howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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It begins with a letter.

So chances are good that if I -- she -- Ysalwen, you know -- is still alive, she's getting along fine, she'd said.

What Cullen is about to do -- he knows it's wrong. It's supposed to be wrong, anyhow. His training says it's wrong. But Cullen isn't convinced of that, not at all. Not any more.

The letter he sends care of the Knight-Commander at the Ferelden Circle says that there are rumors of elven escapees from Kinloch living in the Free Marches, rumors that these same elven escapees assisted the apostate Anders -- himself a former resident of the Ferelden Circle -- in blowing up the Kirkwall Chantry and its Grand Cleric, and could the Knight-Commander consider releasing the phylacteries of all escaped elven apostates so that Kirkwall's templars can pursue justice?

The name at the bottom of this letter is not Cullen's, but one of his Knight-Lieutenants.

If he gets caught, Cullen reflects as he watches the ship carrying his letter leave the Kirkwall harbor, and they remove him from duty, expel him from the Order -- because that's the risk he's running -- he is pretty sure he will be grateful for the rest between the day he walks out and the day he gives in to the lyrium withdrawal.

***

Cullen does not get caught.

The response from Ferelden is that they have five phylacteries left that fit this description, and as they have a knight transferring to Ostwick, perhaps Kirkwall could send a messenger there to retrieve them?

Cullen writes back that this is acceptable.

Cullen does not write back that it's pretty great that the Spire is bolstering the Order's power in Ostwick rather than helping out in Kirkwall.

But it does contribute to what happens then: with each day that passes, Cullen feels less and less conflicted over what he's about to do.

***

The handoff in Ostwick occurs quietly, with no fuss: the transferee isn't someone he knew, and Cullen doesn't ask about those he did know.

(Not like there are many of them left, anyway, after Uldred's rebellion.)

He declines the offer to stay the night at the barracks, and only when he cannot see Ostwick's walls any longer does Cullen halt his horse, pull out the small, lacquered box, and -- with trepidation and fear, not hope -- opens the lid.

The second vial from the left is the one labeled Ysalwen Surana.

When Cullen closes his hand around it, and, focusing inward, reaches --

-- the blood within flares to life, bright red, glowing.

"She's close," Cullen says, barely audible. "She's here."

The horse snorts, stamps a hoof.

***

Four phylacteries are in the box that gets locked up with the others of the Kirkwall Circle.

Number five stays on Cullen at all times.

***

He contemplates destroying it. That would take care of the problem.

So, he thinks, would taking it to Milliways; even if Warden-Commander Surana refused it (as he suspects she might), it would be a good place to hide it.

When Cullen eventually decides that the plan of finding her -- Enchanter Surana -- should go forward, he tells himself that it's because she deserves to know that it still exists, and that she can destroy it herself, so that its shadow might not hang over her for the rest of her days.

And that's part of it. But only part.

***

Aveline tells him that yes, they can get along without him for two weeks; no, it's not ideal, but urgent business in Tantervale is urgent business in Tantervale.

Cullen rides out from Kirkwall at dawn one morning, headed west.

When he's safe across the Vimmark Mountains, when he arrives in Wildervale, he slips five sovereigns to the innkeeper, tells him that if she keeps his armor hidden and safe, and her mouth shut, there will be five more upon his return, and turns west again, toward the Planasene Forest.

He's still armored, but there is no Sword of Mercy on his breastplate. The only options available to him in shields were unacceptable, but he knows that civilians carrying Templar shields isn't really that remarkable. Especially when they're so clearly used.

When he enters the forest, his helm comes off. He's not entirely sure why... but he hasn't done very well for himself ignoring instinct thus far.

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The pouch is plain white muslin, translucent; if it's a dwarven death device, it looks remarkably... simple.

It is by no means the most difficult thing Cullen has ever done to bend in front of her, then turn his back on her to retreat. That does not make it easy.

She darts in while his back is turned, hand hovering over the bag for a second before snatching it up and dancing back.

She will stay no closer than she must at all times.

It isn't -- safe.

But when the bag is opened --

"Andraste's ass, Cullen. This is -- "

Her phylactery. She can feel it. What --

"Will you survive going back there, after this?"

Cullen breaks into a remarkably bright smile, just for a moment.

(But he stays put, with his hands at his sides, visible, unthreatening.)

"Well," he says, lighter than he expects and, strangely, exactly as light as he feels, "they haven't managed to kill me yet, so the chances are good, I think."

She never thought to see that smile, perhaps again, perhaps at all.

"Well, that's -- good."

Surprisingly good, actually. The thought of him dead does not appeal. At all.

(The thought of both of them getting one over the Chantry is even better, as it happens.)

"Why did you even bring this?"

How to even begin to answer?

I know another version of you who became the Hero of Ferelden, and she suggested I look you up?

I've done a lot of bad things in Kirkwall so I thought I might as well use my power to be corrupt in the other direction?

The more detail he gives, the harder it is to explain, so in the end Cullen simply says, "I had the opportunity to do the right thing. So I took it."

"To free me from always having to look quite so hard over my shoulder. That's what you're calling the right thing."

How strange, to hear a Templar say so. It shows in her tone, though not in her expression. Dazed and dubious, those should cover it. How very unexpected.

"Huh."

She would shatter the phylactery right now, if it were possible to do so. But dropping it alone won't do, which means -- later. Soon, but. Later.

"I thank you on behalf of both myself and my Clan, for what that's worth to you."

Ysalwen does mean it. And perhaps it's a signal to the watchers, too, because the tension in the air eases, just the littlest bit.

Edited 2015-11-22 04:46 (UTC)

Again his mouth tightens a little -- of course it's the right thing, of course, and he's not prepared for it to hurt that she doubts it of him --

But she's right to doubt. He cannot, will not, blame her.

"It's worth a great deal," he says quietly. And that's all.

She studies him in silence, foot kept from tapping by a sheer effort of will.

"Did anyone else -- do you know of anyone else that survived? I -- left very quickly, afterward. There wasn't time -- "

Now -- he can't stop himself -- his hand does rub at his face. He can't do this and look at her. Not this part.

Low:

"Anyone -- they locked the doors on the first floor. I don't know -- I don't know where you were. But I was up by the -- "

He stops. Closes his eyes. Takes in a breath.

And recites.

"First Enchanter Irving. Senior Enchanter Wynne. Enchanters Petra, Kinnon, Kelli, Godwin. Three apprentices -- I'm not sure of their names. And three of the children. Two boys and a girl. Owain the Tranquil."

His right hand moves as though he's got Branson's coin in it. He wishes he did. But he's still not making any sudden movements.

"And seven templars." She won't want to know the names, he thinks. He doesn't want to think about them, either, so there's that.

"More than I thought, given -- "

Well. Given everything.

"I was -- down. In the -- basement. It seemed -- there were guardian spells in place, enchantments to -- there are worse ways to die. And then I didn't. So."

Anyway.

"I'm glad at least a few of the children lived. I'd rather there had been more."

(He's grateful she's not asking about him. He's not sure if he could -- even now -- )

"Yes," Cullen says, a little hoarse. "You made the right decision. I'm glad."

"I hated it there."

She says it flat out, arms folding in over themselves, as if holding herself together for a moment.

(Memory has a long hold, it seems.)

"But I wish -- "

Well.

"There were better ways to have gotten free. Impossible ones, but -- better nonetheless."

It's the most regret she can give, these days.

Impossible ones. Such as being recruited into the Grey Wardens, becoming the Hero of Ferelden, and feeding bread and cheese to ghosts from the past somewhere between worlds.

Cullen nods.

And says, quietly, "No one else will find you, now. I -- it cannot make up for what was done to you, I know that. But at the very least -- "

He trails off, shakes his head, looks away.

"I'm sorry." Much, much quieter. "I'll -- I don't want to trouble you. I'll go."

"Eat something, first."

She doesn't quite mean to say it, but she doesn't take it back, either.

It --

Something feels settled, now, that had long been uncertain.

Ysalwen is fairly sure it will be a relief, later. Right now it's just --

Numb. But that's better than pain, by a large margin.

So.

Cullen's head lifts in surprise; the look he gives her is bewildered.

"We're in the forest," he says.

That... is not quite what he means to say.

At all.

(Bread and cheese, some part of him thinks, with the ghosts from your past.

Both are part of his trail rations, in his pack.)

She doesn't laugh, but is distantly surprised that part of her wants to.

"Yes. But there's forage for your horse, and -- a copse not all that far from here."

Call it a peace offering.

"Or even here, if you don't want -- I can see why you wouldn't want -- "

Well.

"It's a better way to leave than you came."

He glances at the horse. At the tree.

It would, Cullen thinks, be rude to refuse. Or -- if not rude, exactly, it would break this... whatever it is that they've got.

Says, slowly, "If you'll give me a moment -- I'll secure my arms to the saddle, and you can lead the horse and direct me? I'll walk in front."

No matter the whatever-it-is -- he's not going to assume she's extended him that much trust.

A small smile flits across her mouth but doesn't stay.

"Take two moments," she says, instead. "To make sure everything is secure."

There really is a copse close by, and she has her own trail rations to share. And fresh water, too.

"There's no need," he says, turning toward the horse.

He is not enamored of the idea of leaving the path, especially when she knows the territory and he doesn't.

But the worst that could happen... isn't actually that bad, Cullen thinks, and doesn't question that thought any more. He's preoccupied with securing sword and shield to the horse, and then backing off.

Quiet: "Whenever you're ready."

She moves to take the horse's reins, resting her hand gently on its nose for a few moments, then scratching some of the unreachable places on its neck.

Then --

"Two paces to your left and straight ahead. You can follow the sound of the stream, if you like."

If he can hear it. Yet.

He's out of practice. Among many other things, Kirkwall suffers from a lack of bucolic creeks burbling through the trees.

But he can do two paces to your left and straight ahead. Cullen sets forth without looking back.

She watches his shoulders, and occasionally lifts one hand to give signs to those waiting in the shadows.

She's their First, and it's worth it to keep her alive.

"Another two paces left, Cullen, if you please. We're almost there."

And there is the sound of the stream, and the smell of fresh water (and ferns) in the air. It's a pleasant little clearing they come to, with a stump, a small bank of water-smoothed stones near the creek, and a firepit. Temporary, but it's still seen use in the last few days.

Just because no one's visible doesn't mean no one's there.

Cullen crosses most of the clearing before turning around.

(He wonders, briefly, how he looks to her -- and then dismisses the question from his mind just as quickly. The question is pointless. He'll be lucky to escape this place with his life, and he knows it.)

"You can refill your waterskins here. The water is clean."

Ysalwen leads the horse to somewhere a little downstream, near some very nice clover and grass. Then she crouches by the stream, cupping her hand and taking a drink.

Perhaps to demonstrate.

"And I have trail rations to share. So you might save your own for your trip back. To -- wherever it was you came here from."

Edited 2015-11-22 06:22 (UTC)

"I'll have to stop in Wildervale," Cullen says quietly, not yet moving. "I'd intended to pick up a few things there."

The thing is: if he goes for his waterskins, or his pack for his own rations, that's where his weapons are.

"Please don't -- go to any trouble."