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She didn’t find out until later, after that first meeting in the heat of battle, that he was a Templar.
Or had been. One who had been stationed at Kinloch Hold and in Kirkwall, no less.
That…didn’t bode well.
Then again, he was here, wasn’t he? Here with Cassandra and Leliana instead of the rest of his order, chasing down so-called errant mages and trying to put them back under lock and key. What had Solas said? “We’re all apostates now.” Yet here he was, working with more mages than just her.
She shook her head and stared into her cup. The healer wanted her to drink it, said it would help with the shakiness she felt after closing that last rift. It didn’t smell very appealing, and she doubted the taste would improve the longer she let it sit.
Her thoughts drifted back to the commander of the Inquisition’s army and she bit her lip. A blush crept across her cheeks as she remembered her initial reaction to him. Maker, but he was pretty to look at, despite the scars. She tilted her head. Because of the scars, maybe? It didn’t matter. It was a foolish notion, and one she would do well not to entertain.
She closed her eyes and tossed back the brew, wincing only a little at the taste. Setting the cup on the table beside her bed, she squared her shoulders and pushed herself to standing. She wasn’t sure if Cullen had been avoiding her, or if she had been avoiding him. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Understandable, really, given their roles in life before chaos had crashed through Thedas. Either way, it couldn’t continue. If they were going to work together, they needed to clear the air.
As she left her cabin, she focused her thoughts on the Templars in Ostwick who had been kind, who had been there to serve the Maker by protecting the mages. Not every Templar, she reminded herself, joined so that they could keep the mages in their place, so that they could lord themselves over those with power but no real outlet to use it. Oh, surely those told themselves they were serving the Maker, too, might even believe it. But that wasn’t what drove them. She had figured that out long ago.
She crossed the practice fields, catching sight of the commander watching his recruits with a sharp eye and a worried frown.
Her eyes fell shut as she whispered a brief and silent prayer. Maker, please let him be one of the good ones.