Chapter Text
The first time I’d laid eyes on him there had been there nothing at all.
The racing of my heart and laboriousness of my breathing was the result of extreme expenditure. As was the pink to his cheeks and the bite to his words. The chill of the winter winds stole away what warmth there may have been between us; the howls and screams of battle drowned out whatever hope there was for pleasant conversation; the rank of slain demons and scorched innocents demanded our attention.
I saw him as little more than a soldier, though even in my exhaustion I noticed he was a handsome one – albeit slightly rude when he opened his mouth. Of course any sensible person would be with an unstoppable horde of demons bearing down and a massive hole in the Veil looming just overhead.
“I hope they’re right about you,” were his first words to me. “We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.” Cold and harsh like the weather.
I wasn’t exactly agreeable either, snapping back just as fiercely as the trees in the storm. In my defense, I had just been told the world had been torn apart and I was suddenly dying.
But that was all our first encounter was: a quick glance, a few words, and he was gone. Just another body scrambling away from the tear in the sky I was expected to somehow fix. He didn’t cross my mind again after that.
When I saw him a second time – which when first we parted I didn’t think would happen due to my short life expectancy – he left a much more memorable impression. I almost hadn’t recognized him in the dim light of the war room, though by time I did he had already discovered what he’d initially missed. The distrust and malcontent blazed in his golden eyes and his stance shifted towards me threateningly. My gaze caught on the flame of the candles that glinted off his armor as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
That’s when I saw it. It was in the way he held himself, the way he moved. He may not have carried an engraved shield or the hum of lyrium with him, but still I knew. He was a Templar – powerful and experienced judging by the look in his eye. It was in the strain of his shoulders, the downward curve of his lips, the intensity of his glare. Even in the weight of his stance on his forward foot, giving him the ability to strike if necessary.
He was poised for a fight, answering a challenge I extend simply in my being.
I was cautious during our interactions, as gentle as possible. Though I’d never much cared for downplaying what I was or accommodating for those who feared me, the behavior of my fellow mages called for a little diplomacy.
The other advisors didn’t seem to notice the growing tension between us, but I could feel it pressing down on me. Even once the conversation turned to strategy and tactic – having nothing to do with me – his eyes never left me. He watched every little twitch and jerk I made with intense scrutiny.
As if I would spontaneously transform into an abomination and destroy them all.
Though I didn’t deserve his ire, I couldn’t fault him for it. Nor did I seek to rile it. Instead, I watched as each harmless remark or comment I made put him more and more on edge. The very sound of my voice made him cringe in his armor. When my input was no longer needed, I receded into the shadows of the room, trying to seem less a threat. Though his gaze frequently flickered to the staff on my back or blood on my robes. Finally, when our meeting had concluded I followed out after Cassandra wordlessly and I refused to acknowledge him again.
I was careful to avoid him after that.
I understood his concern, having dealt with Templars my whole life. Some measure of trepidation and demonic suspicion was to be expected. Especially given the times. However, he somehow carried a hatred and fury for me being a mage unlike I’d ever seen before. And though I personally had given him no reason to fear or doubt my allegiances, still he bristled with every breath I took. From early on, I realized he had to have seen the worst of what a mage could do – it could be the only rational explanation.
Thus whenever I passed by the temple or made to leave Haven, I was careful to observe whether or not he was nearby. Or at the very least, distracted enough not to notice me. Our gazes never met when we occasionally crossed paths but our focus was trained on one another. We kept our mouths shut when confined to one another’s presence in the war room but we spoke through sideways glances and barely concealed glares. We pretended the other didn’t exist when we met placing orders in the smithy. It was a dance, strange and ungraceful. It went on like this for quite some time, and we both seemed content with the routine.
Until I wasn’t.
There was no inciting incident or heated argument that broke the peace treaty we’d silently brokered. I simply tired of dancing around him. Of having to rush about the camp and hurry away when I spied him in the crowd. We were both prominent figures of the Inquisition, forced together sometimes even multiple times a day. My patience finally wore one day and I knew what I had to do. I spent an entire week traipsing about the Hinterlands, all the while bracing myself for confrontation. As I marched into Haven that day, head held high and chest even higher, I felt I could conquer the whole of Thedas.
Even still, I made sure our first conversation was public and in the light of day. I approached him while he was at his most comfortable: training his soldiers.
Without the threat of imminent death hanging over me and chunks of the world hurling down from a hole in the sky just overhead, I noticed something I had originally missed. A weariness. Though he still held the distinction of an experienced Templar and wielded an entire army – albeit a fledgling one – with the ease in which I wielded a staff, he looked tired. But perhaps it was just a trick of the shadows across his face? The soft glow of the sun reflecting off the snow casting him in a gentler light than that of The Breach?
Regardless, I approached him openly, calmly and he was pleasant about it.
The conversation is a bit of a blur now, I cannot recall what first I said to capture his attention or how he responded. It was forced and formal, I remember that much, though the overwhelming awkwardness hung over us like a cloud. We exchanged pleasantries, as we did whenever we had the misfortune of having to converse with one another, though it wasn’t as tense as usual.
He’d taken a low blow somewhere amidst the formalities, catching me just slightly by surprise: “None made quite the entrance you did.” I believe the comment was in reference to our first encounter – not the best of first impressions for either of us. There was a note of accusation there, rough and rugged against the huskiness of his voice. A contrast I found I did not much care fore. He spat the words at me as if he needed to remind me that I was the mage he did not trust. As if I could forget.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to respond in kind; I had dreamt of unleashing my venom upon him. For I knew it was both potent and fatal. I’d strategized the perfect delivery method and theorized the look on his face when I landed my calculated blow. It was tempting indeed to jump upon the chance, he had given me cause after all. Though, after a long moment and a deep breath, I thought better of it. Rather, I let my heated passions settle against the winter breeze and replied coolly, “At least I got everyone’s attention.” It was witty, my best attempts at hiding my true thoughts on the matter.
“That you did,” he admitted with a chuckle and though that hard edge was still there, it was dulled by something that sounded an awful lot like approval. The huskiness in his voice outweighed the rugged – I found myself liking the sound of it. I might have even smirked at it, but I do not recall.
His troops moved around us sporadically, the sound of their blades clashing was almost louder than that of the blood pounding in my ears. He was polite, as was I, but there was an unmistakable tension in the air. Not like that of the war room, harsh and deadly. This was something far more volatile and… charged. We navigated it carefully, keeping the talk light and easy. It wasn’t until I’d misstepped that the exchange became more than simple empty-hearted small talk.
He’d said something halfway kind, vulnerable almost. Mid rant about the glory of what the Inquisition could be, he caught himself with a gentle: “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.” It was a moment of weakness on his part – I believe there had even been a hint of a smile on his lips. I had no reason to read into it, but he was very handsome and I but a mere woman.
“No, but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it.” And I would have, his voice free of accusation and distrust was quite a pleasant sound – a tad mesmerizing even, as I found myself hanging on his every word. My response came without thought or pause. It was free, casual. No underlying threat or disdain. The quip caught us both off guard, leaving us to gawk at one another for some time before we finally composed ourselves.
The awkwardness quickly returned after that and dominated the rest of our short-lived conversation. There were a few more stutters and smirks before it was over, which left me reeling for hours to come. Thankfully duty quickly tore him away, a scout with a report, and the moment he was gone I bolted for the trees. As I fled, the cold snow nipped at my warmed cheeks.
Still I did not know. Though now the need to avoid him now had a different reasoning behind it. Embarrassment. However, like before, that only lasted for so long before I was tired of it.
It wasn’t until our third encounter that I knew.
We’d been conversing casually, as we’d found ourselves doing more and more frequently. Now that the glancing blows of templar verses mage seemed out of the way, I was surprised to discover than he was a decent conversationalist. Downright enjoyable at times. Despite his proclivity for glowering into the distance. More than once, I caught myself searching for him when I entered Haven, if not only for an update on our troops. Though mostly for the company.
Our third conversation was nothing important or too meaningful. The tension wasn’t there, nor the awkwardness. We were almost comfortable like; his hand rested on the hilt of his sword simply out of habit. He’d been telling me about his childhood – of his time in the chantry, to be specific – when a simple question took a turn for the worst.
“Do templars take vows?” I asked, my curiosity genuine. For all my years in contact with them, I’d only truly befriended a handful of templars, but never gotten to know much of The Order. There always seemed to be better topics, but with Cullen I found myself feeling differently. “‘I swear to The Maker to watch all the mages’ – that sort of thing?”
He answered professionally, speaking of vigils and lyrium drafts. “As Templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement,” he recited, as if from the chantry texts themselves, “our lives belong to The Maker and the path we have chosen.” His opinion of the Templar Order obviously very high. He seemed to enjoy talking about it, imparting as much information as was socially acceptable for such a basic question. I suspect it felt good for him to defend what The Order used to be, just as I did mages and our Circles.
“A life of service and sacrifice,” I mused. Never had I heard it put as such, let alone with compassion and conviction in one. He seemed so familiar with the service of templars, proud even. It made me wonder why he’d left. “Are templars also expected to give up…,” I tried to find the words, “physical temptations?”
Again, it was genuine curiosity. I’d never known a Templar to openly declare a relationship. It was always very cloak and dagger when I had stumbled upon it. But I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.
It was like I’d lit a fuse; he exploded instantly into nervousness and stuttering, nothing at all like the formidable warrior I’d come to know him as. “Physical,” he gasped, a fierce blush igniting on his cheeks to bleed through the touch of frostbite there, “why--?” He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat sheepishly, “Why would you…?”
I could tell I’d blundered. Somehow. But I didn’t know how to fix it.
He dug at his neck and itched at his clothed forearm. The guilt prickled up inside me, worsening as his antics did. I didn’t want to break whatever comfort we’d found between one another, and I certainly didn’t want to go back to all the glaring. When it was obvious he could not answer, I opened my mouth to save him from further embarrassment, but he blurted out, “That’s not expected.”
He hurried to spill out as much factual information as possible to fill the awkwardness that had ensued between us, rambling on about vows and chastity. As he did, his eyes frequently shifted away from mine, locking only for a moment before slipping away. A shame, as I’d grown to very much enjoy the sight of them. “Some may choose to give up… more,” he went on, looking away pointedly as he said it, “though it’s… not required.”
He seemed to recover slightly after that, as though having now answered the question – very formally, and admirably – he was free of whatever torment he’d previously been in. It was… cute.
I found myself being unusually cruel in that instant, watching him simmer and fidget with his gaze everywhere but mine. He’d answered graciously – humored an overly curious mind. Satisfied a woman’s request, quite gentlemanly. Though it wasn’t enough for me, I knew there was more … whatever that was, that I could extract from him. It would have been a crime not to, having expended the effort to whittle him down this far.
Without any consideration for the consequences, I poked at the nerve I had undoubtedly found. With an arched brow and a barely concealed grin I asked, “Have you?” I aimed my words like a well place arrow and judging by his immediate reaction, I’d hit my mark.
“Me?” he sputtered, the blush growing violently as it spread to his ears. It was adorable the way the flaming red colored his naturally creamy cheeks, causing his freckles to stand out in stark contrast. He shifted and stammered and wrung his hands fretfully, obviously in great distress, but for whatever reason I filled with excitement.
“I… um, uh… no. I’ve taken no such vows,” he finally managed, his golden eyes flickering up to meet mine. He had been looking for mercy, compassion. I could tell. He wished the incessant questioning to cease, for me to disengage, but I met his plea with a smirk. Unashamedly.
“Maker’s Breath,” he gasped, breaking away his gaze again. I didn’t like the feeling of being left without it. “Can we speak of something else?”
I hadn’t expected his curt response to ruffle me so, but it did. I felt thrown off course – lost. The victory too was swift. His surrender was sudden and full, I’d raised a challenge and he’d submitted to my efforts. I’d never experienced such a victory before, let alone from a templar. Former or otherwise.
“Of course.” I stood there stupidly for a brief moment before I felt my heartbeat quicken and my throat constrict, “…Actually, I should be going.”
“Another time then,” he breathed relievedly.
As I walked away, trying to understand the racing of my heart and laboriousness of my breathing, it finally dawned on me. I hadn’t an inkling up until this point, and the realization stopped me dead in my tracks. There amidst the snow flurries and golden rays of the evening, his eyes on my back and voice still ringing in my head, was when first I knew.
I wanted him.