
Cullen inclined his head again, a gesture something like a bow. “Serrah Hawke. Inquisitor.” And with that, he walked past them, off into some other decrepit area of Skyhold.
Cecily looked over at Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall looked a bit rattled, but also … satisfied, in some odd way.
“What was that about?” Cecily blurted.
Hawke turned to her. “Ah. I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I suppose you knew Cullen was the Knight-Captain of the Kirkwall Circle.”
“I did. He said he’d met you,” Cecily said tentatively.
Hawke nodded. “He … well, Varric will tell it better than I can, but when Meredith went mad, Cullen tried to stop her.”
Cecily tried to wrap her mind around the fact that the Champion of Kirkwall was personally telling her the story of the mage rebellion.
"Even after I killed Orsino, Meredith wanted my head," Hawke continued. "And I mean that quite literally. I think she was planning to have it stuffed and mounted. Cullen—he stepped between us. He told her she’d gone too far and tried to relieve her of her command.” She let out a little puff of breath in an amazed laugh. “We didn’t know each other well. To be honest I thought he was a fairly typical Templar. I nearly died of shock when he drew his sword.”
“Wait. That really happened? That was Cullen?” Cecily asked.
“Right, Varric said you’d read The Tale of the Champion,” Hawke said. “Yes. Varric didn’t put his name in the book because he thought it might cause Cullen trouble with the Order. But he fought side-by-side with us when she drew that red lyrium sword. Maker, that battle." Hawke shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “She made the bloody statues come to life—Varric left that out of the book too, he said no one would believe it. And at the end of it, Cullen made the Templars stand down, and he let me and my friends walk away. Now that he’s quit the Order I should tell Varric to put his name in the second edition. Provided the world doesn’t end, I mean.”
“He never … he’s talked about Kirkwall, but not about the battle after the Chantry explosion. I know he blames himself for not stopping Meredith earlier,” Cecily said.
Hawke sighed. “I know how he feels. But I think he’s a good man, your Commander. I’m glad he got a second chance away from the Templars.”
I am too, Cecily thought.
*******************************************
Cecily’s first official duty as Inquisitor was preventing Cassandra from strangling Varric. She did what she could to soothe the Seeker, but it would be a while before she and the dwarf could safely be in the same room together.
Then Josephine pulled her aside to show her the new Skyhold throne. Cecily managed to say something polite about what an impressive throne it was, when what she wanted to do was run screaming into the mountains at the sight of the blasted thing. Judging people? Her? As if she didn’t have enough to do with Corypheus on the loose?
When Josephine released her, Cecily sought out Cullen.
The Commander had claimed a nearby tower as his office, and was attempting to repair a damaged wall when Cecily found him. He had removed his armor for the task—the first time Cecily had seen him without it. She took a moment to notice how his shoulders and arms looked in his close-fitting shirt, then another to scold herself for the inappropriate observation. You’re not here to ogle the poor man, Trevelyan.
“May I help?” she asked, raising her hand and letting her magic swirl gently in the air.
Cullen looked over at her. “Inquisitor! If you're willing, I would be most grateful,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Cecily coiled her magic around the pile of beams and bricks Cullen had been wrestling with; carefully, she lifted them, rearranged them, and slid them back into the wall.
Cullen shook his head. “Maker. Where were you an hour ago? Not that … I mean, I know you have much more important things to do.” He paused. “So Varric brought Hawke here?”
“He did indeed. She was glad to see you, you know.”
Cullen looked wary. “Oh?”
“She said you fought beside her at the Gallows. That you tried to stop Meredith.” Cecily tried to think of what to say. “I … I’m sorry I was so cold, after I found out about Kirkwall.”
Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “You had every right. The things from the book, the things I said, I can’t imagine how you wouldn’t hate me.”
“I never hated you!” Cecily said quickly. “I just felt … I don’t know. I wondered if you might still feel the same way about mages. Even though you’ve been nothing but kind to me since we met,” she finished ruefully. “Not just kind. A friend.”
“Until I left you in Haven.” Cullen’s mouth twisted; his scar stood out white against the faint growth of his beard.
The guilt in his voice hurt to hear. “Cullen, it was the only way. You know that. And you didn’t leave me. I stayed.”
“It was the only option,” Cullen admitted, crossing his arms. “But it was a bad one. You could have … I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”
Unsure of what to say, Cecily tentatively reached out her hand and placed it on his forearm. She gave it what she hoped was a comforting squeeze. “Don’t ever doubt yourself, Commander. Cullen. We are lucky to have you.”
Cullen’s mouth quirked; he dropped his gaze to her hand, then covered it with his own. “Thank you, Inquisitor. Cecily.”
“I should let you get back to work,” she said after a moment, pulling her hand back, hoping he didn’t notice her blush.
“Indeed,” Cullen said, clearing his throat a bit. “Now that you’ve fixed my wall, I suppose I ought to see what I can do about my desk.”
Cecily looked doubtfully at the desk in question—more of a table, really. It had clearly been salvaged from somewhere in Skyhold’s wreckage; it had chunks of stone supporting two of its legs, and looked exceptionally splinter-prone.
“I wish you luck,” she said wryly, making a mental note to have the quartermaster order him a real desk as she stepped out into the afternoon light.
*******************************************
Cullen held himself together until the door to his tower closed, until he was sure Cecily was out of earshot. Then he leaned against the wall and half-laughed, half-sobbed.
She didn’t hate him.
For a moment that knowledge almost drowned out the pain. But then it returned in a wave, the feeling that his blood had turned to needles and was stabbing him from the inside out. He slid down against the newly-repaired wall, breathing deeply, waiting for the attack to pass.
It's getting worse.
At least she doesn’t hate me.
Perhaps she should.