《Let the sword return to its sheath (Dragon Age Fanfiction)》


 Prologue

    The old Chantry''s orphanage in Lowtown was as weary as the lives of those who found themselves inside it. Its walls, crumbling with neglect, stood as a stark reminder of how little the people of Kirkwall cared for its downtrodden. The air in the dormitory was thick with the smell of damp wood and unwashed bodies; its once-bright tapestries depicting Andraste now faded to the color of dust. In the corner, beneath a small window streaked with grime, a girl no older than five huddled on a threadbare mattress, her black hair pulled back in two thin pigtails. Her small shoulders shook with sobs as she clutched an old ragged doll to her chest, whispering through broken breaths, ¡°Mama promised¡­ she promised she¡¯d come back for me in a year, but¡­ but she didn¡¯t.¡­¡± Her voice was small, but the other children heard her clearly enough.


    Kneeling beside her, an older girl named Anne tried her best to comfort her. She was about ten, tall for her age, and already bulky, with a shock of straw-blonde hair cut short and uneven, giving her a rough, almost farmhand appearance. Her face looked as if it had been carved out of wood¡ªsquare-jawed, thick-browed, and hard. But there was warmth in her green eyes as she wiped the smaller girl¡¯s nose on her own sleeve.


    ¡°Hey now, your mama loves you,¡± she said in a voice that tried to be reassuring, though it was stiff and clumsy. ¡°She must have a good reason, yeah? I¡¯m sure of it. Maybe she got sick, or¡ªor maybe she got...some other serious stuff to deal with. But she¡¯ll come. You just have to wait a little longer.¡±


    The younger girl sniffled loudly, rubbing her puffy eyes, unsure whether to believe her words. ¡°You think so?¡±


    ¡°I know so,¡± Anne replied, gently brushing away the girl''s tears, this time with the opposite sleeve. "There ain''t no mama anywhere who doesn¡¯t love her babe and want to be with them."


    ¡°Oh, stop filling her head with lies, An.¡± They didn¡¯t notice the boy standing nearby until his voice broke through their small cocoon of comfort. Though two years older, Tamlin was shorter and scrawnier than Anne, but with a sharpness to him that made up for his build. His long face, dotted with a mix of freckles and pimples, was framed by unruly red hair and set in an expression of disdain. Crossing his arms, he moved his gaze to the little girl. "Your mother''s not coming back, Page. She''s a beaten down, drunk whore who doesn''t give a rat¡¯s ass about you.¡±


    The words hung in the air, heavy and cruel. Page¡¯s dark eyes widened, her bottom lip trembling as Tamlin¡¯s words sank in. A wail tore from her throat, louder and more desperate than before.


    Anne¡¯s face twisted with fury, her fists clenching at her sides. ¡°Take it back,¡± she growled, rising to her feet and standing between Tamlin and the crying child. Her voice had a dangerous edge to it now.


    Tamlin unfolded his arms. ¡°I won¡¯t take it back. She needs to hear it. You think lying to her makes it better? Maybe you think your mum is coming back too, huh?¡±


    Anne¡¯s eyes flashed dangerously. ¡°Shut up, Tamlin.¡±


    ¡°The faster she knows the truth, the faster she¡¯ll stop crying. You¡¯ll see,¡± Tamlin taunted, a smirk playing on his lips. ¡°And maybe, if you stop pretending your mum didn''t toss you down into the sewers the moment you were born, you''ll feel a whole lot better too."


    It was too much. Anne¡¯s temper snapped like a frayed rope. She lunged at Tamlin, fists swinging wildly. ¡°I said, shut up!¡±


    The fight erupted, with other children gathering around them in a circle. Anne tackled the boy to the ground, her fists pounding into his chest and arms with reckless force. Tamlin was quick, though, and managed to roll her off, throwing a punch that caught her in the side of the jaw. Anne grunted in pain but didn¡¯t back down. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, using her weight to pull him down again.


    The two of them grappled on the dusty floor, a blur of fists, kicks, and grunts. Anne landed a solid punch to the boy¡¯s nose, and there was a sickening crack as blood began to pour down his face. Tamlin howled in pain, but he didn¡¯t stop. He punched back, hard, driving his fist into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.


    She staggered, gasping for breath, and in that moment Tamlin shoved her back hard enough that she hit the floor with a thud. Before she could recover, he was on top of her, pinning her arms down as he glared at her, blood still dripping from his nose.


    ¡°You stupid bi¡ª¡± Tamlin¡¯s voice was cut off as the door to the dormitory creaked open, and a sharp, commanding voice echoed through the room.


    ¡°What is going on here?¡±


    Sister Petrice stood in the doorway, her wrinkled face a mask of stern authority. She wore the worn, simple robes of a Chantry Sister, her expression hard as her murky eyes flicked between the two fighting children. Anne froze beneath Tamlin, and he scrambled off her, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand as the other children hurriedly scattered.


    ¡°You two!¡± Petrice snapped. ¡°In my office. Now.¡±


    Anne slowly got to her feet, still breathing heavily, and cast one last glare at Tamlin before turning to follow the Sister. Before she exited the dormitory, she gave Page a wide, reassuring smile, but the little girl, still sobbing quietly and huddled on her mattress, didn¡¯t respond, instead hiding her face behind the doll.


    The air in Sister¡¯s office was stale and smelled of something sour as Anne and Tamlin were ushered inside. The room was sparse, with only a plain wooden desk, a few old books stacked haphazardly, and a large, rough-hewn statue of Andraste hanging on the wall. Sister Petrice closed the door behind them with a heavy thud, her expression hard and unforgiving.


    Anne shot Tamlin a sideways glare, fists still clenched, while Tamlin sneered back, blood crusting around his nose from where she¡¯d struck him. He leaned towards her, as if daring her to say or do something, but she held her ground and remained silent.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care who started it or why,¡± Sister Petrice stated sharply, cutting off their unspoken argument. ¡°I care only that both of you are guilty of breaking the orphanage¡¯s peace. And both of you will be punished.¡±


    Anne and Tamlin said nothing. They knew better than to protest when Petrice took that tone.


    ¡°Roll up your sleeves,¡± the woman ordered, retrieving a long, thin stick from behind her desk.


    They obeyed, pulling their sleeves up to bare their forearms, each knowing exactly what would come next. Their faces were set with grim determination, eyes fixed on a point just beyond the Sister¡¯s shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the other¡¯s presence.


    Petrice raised the stick and brought it down on Anne¡¯s outstretched hands first. The impact was sharp, slicing through her skin with a sting that shot up her arms. She bit her lip, but she did not whimper. She didn¡¯t want to give Sister Petrice the satisfaction of a reaction. The stick rose and fell again and again, each strike deeper, sharper, until her skin split and blood started trickling down her hands.


    Then it was Tamlin¡¯s turn. His face remained a mask, defiant yet resigned, as the stick cracked down across his hands, leaving angry red welts that quickly bled. He gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply with each strike, refusing to flinch. The punishment was equal, meted out with cold precision, each child receiving their share of lashes until both of their hands were bloodied, raw, and trembling.


    When Sister Petrice finally lowered the stick, her gaze was as impassive as ever. ¡°You will ask forgiveness of each other,¡± she commanded, her voice icy, ¡°and you will give each other a proper embrace, as a sign of peace. Now.¡±


    Anne¡¯s throbbing jaw clenched as she turned to Tamlin, struggling to keep her face impassive. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she muttered, the words forced out through gritted teeth.


    Tamlin¡¯s eyes narrowed, his lips barely moving as he replied, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too.¡±


    Sister Petrice watched them with hawk-like attention. ¡°The embrace.¡±


    The girl stepped forward, suppressing a smirk as she moved her arm up, making sure her cheek brushed firmly against Tamlin¡¯s broken nose as she leaned in for the hug. She felt him wince, heard the faint hiss of pain that escaped his lips, and satisfaction surged through her. But before she could relish the moment, Tamlin¡¯s arms clamped around her with bruising force, pulling her close in a rough, bone-crushing grip that sent a wave of pain through her sore ribs and bruised stomach. Neither child made a sound, their faces set in masks of forced civility as they held the embrace.


    Sister Petrice watched them, her expression unreadable. ¡°You¡¯ll both report to morning prayers an hour early for the rest of the week. Let this serve as a reminder to respect one another and keep the orphanage¡¯s peace.¡± After a pause, she added her gaze flicking toward the door, ¡°Tamlin, you may go.¡±


    Petrice watched in silence as the boy eagerly let go of Anne and slipped out of the office, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The girl stood where she was, feeling the weight of the Sister¡¯s gaze settle on her, heavy and expectant. She shifted uncomfortably, wondering why she hadn¡¯t been dismissed too. Her bloodied hands stung, but the pain was far from her mind now, replaced by a creeping sense of unease.


    The woman moved around her desk, settling into her chair with an air of rigid authority. ¡°Anne,¡± she began, steepling her fingers thoughtfully, ¡°have you ever given any serious thought to your future? What sort of craft or profession might you take up once you leave here?¡±


    Anne relaxed; this was an easy question to answer. ¡°I want to clean chamber pots,¡± she proclaimed without a trace of hesitation.


    Sister Petrice rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. ¡°For the Maker¡¯s sake, child. That is not a real profession.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± the girl replied, her tone brightening. She leaned forward, her enthusiasm spilling over. ¡°Everyone else hates it, Sister. People feel miserable when they have to do it, but me¡ªI don¡¯t care. I don¡¯t mind it at all. I can clean them without gagging. It¡¯s perfect. Folks will be happy, and I¡¯ll make money. Isn¡¯t that what a job¡¯s for?¡±


    For a fleeting moment, a shadow of incredulous disbelief crossed Sister Petrice¡¯s face. She stared at the girl as though trying to decipher whether she was being serious or playing some kind of joke. But Anne¡¯s earnestness was unmistakable. The Sister shook her head slowly, the lines of her face tightening in displeasure. ¡°Cleaning chamber pots will not secure you a future,¡± she uttered, her voice hardening, ¡°nor will it bring you any real income.¡±


    Anne opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, Petrice cut her off. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching you, girl. And while your attitude can be¡­ trying at times, I believe you have potential.¡±


    Anne frowned, confused. ¡°Potential for what?¡±


    The woman leaned forward slightly, her eyes sharp and calculating. ¡°I believe you should join the Order.¡±


    The girl blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She couldn¡¯t have heard that right. ¡°The Order? You mean¡­ the Templar Order?¡±


    The Sister nodded. ¡°Yes. The orphanage is struggling, Anne. The donations we receive are not enough to cover our needs anymore. It¡¯s been decided that some of the children who show promise may be sent to the Order. They provide for their recruits¡ªfood, clothing, shelter. It would be a way for you to secure a future for yourself and be of service to the Maker.¡±


    Shock washed over Anne, rendering her momentarily speechless. The thought of joining the Templars and becoming one of those iron-clad figures was so far from anything she had ever imagined for herself that she didn¡¯t know how to react. She had never considered anything like that¡ªhad never wanted anything more than a simple, quiet life, doing something no one else wanted to do. ¡°The Templars?¡± she finally uttered, incredulity lacing her voice. ¡° I¡¯m not¡ªwhy me? I don¡¯t even¡ª¡±


    "You''ve got a sturdy build," Sister Petrice interrupted, her tone brisk. "A dull mind," she muttered under her breath, then resumed her usual cadence. "And resilience. With proper training, guidance, and discipline, you could become a fine Knight of Our Lady."


    Anne¡¯s head spun. ¡°But¡­¡± she began, struggling to find the words. ¡°I¡¯m not¡ªaren¡¯t Templars supposed to be, I don¡¯t know,reallydedicated to the Maker and all that? I don¡¯t think I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    ¡°As I said, the orphanage cannot continue to provide for everyone, and the Order needs recruits,¡± Sister Petrice replied, cutting her off again. ¡°You need to think practically about your future, girl.¡±


    Anne looked down at her bloodied hands, her fingers stinging where the skin had split from the beating. A small, hard knot of defiance stirred within her. ¡°Still, I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t want to be a Templar, Sister.¡±


    A faint frown creased the woman¡¯s brow. "I had hoped you would accept it willingly, but alas, it is not so. To be honest you have no choice in the matter. " Anne bit the inside of her cheek, her mind rebelling even as her body stood still. ¡°The Chantry has done all it can, now it''s time for the Order to welcome you.¡±


    Seeing the fear in her eyes, the Sister sighed. "I know that the path of the Knight is a hard one to walk. It demands sacrifice, and it bears sorrow. But it is also a path of honor, and one that pleases the Maker. For that, His light will shine upon you, child."


    The girl stayed silent, unable to meet the Sister¡¯s gaze, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. After a long moment, the woman rose, her movements deliberate, and walked around the desk. She placed a firm hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder. "You will leave in a few days."


    With that, Petrice stepped aside. Her face was unreadable as she opened the door, ushering Anne to her next step.

 The Savior

    The streets of Hightown shimmered with the lingering moisture of a recent downpour, the cobblestones slick beneath Anne''s boots as she made her way toward the Blooming Rose. She had a task ahead of her¡ªto bring back her fellow recruit Keran. The young man had been spotted slipping away from the Gallows under the cover of night, and everyone knew he had saved money for months, eager to finally become ''a man¡¯, so the brothel was the first place to check. It wasn''t the first time one of the recruits had sneaked out of the barracks, despite the severe consequences that would follow if they were discovered, but Keran was the first not to return at dawn.


    Anne couldn¡¯t help but sympathize and envy the guy. Sympathize, because, like her, he was hard on the eyes, someone who had no volunteers in the Circle willing to risk punishment by fraternizing with him. And envy, because, unlike Keran, she didn¡¯t have parents who could send her coin to save for a visit to the Rose. As far as she knew, after last night, she would be the last virgin among the recruits her age. But forget sex¡ªshe was about to turn seventeen and hadn''t even had her first kiss. How depressing was that? Yet, it wasn¡¯t the lack of experience that soured her mood the most. The true culprit was walking right beside her.


    Tamlin, the eternal pain in her ass, now wore the armor of a full-fledged Knight, each polished plate gleaming with an obnoxious perfection in the early morning sun. Not even a month since he''d earned his rank, and already he carried himself like some seasoned veteran, his steps measured, his chin lifted. The insufferable self-confidence was bad enough, but what made it worse¡ªwhat made her jaw clench every time he spoke¡ªwas the fact that he was never supposed to be here. Not in the Order. Not beside her.


    Tamlin hadn¡¯t been one of the original candidates for the Templar Order. But by some twist of fate¡ªor perhaps the Maker¡¯s own wry sense of humor¡ªone of the chosen lads, Gareth, a boy who prayed before meals, after meals, and sometimes even during meals, a shining beacon of faith and obedience, had choked to death on a piece of bread the day before they were to depart the orphanage for the Gallows. And in yet another completely unexpected turn of events, Tamlin had stepped forward, volunteering to take Gareth¡¯s place with such fervent enthusiasm that even the Knight-Corporal, who had come for the other kids the next day, was impressed by the display of zeal and accepted him on the spot.


    Six years.


    Six long, grueling years since that fateful day. Six years of training under the watchful, cold eyes of the Knight-Lieutenant Alrik, where every mistake earned a bruise, every misstep meant punishment. Not to mention the countless hours memorizing every word of the Chant of Light, as if her worth as a recruit depended on how perfectly she could recite it while swinging a sword. And then there were the lessons about spirits, demons, and maleficarum¡ªeach more dangerous than the last, each with strengths and weaknesses she had to remember.


    All of it might have been manageable if not for Tamlin. Somehow, despite hating her guts, he always managed to be wherever she was, probably just so he¡¯d always have someone to share his so-called "truths" with¡ªtruths no one ever asked for, let alone wanted. They¡¯d had countless fights over it, and over everything else, really, but it seemed nothing was enough to deter him from making a pest of himself.


    "You''re quiet today, Ogre," the young man said, glancing at her from beneath his helm. He was the one who¡¯d started calling her that a few years ago, back when she¡¯d shot up in height and muscle, and, to her frustration, the name had stuck among other recruits as well. At first, it had enraged her¡ªshe¡¯d even split his lip in a fight over it¡ªbut now, she barely cared. "Also thinking about the best way to beat Keran¡¯s ass?"


    Anne gritted her teeth but kept her gaze forward. They were close now, the brothel looming ahead. "No, I¡¯m not," she muttered. "I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll come back willingly. Even if he¡¯s drunk, we can talk him into it."


    "Nah," the Templar uttered, blue eyes fixed ahead. "That wouldn¡¯t be fair. The bastard''s most likely sleeping soundly between some whore¡¯s tits, and here we are, slogging through wet Hightown first thing in the morning." He paused, then added, "Besides, I hate guys like him. Boasting about their ¡®wild¡¯ nights, when all they had to do was toss a few coins to get what they wanted. Meanwhile, some of us have to work damn hard to get laid." He turned to look at her, his grin sharp. "And some can¡¯t get laid at all."


    Anne felt the heat creeping up her face, the embarrassment twisting into something sharper, hotter¡ªlike a spark catching dry tinder. The lie slipped out faster than she could think. ¡°So you know,¡± she started, lifting her chin in defiance, ¡°while a horse-faced shorty like you had to scrape and beg for attention, I had plenty of encounters.¡± She paused just long enough to snap her fingers. ¡°Just like that.¡±


    The Templar raised an eyebrow, smirking. ¡°Really? With who? ''Cause I still got lots of friends among the recruits, and I haven¡¯t heard a word about anyone doing the deed with you."


    Anne¡¯s face burned hotter. ¡°Not everything happens inside the Gallows. I have men all over Kirkwall going crazy for me.¡±


    Tamlin chuckled, low and unimpressed. "Sure, Ogre. But you know what? You just make yourself sound even sadder, inventing lovers from faraway districts. If you¡¯re that upset about being untouched," his grin widened as he leaned in slightly. "I could be generous enough to let you get some practice. You could start by sucking my¡ª"


    He never finished, as Anne¡¯s elbow slammed into his side with a sharp crack, knocking the wind out of him. ¡°Suck it yourself!¡±


    Tamlin staggered back, half-laughing, half-coughing, rubbing his side where the blow had landed. "I would if I could."


    "Ugh," she grunted, rolling her eyes and quickening her pace to move away from him. But, of course, he matched her stride, laughing all the way to the brothel.


    The Blooming Rose loomed before them, its gaudy sign swaying gently in the morning breeze. Anne hesitated for a moment, eyeing the place with the same curiosity she always did. The scent of smoke and sweet perfume was already starting to drift out through the open door, mingling with the damp air of Hightown. Tamlin, on the other hand, strode forward with false confidence, pretending like he belonged, though it was clear from the way his eyes flicked uncertainly over the brothel''s garish d¨¦cor that he was just as out of place as she was.


    Inside, the dim light barely cut through the haze of incense and tobacco smoke. The floorboards creaked beneath their boots, and the faint sounds of low voices and soft laughter filled the air, accompanied by the rustle of silk and lace. Prostitutes lounged in the corners, draped in bright fabrics that only half-covered their bodies, their eyes shifting toward the newcomers with a mixture of boredom and wariness. A few raised their eyebrows at Tamlin¡¯s armor, while others offered half-hearted smiles, but none of them stirred from their spots.


    Anne kept her gaze forward, trying to ignore the weight of their stares. The Templar, for his part, looked slightly disappointed as he glanced around. He leaned toward her, muttering under his breath. ¡°Been hearing tales of this place from the lads, and now that I am finally here¡­I don¡¯t know, looks like any other bloody whorehouse to me. Maybe the wenches here got something special between their legs or -¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just ask for Keran,¡± the recruit interrupted, her voice edged with vexation as she maneuvered through the crowd. She pushed past a cluster of dwarven women, who were laughing uproariously as they clung to a bare-chested elven man. The elf appeared distressed, arms raised in a silent protest that did nothing to stop the dwarves¡¯ groping hands.


    Anne''s thick brows knit together, her eyes narrowing as she prepared to call out the scene before her. But Tamlin¡¯s hand landed on her shoulder, halting her. "Do not get involved," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "We¡¯re here to find Keran¡ªnothing more, nothing less."


    Anne sighed, her irritation simmering just below the surface. With a swift shrug, she shook his hand off her shoulder. "Fine," she muttered, her tone laced with reluctant acceptance. She didn¡¯t like it, but Tamlin had a point; drawing attention to herself wouldn¡¯t help them here.


    As her eyes scanned the room, she caught sight of a waitress behind the bar, a brief lull in her movements suggesting she was free¡ªthough in a place this crowded, that could change at any moment. Wordlessly, she tilted her head in the woman¡¯s direction. The Templar gave a single nod, his blue eyes sharp with understanding.


    The waitress looked just as tired as the rest of the staff. Her heavy makeup was starting to smear, and her apron was stained with Maker knows what. She was wiping down a glass when they approached, her eyes flicking up to meet theirs.


    "How can I help you, brave Knights?¡± she asked, her voice flat, uninterested.


    "We¡¯re looking for one of our own," Tamlin said, trying his best to sound casual. "A man named Keran. Has he been here recently?"


    The woman¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but there was a flicker of something¡ªsuspicion, maybe¡ªbehind her eyes. She gave them both an once-over, and then shrugged. ¡°We get a lot of people through here. I don¡¯t keep track.¡±


    Tamlin stepped forward, the forced casualness slipping away. ¡°Maybe you should check the books, then,¡± he said, his tone growing sharper.


    The waitress raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. ¡°And why would I do that?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s important,¡± the Templar pressed. "And I¡¯m not asking."


    The edge in his voice finally got through to her. She sighed heavily, clearly not in the mood for trouble with the Order, but she didn¡¯t move. Anne could tell she was stalling, hoping they¡¯d give up and leave. But Tamlin stepped closer, leaning over the counter with his usual swagger, though the recruit noticed his fingers tightening on the edge of the wood. "Look," he said, his voice low, "we can make this easy, or we can make this difficult. It¡¯s just a name. Check the damn books."


    The woman¡¯s eyes narrowed. She shot a glance toward Anne, then back to Tamlin, sizing them up before exhaling through her nose. ¡°Fine,¡± she muttered, shoving the glass aside. ¡°Wait here.¡±


    She ducked behind the bar and returned a moment later with a worn ledger, flipping through the pages with a practiced hand. For a few tense moments, she scanned the names scribbled across the entries, her finger trailing down the list. Finally, she stopped, tapping a spot on the page.


    "Keran," she confirmed, her tone flat. "He was here. Came in seven hours ago."


    Anne''s tension eased slightly, but Tamlin wasn¡¯t finished. ¡°And where is he now?¡±


    The waitress closed the book with a thud, crossing her arms. ¡°Apparently still upstairs,¡± she replied, sounding slightly amused. ¡°Room twelve. He¡¯s with Idunna¡ªthe ¡®Exotic Wonder from the East.¡¯¡± Her tone was mocking, as if she found the title ridiculous. "She¡¯s one of our stars. And let me tell you, she''s not cheap."


    The Templar smirked, leaning back with his arms crossed. ¡°Good to know, Serrah. Thanks for your cooperation.¡±


    The woman snorted. "Just don¡¯t cause any trouble. We¡¯ve got enough of that around here."


    The recruit turned toward the stairs without a word, and Tamlin followed close behind, a slight swagger returning to his step now that they had a lead. As they made their way up the creaking stairs, Anne¡¯s thoughts raced. If Keran had really spent seven hours with some exotic prostitute, they¡¯d be lucky if he was still coherent enough to drag out of there.


    When they reached the long corridor lined with doors, the array of sounds hit them full force: moans of pleasure, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, and the low creak and groan of bed frames straining under eager weight. The scent in the air was thick, cloying¡ªa mix of sweat, perfume, and something raw that could only be described as lust, lingering in the wood and fabric of the place.


    Anne kept her gaze fixed ahead, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. But a thought pricked at her mind, unbidden. She¡¯d imagined places like this sometimes, conjuring fantasies of finding some tall, striking man, someone who might be hers for an hour or two. She¡¯d entertained the notion with excitement, daydreaming about being wanted like that, even if it was just a pretense for the coin. But now, standing here, with all the sounds, the pungent smells, and the bare reality of it pressing in around her, she found herself repulsed. The fantasy of how thrilling it would be to lay with a male prostitute had evaporated, leaving only a gnawing discomfort.


    Tamlin nudged her, pulling her from her thoughts. "Room twelve," he whispered, his usual tone softened¡ªprobably more from the atmosphere than anything else. They moved forward, each step taking them closer to Keran and, hopefully, the end of this mess.


    Eventually, they came to a door with the number twelve painted on it. While there were no noises behind it, Anne took a steadying breath, steeling herself for whatever they were about to find.


    She knocked on the door, her knuckles rapping against the worn wood. Tamlin stood beside her, shifting his weight impatiently. They heard a shuffle inside, followed by a soft creak as the door opened just a sliver.


    A face appeared in the narrow gap¡ªa stunning woman with pale, almost haunting eyes and lush auburn locks that tumbled over her shoulders. She leaned against the doorframe, one hand resting on the wood, the other casually holding the door open. A see-through dress that left nothing to the imagination clung to her voluptuous body.


    "Is there a reason you two are disturbing me?" She asked, her voice a low, sultry purr, though her expression was far from welcoming.


    For a moment, Tamlin was silent, clearly distracted by the sight of her. His gaze flicked up and down, lingering on the curves beneath the sheer fabric before he cleared his throat and forced his eyes back to her face. "Idunna, right? We¡¯re looking for Keran. He is supposed to be with you."


    The woman''s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "Keran?" she repeated. "Oh, he''s resting after the exertions." She stepped back, gesturing for them to enter. "Come in, noble Knights."


    Anne hesitated for a second but pushed the door open further, stepping into the dimly lit room. Tamlin followed close behind, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the hilt of his sword. As the woman shut the door behind them, a soft click echoed through the room, the sound oddly ominous.


    Idunna¡¯s chamber was big and dim, shadows clinging to the walls, disturbed only by the meager light of a few candles sputtering on shelves near the door. Their faint glow barely reached the bed, leaving its form wrapped in darkness. A scent of incense lingered, dense and overpowering, seeping into every corner of the room.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    They hurried to the bed, the thick carpet swallowing every footstep, but when they approached it, they found nothing but a pile of crumpled, dirty sheets. Anne¡¯s pulse quickened. She turned back toward the woman who still stood near the entrance, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What does this¡ª?"


    Before she could finish, her eyes locked onto the small knife in Idunna¡¯s hand, its blade gleaming faintly in the candlelight. She sliced it along her arm again and again, blood welling up and dripping onto the floor from the fresh wounds.


    "Blood magic!" The recruit gasped, her hand flying toward her blade. But it was too late.


    The woman¡¯s sanguine fluid lifted into the air, shimmering with a dark, unnatural energy, and Anne¡¯s vision blurred, the room beginning to spin. The floor seemed to sway beneath her feet, and the walls warped as if they were closing in.


    Beside her, Tamlin charged the maleficar, sword in hand, but his movements were sluggish, his body too slow to react. The magic had already taken hold of him, wrapping around the Templar like an invisible noose.


    Anne¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps as the room spun faster, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she fell to the floor.


    The last thing she saw before everything slipped away was Idunna¡¯s smile, serene and knowing as if she had planned this all along.


    Anne¡¯s eyes fluttered open, the world around her coming into focus in a murky haze. Pain throbbed in her wrists and ankles, and it took her a moment to register that they were bound¡ªher arms drawn back and fastened tightly to her ankles, forcing her body into an unforgiving arc. Rough ropes bit into her skin, each small movement sending a fresh sting through her limbs as the fibers chafed against her raw flesh.


    With a jolt, the recruit realized she was sprawled on the cold, gritty floor, stripped to her underwear, skin prickling from the chill and the filth that clung to it. The dimness around her resolved into a cramped basement, its stone walls covered in dried-out gore. A single torch flickered at the far side, mounted beside a narrow set of stairs. The flame cast a feeble glow, leaving the rest of the space thick with shadows.


    The stench hit her next¡ªa putrid, nauseating mix of rotting meat and stale blood. It filled her lungs with every breath, intensifying as she strained against the ropes binding her. Panic clawed its way up her throat, her heart pounding faster with each futile tug. Her breathing quickened, each gasp dragging in the stench until it felt like she was about to vomit.


    A voice broke through her frantic gasps. ¡°Anne?¡± Tamlin¡¯s tone was strained but steady. ¡°Anne, are you awake?¡±


    She craned her neck, looking over her shoulder, and spotted the Templar lying nearby, undressed and bound just as she was. His face was bruised, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but otherwise he looked fine.


    "Tamlin?" Her voice trembled. ¡°Where¡­ Where are we?¡± She tugged at the ropes again, desperate, but they only bit deeper into her skin. ¡°I can¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t get out of this.¡±


    ¡°Stop. Stop struggling,¡± he said softly, though she could hear the effort he was putting into keeping his own voice calm. ¡°I don''t know where we are, but we''ll get out of here. I¡¯ll find a way.¡±


    She let out a humorless laugh, hysteria edging into her voice. ¡°How in the Void are you going to get us out while we¡¯re both tied up?¡±


    Tamlin shifted, wincing as the ropes dug into him. ¡°I¡¯ll think of something. Just trust me.¡±


    Before she could say anything else, footsteps echoed down the stone stairs, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine. Anne froze, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as Idunna stepped into view, her figure silhouetted against the dim light seeping in from above. In her hand, she held the same knife she had used in the brothel, but her form was now draped in modest white robes.


    ¡°Awake, are we?¡± Idunna¡¯s voice was smooth, almost sing-song, as she approached, looking down at them as though they were little more than amusing pets.


    Fear clawed at Anne, primal and intense. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet Idunna¡¯s gaze. ¡°Are you going to kill us?¡± The question slipped out before the recruit could stop it, her voice barely a whisper.


    The maleficar''s smile widened, and she crouched before her, reaching out to run the tip of her blade along Anne''s cheek. The recruit clenched her jaw, stifling a shudder. ¡°Kill you? Oh no, dear... killing is so... final.¡± Her other hand brushed against the rope burns on Anne¡¯s wrists. ¡°There are far more interesting things one can do with a couple of Chantry dogs.¡±


    ¡°Leave her alone, you blighted bitch!¡± Tamlin growled, his voice low and defiant despite the bindings. ¡°Whatever shit you¡¯ve planned, it¡¯s going to backfire. Knights of the Order will come looking for us. You won¡¯t get away with this.¡±


    Idunna laughed, a cold, delighted sound. ¡°Oh, look at you. Such a brave Templar,¡± she mocked, circling him now, her gaze appraising. ¡°You have no idea how alone you both are right now. No one¡¯s coming for you, poor boy, not before I¡¯ve had my fill.¡± She lifted her head and called out, her voice sweet. ¡°Keran, my darling. Come to us.¡±


    Anne¡¯s heart sank as slow, unsteady footsteps thudded on the stairs. She turned, horror creeping through her veins as Keran came into view. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow and lifeless. He moved like a puppet on strings, his gaze fixed on Idunna with a mixture of obedience and reverence, as if nothing else in the world mattered to him but her.


    ¡°My love,¡± he whispered, his voice hoarse.


    Idunna came to him and reached out, pressing her knife into his hand, her fingers lingering over his for just a moment. ¡°I need your help, dearest,¡± she cooed, brushing a lock of his hair back. ¡°Go and stand next to these filthy Chantry dogs... and then slice your own throat. I need plenty of blood for the ritual.¡±


    Anne¡¯s breath caught in her throat. ¡°Keran!¡± she cried, thrashing against the ropes. ¡°No, don¡¯t do it! Please, fight her¡ªwhatever spell she¡¯s cast on you, just fight it!¡±


    Keran looked at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no spark of the young man she knew.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you! I¡¯ll fucking kill you, you twisted whore!¡± Tamlin bellowed, struggling harder against his own binding.


    The blood mage¡¯s smile only widened. ¡°I always find it adorable when people think they¡¯re in a position to threaten me.¡±


    Without another word, Keran turned, holding the blade in his hand as he moved beside them. He gazed at Idunna one last time with a look of pure devotion, then raised the knife to his throat.


    Anne screamed, tears burning her eyes, but her voice was drowned out by the sickening sound of metal slicing flesh. A guttural, wet sound escaped the enthralled recruit as the blood poured out in thick sprays.


    But the sanguine liquid didn¡¯t fall to the ground¡ªit swirled in the air, a crimson mist, guided by Idunna¡¯s magic. She stood at the center of it all, her eyes glowing with power, her lips moving in a quiet incantation. The blood formed a swirling cloud, pulsating with unnatural energy, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the maleficar directed it toward Anne and Tamlin.


    The mist descended upon them, its touch like fire. The recruit gasped, every inch of her skin ablaze with searing heat, her mind fogging over with unbearable numbness. She could feel the magic burrowing into her flesh, stripping away her senses and dulling her thoughts, until everything was distant, far away.


    ¡°Anne!¡± Tamlin¡¯s voice reached her, but it sounded muffled as if he were speaking from the other side of a thick wall.


    Her senses faded, her body no longer her own, and for a moment, she floated in the emptiness¡ªdisconnected, weightless, lost.


    And then, with a sudden flash of light, everything changed.


    The basement was gone. The blood, the magic, the horror¡ªit all dissolved in an instant. Anne found herself standing in the courtyard of the orphanage, the familiar stone walls towering above her. The sky was overcast, a soft drizzle falling from the clouds. She blinked, disoriented, trying to make sense of where she was. How had she gotten here? What had happened?


    She looked around, her mind struggling to piece together the fragments of her memory, but there was nothing. She was standing here, in the courtyard where she had spent her childhood, but everything else¡ªthe events leading up to this moment¡ªwere lost.


    "Anne?" A soft, trembling voice from behind cut through the air.


    She turned, startled, and saw a woman running toward her. The woman was beautiful in a way that seemed almost unreal¡ªblonde hair cascading in a long, thick braid, her face delicate but lined with age, dressed simply in a clean, modest gown. Her green eyes were wide, filled with an overwhelming sorrow that made Anne¡¯s heart stutter.


    The woman reached her, arms outstretched, and without hesitation, she wrapped the recruit in a tight embrace. She stiffened, unsure of what to do. The woman¡¯s touch was warm, her body trembling as she held her close.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, my girl,¡± the woman whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for what I did to you. I¡¯ve regretted it every day since. I¡¯ve searched for you everywhere, but I could never find you. Not until now.¡±


    Anne¡¯s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. And yet, in the deepest corners of her heart, something responded to the woman¡¯s touch¡ªa yearning she had buried long ago.


    The woman pulled back slightly, her hands cupping Anne¡¯s face, her eyes glistening with tears. ¡°I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to¡ª¡± Her voice broke again, and she shook her head, swallowing hard. ¡°They made me give you up. I was so young, so scared. But I¡¯ve never forgiven myself for it. You were my precious baby girl, and I left you.¡±


    Anne stared at her, words caught in her throat. She had never seen her mother¡ªnever known her face, her voice, her touch. She had been discarded like waste, tossed into the sewers shortly after she had drawn her first breath. That was the story she had always been told¡ªthe harsh reality she had come to accept. And yet, in her dreams, she had imagined this moment so many times. She had pictured her mother exactly like this¡ªbeautiful, remorseful, a figure full of love and regret, begging for forgiveness.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Anne¡¯s voice faltered as her emotions tangled together. ¡°You¡¯re my¡­ mother?¡±


    The woman nodded, her tears flowing freely now. ¡°Yes, baby. I¡¯m your mother. I¡¯ve waited so long to find you, to make things right.¡± She brushed a strand of hair from Anne¡¯s face, her touch gentle, almost reverent. ¡°I know I don¡¯t deserve your forgiveness, but I had to find you. I had to tell you how sorry I am.¡±


    Anne¡¯s heart soared. Her mother¡¯s arms wrapped around her once again, warm and solid, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt a hint of peace. She didn¡¯t question it, didn¡¯t let doubt creep in¡ªshe was simply basking in the embrace she had dreamed of since she was a child.


    ¡°Oh, my girl,¡± her mother murmured, pulling her closer, her voice filled with longing. ¡°Now that we¡¯re finally together again, I want nothing more than to be part of you, to be in your heart. Let me in, Anne. Let me be with you forever.¡±


    The recruit opened her mouth to answer, feeling elated. She would finally have what she had always wanted. But as she took a breath to say yes, a male voice echoed sharply in her mind, cutting through her bliss like a blade.


    "Fight!"


    The word seemed to pierce through the haze of warmth that surrounded her, striking cold and harsh. Anne blinked, the fog in her mind lifting slightly as if a cold wind had just swept through her. She pulled back from her mother¡¯s arms.


    ¡°Fight!¡± The male voice insisted again, louder this time.


    Anne shook her head, trying to clear her mind to make sense of the voice¡¯s warning. She looked up at her mother, who was watching her with an unsettling intensity, her hands coming to rest on Anne¡¯s shoulders a little too tightly.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, dear?¡± She asked, her voice honey-sweet but with an edge Anne hadn¡¯t noticed before. ¡°Don¡¯t you want this? Don¡¯t you want us to be together?¡±


    Anne¡¯s heart thudded painfully in her chest, her mind spinning with confusion. She longed for this, didn¡¯t she? Her mother was here, finally, saying everything she had yearned to hear. But that voice¡ªit had cracked something inside her, a jagged fracture in her certainty. The feeling of doubt was spreading¡ªa prickling at the back of her neck¡ªand she couldn¡¯t shake it. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker¡ªa shift in the shadows, subtle but unmistakable. The edges of the courtyard seemed to waver, like a mirage, as though the world around her wasn¡¯t entirely solid. Her pulse quickened, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. Anne pulled back, stepping out of her mother¡¯s hold, her gaze sharpening as she looked around. This wasn¡¯t right.


    ¡°My girl,¡± the woman¡¯s voice took on a sharper edge. ¡°Just say yes.¡±


    "Fight!" The voice in her head thundered, louder than ever.


    Anne took a closer look at the woman before her, every feature so painfully precise. Suddenly her image faltered, just for a heartbeat, and in that brief lapse, Anne glimpsed something unnatural in the perfection of her face¡ªa subtle distortion twisting beneath the surface.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Anne demanded, fists clenched as she took a step back, steadying herself against the rush of dread. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Daughter, please,¡± the woman implored, reaching out, desperation gleaming in her eyes. But Anne swung her arm free, wrenching herself from the figure¡¯s grasp, defiance flaring within her as she stood her ground.


    Her mother¡¯s face twisted, the soft features contorting and warping. Her beautiful, kind eyes flared with a dark fire, her lips curling back in a snarl as horns erupted from her head, curving around a crown of purple fire that replaced her hair. Her gown dissolved into skin that was thick and gray, her arms extending into clawed hands that seemed to glisten with a deadly sharpness. She was magnificent and monstrous, her bare chest heaving with fury, her eyes piercing through Anne like a blade.


    ¡°So, you resist,¡± the Desire demon hissed. ¡°If you don¡¯t let me in willingly, I¡¯ll carve my place inside you.¡±


    Before Anne could react, the demon lunged at her, its claws slashing through the air with terrifying speed. The young woman barely dodged the first strike, stumbling back, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to fight, swinging her fists in a wild attempt to fend off the demon. But she was no match.


    The monster moved with unnatural speed, dodging the recruit¡¯s desperate blows effortlessly. Her claws raked across Anne¡¯s side, tearing through flesh, and a cry of pain tore from her throat. Blood sprayed from the deep gashes, and she staggered, clutching her side, her vision blurring with agony.


    The demon laughed, circling her prey with gleeful malice. ¡°Is that all you¡¯ve got, little girl?¡± it hissed, licking its lips. "So weak¡­ so breakable.¡±


    Anne gritted her teeth, her blood-soaked hands trembling as she tried to fight back the overwhelming pain. She swung again, but the demon was faster, sidestepping with ease before striking with its claws, this time tearing into her shoulder. The young woman screamed, the force of the blow sending her crashing to the ground.


    She could feel the warmth of her blood pooling beneath her back, her body weakening with every passing second. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt heavy, her strength draining fast.


    The foul creature loomed above her now, an infernal light dancing in its eyes as it straddled Anne, pinning her down. With one swift, horrific motion, it plunged its claws into the recruit¡¯s chest, and Anne gasped, her body wracked with agony as the demon dug deeper, clawing at her ribs, searching for her heart.


    Anne¡¯s vision began to darken, her breaths slowing as the pain numbed, and she felt herself drifting toward the edge of consciousness. But just as her vision began to fade, a sudden brilliance erupted above her, blinding in its purity.


    A sword, radiant and gleaming, descended from above to slice clean through the demon''s head. The creature¡¯s eyes widened in shock, its snarl frozen on its face as its head split in two. The monster dissipated into a cloud of dark mist, swirling and vanishing into nothingness.


    Anne lay there, under the gray sky, her body still, her breath faint as she blinked against the blinding light above her. Slowly, her bleary vision cleared just enough to see the figure that stood over her, glowing from within, its form majestic and unyielding. It was a Templar, clad in shimmering, ethereal armor, the contours of his helmet obscuring his face, yet the light that radiated from him was both fierce and gentle.


    The Knight kneeled beside her, and he reached out with one gauntleted hand, placing it over the wounds torn into her chest by the demon¡¯s claws. Golden light spread from his touch, blooming from her heart outward, filling her limbs, and knitting together the shredded skin and muscle. Her pain faded, leaving only a profound exhaustion¡ªand something else.


    It was a feeling she couldn¡¯t quite name, a sudden urge that burned like embers in her chest: the desire to fight, to stand tall, to prove herself in the fierce, honest clash of battle. She felt a thirst for honor swell within her, a yearning to test her strength against whatever darkness would come for her next.


    Still too weak to fully understand, Anne struggled to open her mouth to thank him and to speak to her savior. But as she tried to form words, her voice came out as little more than a bloody, ragged gasp.


    The Templar tilted his head. ¡°Peace, child,¡± he uttered in a commanding tone that rang with familiarity. ¡°For I have found you worthy.¡±


    Anne¡¯s eyes widened in recognition. That voice. It was the same one that had urged her to fight against the demon¡¯s lies.


    A fresh wave of light poured over her, so intense and blinding that she had to close her eyes, the brilliance searing against her lids. His voice echoed again, rich and steady, filling her with a strange, holy resolve. ¡°I wish you glorious battles to come,¡± the Knight intoned, his words reverberating through the darkness like a vow. ¡°Fight with valor!¡±


    Suddenly, the ground vanished beneath her, and she felt herself tumbling into an endless abyss. She fell and fell, weightless and alone in the silence, her consciousness drifting. But just as she thought there would be no end to it, strong hands caught her, interrupting the descent. The grip was firm yet gentle, steadying her.


    Barely managing to open her eyes, Anne found herself staring into the face of the most striking man she had ever seen. His features were rugged yet refined, with a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a hint of scruffy stubble. His short, golden-blond curls caching the dim light in a soft halo. But it was his eyes that held her¡ªwarm amber eyes filled with concern, radiating a kindness that softened his otherwise stoic expression.


    "Rest easy, recruit. You are safe," he uttered, his voice being that of a glowing Knight who had saved and healed her just moments ago.


    Anne blinked, her mind sluggish, still swimming in the remnants of whatever strange magic had filled it. Oh, so that''s what he looks like under his helmet, she thought, before exhaustion overcame her. Her strength spent, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, safe at last in the arms of her protector.

 The volunteer

    The chamber lay in frozen silence. Ice encrusted every surface, shimmering dimly in the pale light that filtered through the high windows. Sharp, fragile icicles hung from the ceiling like daggers of glass, a web of cold crystals that cast faint, fractured shadows across the stone floor. Cullen sat on the ground, his back pressed against the icy wall, barely able to feel his limbs beneath the numbing chill that seeped into his bones. His breath came in shallow, white puffs, each exhalation vanishing into the stillness, and his eyes, half-lidded with weariness, wandered over the strange beauty of his surroundings.


    The quietness¡ªit had a quality of peace, of solitude. Even in the deep cold, there was something comforting in the absence of noise. The only sound was the faint crackle of ice shifting, expanding imperceptibly. It was almost as if the ice itself was alive, growing and breathing with him. He welcomed it, this silence. It gave him a strange sort of solace, a reprieve from the relentless noise in his own mind. Here, at least he could forget.


    Then he heard it¡ªa whisper of movement, so light it might have been imagined. Footsteps, almost imperceptible, muffled by the snow that dusted the floor. His heart stirred faintly, the rhythm disturbed by a presence that had not yet fully entered. And then, she appeared.


    The eleven maiden moved like a dream, her slender form clad in robes of the softest blue, the fabric flowing about her as if stirred by a breeze that did not exist. Her long white hair was tucked behind her pointed ears, framing her delicate face. Cerulean eyes, so vivid they seemed otherworldly, met his gaze. Eyes that held within them an unnatural depth, a sadness that was too vast for one so young.


    The elf¡¯s pale lips curled into a soft, almost melancholic smile as she came to sit opposite him. She leaned back against the wall, her head resting gently as her eyes held his in quiet understanding. For a moment, time seemed to suspend itself, the cold withdrawing to a distant corner of his mind, leaving only the sight of her, the vision of beauty that took his breath away just as it had the first time he''d seen her.


    Cullen tried to move, to reach out to her, but he could not even lift a finger. And yet, despite his paralysis, he remained calm, for this predicament was not a new one. Whether in Kinloch or here, she had always been near enough to touch, yet impossibly distant, like a star one can see but never hold. He had known this, lived this, yet the knowing did nothing to lessen its sting.


    A quiet sort of sadness settled over him, a desire to weep for all that he had lost, for all that he could never have. But the tears would not come, frozen within him like his very blood, refusing release. And so, with every other avenue closed, he reached out in the only way left to him: his voice. Her name, a single word, slipped from his lips¡ªa soft, fragile breath, barely more than a ghost in the stillness. ¡°Neria¡­¡±


    She tilted her head, her expression softening, and without a word, she extended her hand towards him, slender fingers opening gracefully as if to offer something unseen. And there, in her palm, snowflakes began to gather, swirling and dancing, tiny crystalline patterns spinning in a slow, mesmerizing circle. They sparkled in the faint light, catching glints of silver and blue, and as they moved, the chill in the room deepened.


    Each delicate flake moved as if it had a will of its own, weaving together in intricate spirals, pulling his gaze, his mind, into their hypnotic dance.


    The cold tightened its grip, seeping into his every nerve, every muscle. His breath grew faint, the visible puffs shrinking until he could scarcely feel the air in his lungs. The ache in his heart dulled, the sorrow in his chest growing distant, numbed beneath layers of frost. He felt his longing diminish, softened by the cold, until it faded completely, leaving only a void - a vast emptiness that he welcomed.


    The snowflakes from her hand drifted towards him, settling on his skin, and he closed his eyes, feeling himself begin to dissolve into the swirling white that filled the room.


    A warm, wet sensation pressed against his cheek, pulling him back from the depths of the freezing void. At first, the cold clung to him, tendrils of dream refusing to release their grip. He struggled, caught somewhere between the numbness and the drowsy warmth creeping over his skin. Then, again, the sensation returned¡ªa velvety dampness brushing his forehead, then his closed eyes, as if demanding his return.


    Cullen blinked, his vision murky, the faint, acrid tang of saliva filling his nose before his thoughts could cohere. He swiped a trembling hand across his face, the sticky dampness confirming the unmistakable familiarity of his hound''s devoted ministrations. Slowly, the fog lifted from his sight, and there she was¡ªFaith, her sleek black muzzle poised above him, her yellow eyes brimming with enthusiasm as she persisted in her unrelenting task.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± he groaned, his voice hoarse. Raising a hand, he pushed her gently, his motion more plea than a command. ¡°Enough, girl, enough... I¡¯m awake.¡±


    Faith jumped out of his bed and turned to sit on the floor, looking up at him expectantly, her head tilted back, and letting out a soft whimper.


    Cullen swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his toes brushing against the cold stone floor. The icy shock sent a jolt through him, as it did every morning¡ªa small ritual, a defiance against the sluggishness of dawn. He rose, muscles still stiff from sleep, and crossed the modest room to the basin. Splashing water onto his face, he scrubbed away the sticky remnants of Faith¡¯s enthusiastic wake-up call, the cool liquid invigorating him further.


    As he straightened, the rumble of thunder and the patter of rain reached his ears. "Looks like it''s going to be a stormy day," he muttered, glancing back at the hound, now reclining on the rug with an expression of canine satisfaction. Faith wagged her short tail lazily, a soft huff escaping her as if to agree.


    The thought took him back¡ªback to that rain-drenched night when he''d found her. He had been wandering aimlessly, the oppressive silence of his quarters unbearable, the walls of the Greenfell Circle suffocating. The rain had soaked him through, chilling him to the bone yet offering no solace. His thoughts had been a storm of their own, spiraling around the loss of Neria, the mage he had loved and failed to save. He had been lost, not just in the night but within himself.


    Then he''d heard it¡ªa faint, pitiful whine rising from the heap of refuse in the middle of nowhere. At first, he thought he¡¯d imagined it¡ªsome cruel echo conjured by his mind. But there it was again, fragile and desperate. Digging through the sodden mess, he found her: a tiny, trembling mabari pup, her dark fur matted and slick with filth, her eyes wide and pleading. She¡¯d barely had the strength to lift her head, yet she¡¯d wagged her tail at him, as though sensing the lifeline he would become.


    The Knight-Commander''s indulgence had been a rare gift. ¡°If you can keep her alive,¡± the stern man had grunted, ¡°she¡¯s yours.¡± And so began the daily toil of feeding the pup, nursing her back to health, cleaning up after her inevitable mischief. Faith had been a whirlwind of chaos, gnawing on his boots, yipping at shadows, and wreaking havoc on his already fragile patience. Yet somehow, it had steadied him.


    Her needs forced him to confront each day with a kind of practicality that dulled the edges of his grief. Her boundless affection demanded his presence, drawing him back from the precipice of his anger and despair. The tasks of raising her¡ªtraining her to obey commands, ensuring her meals, and walking her despite the weariness in his limbs¡ªhad been simple yet profound acts of healing. Over time, his uncontrolled outbursts of fury diminished, and the tight coil of fear and hatred of magic within him loosened as her steady gaze and wagging tail reminded him there was still goodness to be found in this world.


    By the time Faith had grown into a sleek, powerful mabari, he was no longer the shattered man who had stumbled through that rainy night. The walls of his mind, once closing in with paranoia, had widened, letting in slivers of clarity. He was ready to face his duties in full again, to take up the mantle of a Templar in the bustling city of Kirkwall, where his discipline and strength would be tested anew.


    Now, as he toweled his face dry, he glanced to the corner of the room where his armor gleamed faintly in the dim light and uttered, ¡°Tested relentlessly, indeed.¡±


    He made his way to the armor rack and donned his set, the ritual as familiar as breathing. The weight of it settled on his shoulders, a reassuring burden that grounded him for the day ahead. Adjusting the straps with practiced efficiency, he flexed his arms, testing the fit. Satisfied, he reached for his sword, resting it against his hip before turning toward the door.


    He paused, his gaze sweeping over the chamber with a frown. Despite its modest size and sparse furnishings¡ªa cot, a small table, an armor rack, a basin, and a single chest for his belongings¡ªit was an undeniable disaster.


    Scraps of parchment with half-sketched reports and hastily jotted notes littered the desk, interspersed with empty mugs and the occasional stray piece of bread crust¡ªleftovers from long hours spent pouring over documents.


    Muddied paw prints streaked the floor, while tufts of Faith¡¯s black fur clung stubbornly to every surface, an unmistakable badge of her dominion. A damp spot near the door marked where the hound had spilled her water bowl the day before, leaving Cullen to mutter a half-hearted curse when he¡¯d nearly slipped on it.


    He exhaled heavily. No matter how small and utilitarian, even this chamber demanded upkeep¡ªa responsibility that should have fallen to the Tranquils or the eager hands of recruits. Yet Faith, for all her loyalty and intelligence, had one undeniable flaw¡ªher territorial instincts. She would tolerate no intrusions into his room, a space that she clearly viewed as their shared domain. She wouldn¡¯t growl or bark; no, the mabari had a far more mortifying method of expressing her displeasure. The memory of one poor Tranquil standing stoically as the hound peed on his boots still made Cullen grimace.


    After the same incident with Recruit Darnell, he¡¯d stopped asking anyone to help, his conscience refusing to subject anyone else to such humiliation. As a result, the room remained as it was¡ªa Knight¡¯s cluttered sanctuary, unkempt but functional. He had grown used to it, though the mess gnawed at his sense of order.


    His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered his options. Cleaning it himself was usually his solution, but he couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d had the time or energy to do so. Rising tensions in the city¡ªthe whispers of apostates organizing in the shadows, the blood mages haunting the depths of Darktown¡ªhad consumed every moment of his waking hours.


    He needed help, and only one name came to mind: Alrik Otto. Cullen could already imagine the gruff Templar¡¯s expression¡ªa blend of disdain and begrudging amusement. Still, as the one overseeing the recruits, Alrik was Cullen''s best chance to find volunteers, even though he doubted anyone would step forward. Who would willingly face the hound¡¯s ¡®wrath¡¯?


    With a final glance at the room, he sighed deeply and pushed the door open. Faith was at his heels instantly, tail wagging as if to reassure him. Together, they stepped into the hall, leaving the chaos of the chamber behind for the growing chaos of the Gallows.


    Cullen was taken aback when Alrik¡¯s response arrived late the following evening. Seated at his desk, his armor already exchanged for a simple shirt and pants, he looked at the note from the Knight-Lieutenant in his hand, his brow creased in thought. The missive bore the news that Knight-Recruit Anne of Lowtown had volunteered to take on the unenviable task of cleaning his chambers. She was to begin her duties tomorrow, right after morning bells. The name nagged at him for a heartbeat, familiar but elusive, like a tune heard in passing. But he didn''t dwell on it, relieved that for the time being he wouldn''t have to waste precious time on the task himself, though he was sure it was only a matter of time before the recruit would inevitably regret her decision and beg him to find someone else.


    His thoughts then shifted back to Otto. While the message written by the Knight-Lieutenant was polite, the choice of words betrayed the man¡¯s vexation, a hallmark of his correspondence when forced to engage in matters he deemed beneath him. Cullen almost chuckled at the thought of Otto¡¯s sour expression as he¡¯d penned it, his annoyance practically seeping through the ink. Alrik¡¯s dislike for him was no mystery¡ªhe was one of many who begrudged Cullen for the fact that he was allowed to keep Faith within the Gallows.


    Most of them dismissed the hound as a luxury, an indulgence granted by Meredith¡¯s favoritism. They scoffed at the idea of a Templar having a pet as if Cullen were spending his days idly playing fetch instead of drowning himself in the paperwork of keeping the Circle up and running and hunting down maleficars.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    His hand dropped absently to scratch behind the hound''s ears as she came to rest her head on his lap. These Marchers underestimated just how invaluable she was to their shared mission.


    Phylacteries served well enough for tracking Circle mages who went astray, but for those who had never been bound by the Circle¡ªapostates born and raised beyond its reach or blood mages lurking in the shadows of Darktown¡ªthere were no such tools. That was where Faith¡¯s sharp nose proved an asset. With a single scent, she could pick up trails that led Cullen straight to the heart of their dens, rooting out the hidden threats that would otherwise fester and grow. His efficiency in dealing with these dangers was owed as much to Faith¡¯s instincts as to his sword arm. Meredith understood this, which is why she tolerated the arrangement despite the grumbles of others¡ªit had nothing to do with playing favorites.


    He folded the note neatly and slipped it into the stack of papers at the corner of his desk. The debate about Faith¡¯s presence was irrelevant; results spoke louder than words. Blood mages were being caught, apostates subdued, and innocent lives spared. Let Alrik and his ilk complain¡ªit changed nothing.


    A sharp knock echoed from the door, interrupting Cullen¡¯s thoughts. The mabari, ever alert, was already darting toward the entrance, her nose pressing against the gap at the bottom of the door. She sniffed loudly, then let out a low, grumbling growl of disapproval.


    Cullen pushed back his chair, rising with a weary sigh. He strode to the door, his hand brushing against the hound¡¯s flank as he motioned for her to step aside. ¡°Who is it?¡±


    The reply came quickly¡ªa voice light with nervous energy. ¡°Knight-Recruit Anne, Ser.¡±


    The Templar blinked, frowning. Alrik¡¯s note had been clear¡ªthe recruit was scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning. He opened the door cautiously, and as soon as his eyes met hers, the familiarity clicked into place. That was why her name had nagged at him.


    She was one of the recruits he and Hawke had saved from the blood mage''s terrible ritual¡ªthe one that had attempted to force demons into the souls of the Order''s youngest and most vulnerable. Cullen¡¯s mind raced as the memory surged forward. It had been one of the boldest attacks he¡¯d dealt with this year, and the recruits¡¯ survival had hung by a thread.


    Anne and the young Templar had been lucky¡ªno, blessed¡ªto have escaped the ordeal with their lives. Standard protocol dictated a three-month observation period in the cells, during which the survivors were monitored and rigorously tested for any lingering traces of demonic influence or blood magic. Could it have been three months already? He¡¯d been so inundated with his duties that the passage of time had almost blurred.


    Anne stared up at him, her bright green eyes practically glowing with a mixture of awe and excitement, her posture stiff but trembling with eagerness. ¡°Ser, it¡¯s an honor to finally meet you properly,¡± she began, her words tumbling out as though she¡¯d been holding them in for days. ¡°I-I know I was supposed to start tomorrow, but I just couldn¡¯t wait! So, I asked the Knight-Lieutenant if I could come today, and he said yes.¡±


    Cullen stiffened. ¡°Is that so?¡± he said flatly. Alrik. Of course, he hadn¡¯t bothered to consult him about the change. It was typical of the man, undermining Cullen¡¯s authority in the pettiest ways possible. He cursed inwardly, knowing Otto would justify his actions with some convenient excuse. Cullen would have preferred the recruit to arrive in the morning as scheduled; he found comfort in things unfolding as planned. It gave him a sense of control and order. He opened his mouth to send her back, but Anne¡¯s sudden rush of words cut him off.


    ¡°Yes, Ser. I also want to thank you. Truly,¡± she continued, her voice growing more impassioned with each syllable. ¡°I owe you my life¡ªTamlin and I both do. If it weren¡¯t for you, for your strength, your bravery... I¡¯ve been waiting for a chance to repay you, and when I heard you needed help, I¡ªwell, I volunteered immediately.¡±


    Cullen cleared his throat, taken aback by her fervor. ¡°It was simply my duty,¡± he replied, his tone measured. ¡°The Maker¡¯s will guided our efforts that day.¡±


    Yet, her earnestness didn¡¯t waver. "Still, Ser, it means the world to me. While I was stuck in that cell, probed and tested every day, all I could think of was how I wanted to thank you, and now that I can, I..." She glanced over his shoulder at the messy state of the room, her expression hardening with determination. "I''m here to help, if you''ll let me."


    The Templar hesitated, glancing back at Faith, who was eyeing Anne with an unmistakable glint of suspicion. Still, the recruit¡¯s enthusiasm, however ill-timed, was genuine. Sending her away now would seem rather callous, and Maker knew he didn''t want to discourage the only volunteer he had.


    ¡°Very well,¡± he said, sighing as he stepped aside. ¡°If you want to begin today, you may do so.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Ser!¡± She stepped into the room and surveyed the mess with the focus of someone excited for the task.


    Faith huffed, still uncertain, but Cullen gave her a reassuring pat on the head as if to say, Let¡¯s try to get through this without any accidents.


    As the recruit set down her cleaning supplies, the Templar returned to his desk to try and finish some of the pending reports. At least for today, he thought, stealing a glance at the young woman as she rolled up her sleeves.


    The young woman set to work with the fervor of someone on a mission, the tip of her tongue peeking out and a determined glint in her eye as she tackled the chaos of Knight-Captain¡¯s chamber. She began with the chest, brushing dust off the wood with a damp cloth she¡¯d brought along. Faith shadowed her every step with a wary gaze, her nose twitching inquisitively at each item Anne handled.


    When the recruit moved to swipe up the fur that clung to the corners of the room, the hound decided to make her displeasure known. With a sudden, deliberate squat, the mabari started to mark her protest right on Anne¡¯s boots.


    ¡°Faith!¡± Cullen groaned, leaping up from his chair in a futile attempt to stop the hound. ¡°Why must you always¡ª?¡±


    Before he could intervene, Anne sidestepped the offending stream of pee, raising a hand as she chuckled lightly. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Ser! Really.¡±


    The mabari, thoroughly pleased with herself, finished her deed and trotted back to her rug, settling down with a contented expression.


    The recruit crouched to inspect her soiled boots, her expression entirely unbothered. ¡°I¡¯m used to it. Trust me, I¡¯ve been peed on, shat on, vomited on¡ªyou name it.¡±


    Cullen stared at her, utterly perplexed. ¡°...What?¡±


    Anne shrugged, her hands already moving to wipe her boots and the puddle nearby with the same rag she was using to scrub the floor. ¡°I grew up in an orphanage, Ser. Spent a good deal of time helping care for the little ones. Babies, toddlers¡ªthey¡¯re messy. After a while, you stop minding.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Cullen said, his voice trailing off awkwardly. ¡°I see.¡±


    He shot a glare at the hound as he returned to his desk, but Faith, as always, remained unrepentant. She sat with a smug expression as if to declare she¡¯d made her point. Hopefully, that meant no further marking attempts for the evening.


    Anne pressed on with her cleaning, scrubbing and dusting with unrelenting diligence until she finally reached the bed. As she changed the linens, she crouched down, pulling out various odds and ends that had accumulated beneath it¡ªa stray sock, an empty cracked vial of a healing potion, and an old, chewed bovine bone¡ªshe paused, her fingers brushing the edge of something heavy. With a grunt, she dragged out the chamber pot, its metal lid rattling atop the brim. Straightening up with the pot in her arms, she uttered, "I''ll just clean this, and then I''m fini¡ª"


    ¡°That¡¯s unnecessary.¡± Cullen cut her off, rising once again to step forward and hold up his hands. Even as a Knight-Captain, he¡¯d never grown accustomed to letting others handle such tasks for him. There was something of a pompous noble¡¯s privilege in the act of allowing someone else to deal with your waste. ¡°Leave it be.¡±


    Anne tilted her head at him, her brow furrowing. ¡°But I¡¯m here to clean, Ser. That includes everything.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t include that,¡± the Templar replied, his tone brooking no argument.


    Anne stood her ground, clearly uncertain but unwilling to yield. ¡°But, Ser, all the Knights above the rank of Knight-Lieutenant don¡¯t clean their chamber pots. It¡¯s standard¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said, leave it be,¡± Cullen snapped, his voice tinged with discomfort. He reached for the pot, intent on taking it from her.


    Anne instinctively pulled back, clutching the pot as though she were defending a sacred duty. ¡°This is below your station,¡± she insisted, her tone imploring. ¡°Please, let me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Knight-Recruit,¡± Cullen began firmly. His hand brushed the pot¡¯s rim, but she yanked it back with surprising tenacity.


    As they wrestled for control, Anne¡¯s boot slipped on the damp floor. With a startled yelp, she fell backward, dragging the chamber pot with her. The lid, dislodged by the sudden motion, clattered down, striking her squarely on the head before toppling into her lap. The pot itself tipped, its contents¡ªlukewarm and malodorous¡ªspilling all over her and pooling onto the floor.


    Cullen froze, his face drained of color as the full scope of the disaster before him registered. The stench was unbearable, and the sheer indignity of the situation made him want to disappear into the Fade itself.


    ¡°Oh¡­ Maker¡¯s breath,¡± he muttered, shutting his eyes, as though blocking out the sight might erase it from reality. ¡°I¡ªhow¡ª¡± He struggled for words, his mortification quickly bubbling into vexation. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you listen when I told you to leave it alone?¡±


    Anne flinched at his tone, her already fragile composure wavering. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry, Ser,¡± she stammered, her voice trembling as she let go of the now-empty pot and started hastily scrubbing at the mess on the floor. ¡°I¡¯ll clean it up! I¡¯ll make it right, I swear!¡±


    The Templar stared at her, his frustration mounting. ¡°Stop,¡± he said sharply, waving a hand toward her. ¡°Just stop.¡±


    Anne froze mid-scrub, looking up at him with wide, glistening eyes. Her lips were trembling, and her hands were clenching the dirty rag so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came, and Cullen realized that she was on the verge of tears.


    He sighed, his anger diminishing. ¡°Recruit,¡± he said, trying to soften his tone, ¡°leave it. It¡¯s fine.¡±


    She shook her head, her voice cracking. ¡°No, Ser, I can¡¯t¡ªI have to fix this. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Cullen cut in, his voice steady and commanding as he crouched slightly to meet her eyes. ¡°It was an accident. You¡¯ll move past it. I¡¯ll move past it. No need to make this bigger than it is.¡±


    Anne nodded, her breathing shaky, as she finally let go of the rag. Cullen straightened and walked to the chest by his bed, rummaging through his belongings until he found a spare shirt and trousers. He turned back to her, holding them out.


    ¡°Take these,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯ll be a bit large, but they¡¯ll do. Get changed, and then go back to your quarters.¡±


    She hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the clothes. ¡°Thank you, Ser,¡± she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m so sorry¡ª¡±


    The Templar raised a hand to stop her. ¡°No apologies. We¡¯ll speak no more of this.¡±


    Anne nodded again, and Cullen gave her a brief nod of his own before turning to the door. He motioned for Faith to follow him. ¡°We¡¯ll step out to give you some privacy,¡± he said, opening the door. ¡°Take your time.¡±


    With that, he slipped out into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. Leaning back against the wall, he let out a long, slow breath and rubbed his temples. Faith sat beside him, tilting her head as if to ask why she didn¡¯t stay behind to supervise the intruder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± Cullen muttered, throwing the hound a sidelong glance, his brow furrowed in mild exasperation. ¡°I doubt she¡¯s planning to rifle through sensitive documents on my desk in her current state. Besides,¡± he added, his tone turning wry, ¡°it¡¯s not as if I can trust you to keep from making things worse.¡±


    Faith huffed indignantly, her tail giving a single, sharp wag as if to argue his statement. Cullen shook his head. ¡°Andraste preserve me,¡± he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with weary resignation. ¡°This day couldn¡¯t possibly get any worse.¡±


    The hound let out a low, amused-sounding chuff. Cullen shot her a pointed look, but any reprimand he might have had died on his tongue as a group of Templars approached from down the corridor, their heavy boots echoing against the stone floors.


    Leading them was Ser Damien, a sharp-eyed, wiry man who was notorious for his love of gossip.


    "Knight-Captain," Damien greeted, his tone light but probing. "We were just discussing the state of affairs at the Gallows. I don''t know if you''ve heard, but there''s a rumor going around that the Knight-Commander wants to shorten the additional leave for married Knights."


    Cullen nodded, straightening as the group approached. "It is true," he replied tersely. "But so far, nothing concrete has been decided."


    A younger Templar, not much older than Anne, let out a nervous laugh. "We only get two additional weeks a year as it is¡ªwhat¡¯s left to cut?"


    Before Cullen could respond, the door to his chambers creaked open. He turned just in time to see Anne step into the hallway, clutching her cleaning supplies. She was wearing his spare shirt and trousers, which, despite her tall, broad frame, still hung loosely on her and were markedly different from the recruits¡¯ standard uniform.


    As soon as she noticed the group of Templars, she froze. Her face turned a deep shade of crimson, and the color only deepened as the silence stretched.


    The Knights were equally motionless, their eyes darting between Anne and the Knight-Captain.


    After what felt like an eternity, the recruit managed a shaky salute, her voice barely audible. "S-Ser Cullen. Sers," she stammered before bolting down the hall, her cleaning supplies clattering in her arms as she fled.


    Damien raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he turned back to Cullen. The younger Templar was less subtle, letting out a chuckle, which earned him a sharp nudge from one of his peers.


    Cullen groaned inwardly. He didn¡¯t owe them an explanation, but it was better to address the situation to prevent any misunderstandings. Holding up a hand, he fixed them with a firm expression. "The recruit was here to clean," he stated flatly. "There was an accident. She wet her clothes, and I provided a spare. That¡¯s all."


    Damien¡¯s smirk widened, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. "Of course, Knight-Captain," he said, drawing out the words with an infuriatingly knowing air. "Accidents happen."


    The younger Templars exchanged glances among themselves, their barely-contained amusement stoking Cullen¡¯s rising irritation. A wave of heat crept up his neck, but he forced himself to maintain a composed expression. A part of him wanted to snap, to break a nose or two, but as their Captain, restraint was expected of him. Still, he couldn¡¯t let this blatant disrespect slide.


    "That¡¯s enough!¡± he ordered. ¡°You will remember your station and the respect it demands¡ªboth for myself and for the recruit."


    The Knights straightened under his pointed gaze. Cullen¡¯s eyes flicked to the younger Templar, who had chuckled. "If you find the situation amusing, perhaps you would like to volunteer for extra drills? Or for solitary night patrols to the Darktown?"


    The Templar¡¯s face paled, his earlier bravado gone in an instant. "N-no, Ser," he stammered.


    "Good," Cullen said, his tone icy. "Then I trust we¡¯ll avoid any further misunderstandings." He swept his gaze over the group. Damien¡¯s smirk had faded, though there was now a glint of defiance in his eyes. He decided to let it slide for now, hoping that the man was clever enough to know when not to push things too far. For the rest of them, the point had been made. "Dismissed."


    The Templars saluted stiffly, murmuring, "Yes, Knight-Captain," before hastily retreating down the hall.


    As the Knight¡¯s footsteps faded away, Cullen¡¯s hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose. Despite his threats, he could already imagine the whispers that would spread through the barracks, growing more elaborate with each retelling.


    With a resigned sigh, he turned back to his door. "Maker, help me," he muttered under his breath as he stepped back into his quarters, Faith immediately following him in with an eager bark.

 (Not) A pawn

    Anne''s footsteps echoed sharply in the stone corridor, her boots slapping the floor as she rushed toward the storage room, the weight of her cleaning supplies threatening to topple from her arms. Sweat trickled down her brow, stinging her eyes, and her face burned red¡ªpart from exertion, part from humiliation. The acrid stench of urine and feces clung to her, no matter how fresh the garments Cullen had given her or how thoroughly she scrubbed herself clean. She could still feel the judgmental glances and the curled lips of amusement of the Knights. After six years in the barracks, she knew for sure that some form of gossip would follow.


    The young woman kept her head down as she darted past groups of Templars and mages as if they could strip her of her dignity entirely if they caught sight of her. No one spoke to her, hopefully too busy with their own duties to notice a red-faced, smelly recruit, but the tension in her chest didn''t ease until she reached the heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. She shoved it open with her shoulder and slipped inside, kicking it shut behind her.


    The storage room was dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from a hook on the wall. It smelled of old wood, cleaning solutions, and damp stone. Rows of shelves loomed around her, crammed with battered buckets, stacks of worn rags, jars of soap flakes, and wood ash in unlabeled containers. A mop leaned lazily against one corner, its gray threads fraying like an unkempt beard.


    With a frustrated growl, the recruit shoved the cleaning supplies back into their proper places. She stuffed the dirty linens from the Knight-Captain quarters and her filthy recruit uniform into the large sack labeled ¡®Dirty Laundry¡¯. Some other unfortunate soul stuck with laundry duty would have to deal with it.


    Then, unable to contain her frustration, she drove her boot into the empty bucket, sending it clattering across the floor. A second kick sent a mop head flying, followed by a furious strike at a sack of rags. Her anger only surged with each impact. ¡°Andraste¡¯s burning tits! It couldn¡¯t have gone worse! My first bloody meeting with him, and I¡­ and I¡­¡± She broke off, her breaths ragged, the words failing to capture the disaster of the encounter she had long yearned for. ¡°Of all the¡ª!¡±


    Her tirade was interrupted by a startled gasp.


    Anne whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat. Standing by the shelves, half-hidden behind a stack of boxes, was a young woman. Her face was round and soft, with wide, startled eyes framed by thick lashes. She was lovely¡ªachingly so¡ªwith thick, wavy black hair that just brushed her shoulders. Her robes marked her as an apprentice mage, pale blue trimmed with white, though her figure seemed almost too curvaceous for the modest cut of the garment.


    Anne froze, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she managed to scowl. ¡°What are you doing here, apprentice?¡± she questioned, more harshly than intended.


    The young woman flinched. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t mean to intrude,¡± she stammered, her voice soft and musical. "I was sent here by my teacher, Senior Enchanter Ilara, to fetch some supplies. I didn''t realize anyone else was here..."


    ¡°Well, I am,¡± the recruit snapped, wiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her arm. ¡°And unless you¡¯ve also come to watch me make a fool of myself, you can take what you need and piss off.¡±


    But the apprentice didn¡¯t move. Her gaze flicked to the upturned bucket and scattered rags, then back to Anne¡¯s flushed, angry face. ¡°Are you¡­ alright?¡± she asked gently.


    The blonde felt a pang of remorse when she saw the concerned look on the young woman''s face. The apprentice had done nothing to deserve being barked at like that. "Sorry. I''m being an arse. Long and horrible day, you know?" she murmured, scratching her nose.


    The brunette hesitated but then offered a small, tentative smile. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡±


    Anne returned the smile. ¡°How about we try this again? I¡¯m Templar-Recruit Anne of Lowtown. What about you?¡±


    The apprentice stepped forward. ¡°I¡¯m Bethany,¡± she replied, her voice warming. ¡°Bethany Hawke.¡±


    The recruit froze mid-motion, blinking at her. ¡°Wait. Hawke? Are you related to Garrett Hawke by any chance?¡±


    Bethany¡¯s expression shifted slightly, her smile growing wistful. ¡°Yes. He¡¯s my older brother.¡± Then her face brightened. "Are you an acquaintance of his?"


    Anne stared for a moment, disbelief coloring her voice when she finally spoke. ¡°Sort of. Knight Tamlin and I were captured by a maleficar. We were seconds away from being done for¡ªboth of us¡ªbut then Knight-Captain Cullen showed up and saved us. Honestly, it was all a blur for me; I don¡¯t remember much else. But later, I found out he wasn¡¯t alone. Someone named Garrett Hawke was with him, fighting for our lives.¡±


    Bethany¡¯s brows lifted. ¡°Really? He never mentioned it, but¡­ that sounds like him.¡± Her smile returned. ¡°He¡¯s always been there for people when it mattered. Or tried to be.¡±


    "I see... It must be nice to have a brother like that," Anne uttered with an undercurrent of envy she couldn¡¯t quite hide. She noted Bethany¡¯s shoulders sag at her words. Of course. Now that she was in the Gallows she would probably never see Garrett again. The silence between them stretched, thick and awkward. The recruit shifted her weight, suddenly hyperaware of every creak of her boots on the stone floor. Say something, anything. Her eyes darted to the shelves. ¡°Uh,¡± she murmured, raising a hand in an awkward gesture. ¡°You mentioned you needed something from here? Supplies or... whatever?"


    Bethany nodded, stepping closer and picking up a small jar of soap flakes. ¡°Yes, thank you,¡± she said quietly before her tone turned contemplative. ¡°It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it? The way our lives intersect with others in ways we don¡¯t expect.¡±


    Anne¡¯s lips pressed together in a thoughtful line. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s kinda weird, considering how big Kirkwall is.¡± She paused, her gaze settling on the younger woman with quiet curiosity. ¡°So, umm¡­ how did you end up in the Gallows?¡±


    Bethany¡¯s expression darkened slightly, her gaze dropping to the jar in her hands. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ complicated.¡± She hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Garrett left with the expedition for the Deep Roads a month ago. He wants to find fortune and glory, or at least enough coin to take back our family¡¯s Estate. I stayed behind with our mother and uncle. It was safer for us all that way.¡± Her voice wavered as she continued, eyes distant with the memory. ¡°Just a few days ago, we were at the market, and I saw a man¡ªa beggar, from the looks of him¡ªlying on the side of the street. He was bleeding profusely from a deep gash in his shoulder, barely coherent. People just walked by like he was invisible, but I couldn¡¯t. I¡­ I couldn¡¯t ignore him.¡± She swallowed hard before going on. ¡°I rushed to his side and tried to help, pressing my hands against the wound, but I¡¯m no healer. I think I only made it worse. The blood wouldn¡¯t stop, and he started fading fast. So, I used a little bit of magic, just a simple spell, to stop the bleeding. But someone saw me¡ªsaw me casting with bloodied hands¡ªand chaos erupted. People started shouting about blood magic, accusing me of something I hadn¡¯t done. Stones came flying at me and my mother. We had no choice but to run straight to my uncle¡¯s home in Lowtown.¡±


    Anne felt her heart race. ¡°What happened then?¡±


    Bethany¡¯s hands tightened around the jar. ¡°The mob came after me. Only the intervention of the Templars stopped the crowd from tearing my whole family apart. Once things calmed down, and after a thorough checkup, those same Knights brought me here.¡±


    Anne nodded mutely, her thoughts heavy as Bethany¡¯s voice broke the silence after a pause. "Do you know how my life is going to be now? In the Gallows I mean." Her tone was careful, almost hesitant. ¡°I¡¯ve only just arrived, but¡­ I¡¯ve heard stories. Terrible ones. To be honest, it¡¯s a little frightening.¡±


    Anne opened her mouth to offer the kind lie she had told so many others, both in the orphanage and in the Circle: It''s not so bad. You''ll adapt. There are good people here. She had always found solace in giving comfort, even when she didn¡¯t believe her own words. But something twisted inside her, and before she could stop herself, her lips moved, and the truth spilled out instead.


    ¡°Life here is harsh. Unforgiving,¡± she declared, her voice carrying an edge that startled even her. ¡°The Gallows is a prison, after all¡ªnot just for you, but for us Templars too.¡± She glanced at Bethany, whose wide eyes mirrored growing alarm, but Anne couldn¡¯t stop. The words tumbled out, unbidden and bitter. ¡°Sometimes, I resent the mages for existing. Because if there were no mages, there¡¯d be no need for the Templar Order. And if there were no Order, I wouldn¡¯t be stuck here, living this life, serving in this Maker-forsaken place.¡± She gestured around her, a sharp, jerky motion. ¡°No one would have to live like this.¡±


    The silence that followed was suffocating. Anne¡¯s control returned as quickly as it had fled, leaving her stunned and horrified. What had just happened? Why had she said those things? Was it some lingering effect of the blood magic that bitch Idunna had cast on her? No, that wasn¡¯t possible¡ªthey¡¯d checked her countless times, assured her she was free of corruption. Maybe she was just exhausted. Yes, that had to be it. All she needed was rest, a chance to sleep, and let this entire wretched day fade into oblivion. Still, the weight of her unwilling confession pressed against her chest, and she looked away, her face burning.


    When Bethany spoke, her voice was soft and laden with sorrow. ¡°Sometimes¡­ I wish I didn¡¯t exist either. So my family wouldn¡¯t have to be constantly on the run. So my brother wouldn¡¯t have to fight so hard to keep us safe. So my mother wouldn¡¯t have to worry constantly about my fate...¡±


    Anne¡¯s stomach twisted painfully. Her words¡ªhonest but cruel¡ªhad made someone already burdened feel even smaller. Tamlin would be proud of her¡­


    ¡°I¡ª¡± The recruit started, but the words faltered on her tongue. What could she possibly say? She couldn¡¯t admit to Bethany that she had lost control, couldn¡¯t explain the turmoil churning inside her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she muttered instead, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I need to get back to the barracks.¡± Without waiting for a response, she took a step back toward the door, avoiding the apprentice¡¯s gaze.


    But before she could take another step, the apprentice reached out, her fingers lightly brushing Anne¡¯s arm. ¡°Wait,¡± she said softly, her eyes searching the recruit¡¯s face. ¡°Before you go¡­ could you do something for me?¡±


    Anne hesitated, guilt forcing her to stop and listen. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°That man I told you about¡ªthe one I tried to heal near the market¡­¡± Bethany¡¯s voice faltered slightly, but her expression remained pleading. ¡°I would like to know if he¡¯s still alive. I know it¡¯s bold of me to ask, but considering that my brother helped you in your time of need¡­ could you try to find out? Please?¡± She hesitated for a moment. ¡°He has short, dark hair, blue eyes, and messy stubble. He was wearing rags, mostly green.¡±


    The recruit swallowed hard, the description searing itself into her mind as if branded by some invisible force. Her mouth opened, the words spilling out against her will once again. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bethany uttered, her smile weak but grateful.


    Utterly bewildered, Anne pressed a hand to her temple and turned to flee the storage room.


    The recruit hadn¡¯t slept a wink the entire night. She twisted and turned on the lumpy straw mattress, the rough fabric of her blanket doing little to soothe her raw nerves. If she¡¯d earned a coin for every time her mind replayed the moment the chamber pot spilled all over her, she¡¯d be wealthier than the Viscount by morning. And it wasn¡¯t just that humiliating memory haunting her¡ªit was also the strange, out-of-body sensations while she¡¯d spoken to Bethany.


    When the morning bell finally rang, it felt less like a summons and more like a mercy. Grateful that armor wasn¡¯t yet required, Anne dragged herself out of the barracks alongside the other recruits. She moved in a weary haze, looking even more disheveled than usual. Her hair stuck out in odd directions, and the dark circles under her eyes gave her the appearance of having taken a punch.


    Shuffling into the chapel, she scanned the space, hoping to catch a glimpse of Knight-Captain Cullen. She wanted to tell him that she¡¯d return the garments he¡¯d lent her as soon as she¡¯d had the chance to wash them. But he was nowhere to be seen.


    The recruit also noted another absence: Tamlin. After a moment, she recalled that he¡¯d been on the night shift and was likely catching up on sleep. That was for the best, she supposed. Still, she couldn¡¯t help but think about how much he¡¯d changed since the incident with the maleficar. Her childhood rival was now somber and jittery. His lewd jokes and carefree demeanor were replaced by grim remarks about the dangers of magic and the weakness of the flesh.


    Anne found herself wondering why she hadn¡¯t been affected the same way by the ordeal. When her mind ventured back to the horrors they¡¯d endured, it was always met by a single image: the golden light of her savior washing away the shadows. Perhaps it was this memory that kept the darkness in her heart at bay.


    Her musings were interrupted as the service began. Taking her place near the back, Anne folded her hands in front of her and bowed her head as the Chantry Sister began her sermon.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The Sister¡¯s voice was especially dull that day, her monotone delivery sapping the air from the room. The sermon was about duty, selflessness, and the Maker¡¯s promised return¡ªwords Anne had heard so many times that they¡¯d lost all meaning. Her head bobbed once, twice, as sleep tried to claim her, but she forced her eyes open just in time to catch a couple of recruits nearby casting glances in her direction. Their looks weren¡¯t kind¡ªdisdain curled their lips, and one of them leaned toward the other to mutter something that made them both smirk.


    Anne shook her head, trying to dispel the paranoia creeping into her tired thoughts. Maybe it was all in her mind. Maybe she was just imagining¡ª


    ¡°Slop Rat.¡±


    The words were soft but unmistakable. Her head jerked up, her gaze darting across the line of recruits. They all stared straight ahead, their faces blank, feigning innocence.


    Anne¡¯s fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, anger simmering just below the surface. Of course, rumors were inevitable¡ªshe¡¯d emerged from the Knight-Captain¡¯s quarters wearing his garments and stinking of waste. It was the sort of sight that practically begged for whispers.


    But the speed of it all. That the gossip had spread overnight was hard to believe. She pressed her lips together, holding back the sharp retort that danced on her tongue. Confronting them now, in the middle of the sermon, wasn¡¯t an option. She¡¯d wait, letting the words stew in her mind until the service was over. Then she¡¯d deal with it.


    When the moment finally arrived, Anne shuffled toward the exit with the others, determined to make the offenders regret their mockery. She wasn¡¯t sure what she planned to do¡ªbeat them, perhaps, or at least make them squirm under her glare. She was so intent on their retreating forms that she didn¡¯t notice the outstretched foot until it was too late.


    Her toe caught, and she went down hard. Her hands slapped against the cold stone, and pain shot up her wrists and knees. Laughter erupted around her like a wave, sharp and mocking. She heard a high cackle, then a muttered, ¡°Wipe your foot, or you might catch the stink from the wench who wants to be pissed on.¡±


    Her face burned as she pushed herself upright, her palms stinging and her breath coming in furious gasps. She looked around, her eyes darting from one recruit to another, but she couldn¡¯t pinpoint who had tripped her or said the insult. They all wore smug, amused expressions.


    One of them, a young woman with a crooked nose and an irritatingly self-satisfied smirk, let out a loud snort.


    It was the last straw.


    Without thinking, Anne swung. Her fist connected with the woman¡¯s jaw, snapping her head to the side. The smug expression vanished, replaced by shock and rage.


    ¡°You blighted bitch!¡± the woman snarled, lunging at the blonde.


    The brawl erupted like a firestorm. Anne¡¯s world narrowed to fists and shouts, a whirlwind of chaos. She dodged the first counterpunch and drove her knee into the woman¡¯s stomach, sending her stumbling back. Someone else grabbed at Anne¡¯s arm, but she twisted free and slammed her elbow into their chin. A surge of triumph shot through her as another recruit went down clutching his face.


    But then the numbers caught up with her.


    More recruits piled in¡ªthree, then four¡ªand Anne found herself overwhelmed. Fists and feet came at her from all directions. She tried to fight back, her hands swinging wildly, but the blows were too many, and soon she was pinned to the ground. Her ribs screamed with pain as a boot connected with her side. She curled into herself, trying to protect her head, but it felt like the entire group had piled on her.


    ¡°Enough! Break it up!¡± a deep voice bellowed.


    The assault stopped abruptly, leaving Anne gasping and bruised on the floor. She lifted her head just enough to see a group of Templars striding toward the scene, their faces hard and unamused.


    ¡°What in the Maker¡¯s name is going on here?¡± one of them barked, his glare sweeping over the gathered recruits.


    ¡°She attacked us, Sers!¡± The guy she had hit in the chin piped up, pointing at Anne. ¡°Out of nowhere, she just started swinging!¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the young woman with the crooked nose chimed in. ¡°We were just leaving the chapel when she went berserk. She¡¯s bloody mad!¡±


    Anne¡¯s body screamed in pain, and the taste of blood was sharp on her tongue as she opened her mouth to protest, ¡°They¡ª¡±


    The Templar nearest her scowled. ¡°Save it, recruit, and get up.¡± When she didn¡¯t move fast enough, he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and she winced as his grip dug into one of her bruises.


    ¡°Take her to the cell,¡± the other Knight said grimly. ¡°Ser Alrik will deal with her; recruits are his responsibility.¡±


    At his command, she was dragged all the way to the lower floors, where Templar transgressors were kept. There she was thrown roughly into the small, dark chamber, the door slamming shut behind her with a heavy clang.


    Anne curled up against the wall, wincing as her bruised ribs protested every movement. Alone now, with only the sound of her ragged breathing and the distant echo of footsteps, she realized just how quickly things had spiraled out of control. And now, all she could do was wait¡ªfor Otto and whatever punishment he deemed fit for her.


    The Knight-Lieutenant did not take long to arrive. The recruit had barely begun to pace the cold, cramped confines of her cell when the heavy door creaked open, and the tall, imposing figure of the Templar stepped inside. To her surprise, his expression wasn¡¯t the usual mask of disdain or fury. Instead, there was an uncharacteristic softness in his features¡ªsomething that might have passed for compassion if she didn¡¯t know the man so well.


    Anne tried to stand straighter as she opened her mouth to explain. ¡°Ser, I¡ª¡±


    He raised a hand, silencing her with a calm but firm gesture. ¡°No need for explanations, recruit. I already know what happened.¡± His tone was measured, almost soothing. ¡°And I believe I understand what kind of injustice has befallen you.¡±


    Her heart quickened at his words, relief warring with anxiety. ¡°You¡­ do?¡±


    Alrik nodded, stepping further into the cell. ¡°I¡¯ve been told by reliable witnesses that you were seen leaving Knight-Captain Cullen¡¯s chambers late last night dressed in¡­ let¡¯s say, garments that clearly didn¡¯t belong to you, and¡ªhow shall I put this delicately? ¡ªreeking of filth.¡±


    Anne¡¯s face burned, her jaw clenching. ¡°There was an accident¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let me finish,¡± the Knight-Lieutenant commanded, cutting her off once again. ¡°The Knights saw you, and naturally, they drew their own conclusions. It¡¯s only human nature, really, to assume the worst in such¡­ compromising circumstances. And so, rumors of a most disturbing nature have begun to spread fast.¡±


    The blonde felt a knot form in her stomach, a tense, churning unease that tightened with every word. ¡°What kind of rumors, Ser?¡± she questioned, though part of her wasn¡¯t sure she wanted the answer.


    ¡°They say the Ferelden, much like his mongrel hound, takes peculiar pleasure in marking things. And you¡ªsharp, calculating, a harlot in all but name¡ªreadily offered yourself to sate the Knight-Captain¡¯s obscene appetites. All, of course, with an eye firmly fixed on favors, advancement and other potential spoils of your whoring."


    ¡°No! That¡¯s not¡ªthat¡¯s insane¡ªthat¡¯s not true!¡± Anne screamed in protest, her voice raw, echoing off the stone walls of the cell. She stepped forward, desperate to explain, to defend herself and Cullen, but before she could get another word out, Alrik moved swiftly. His hands clamped down on her shoulders, painfully tight, and he leaned in, so close she could smell the pungent stench of garlic on his breath.


    ¡°Shh, shh, I know,¡± the Knight-Lieutenant said fervently, his voice low and oily, as if soothing a frightened child. "I know you would never stoop to such disgrace willingly. It¡¯s not you, Anne. It¡¯s him¡ªthe Knight-Captain¡ªpreying once again upon the naive, the unguarded, the vulnerable." He moved his face even closer. "He forced you, didn¡¯t he? Dragged you into his filth, his depravities."


    Anne¡¯s heart raced, panic and anger tangling together in her chest. ¡°No, no, no!¡± She struggled against Otto¡¯s hold, twisting her shoulders, but his grip was firm. ¡°Listen to me, Ser, please!¡±


    ¡°All you have to do,¡± he pressed on, brushing aside her protests as though they were inconsequential, ¡°is say it. Admit that Knight-Captain Cullen took advantage of you. Denounce him before the Knight-Commander, and I will see to it¡ªpersonally¡ªthat no more vile rumors tarnish your name. There will be no punishment for your outburst in the chapel either. Just tell the truth.¡±


    "That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been trying to tell you this whole damned time!" she shouted, her patience snapping like an overstretched cord. With a surge of raw frustration, she shoved Alrik hard, forcing him to stumble back, his composure crumbling into startled surprise. "There was no depravity! No forcing! Nothing like that!" she continued, her glare burning into him like a brand. "It was an accident! I spilled the Knight-Captain¡¯s chamber pot on myself while cleaning his quarters! That¡¯s all it was! He didn¡¯t touch me! He didn¡¯t do anything to me!"


    Alrik¡¯s surprise quickly morphed into a dangerous, smoldering intensity, and before she could react, his fist drove into her midsection with a force that emptied her lungs in an instant. Pain radiated from the blow as she crumpled forward, her knees giving way.


    Yet, before she could collapse, he caught her, his hands disturbingly tender as they steadied her trembling frame. "Don¡¯t you dare take that attitude with me," he murmured, a smile ghosting across his lips like a shadow. His hand lingered just long enough to pat her shoulder, a gesture that felt more menacing than kind, before he stepped back. "But all right," he continued, his tone deceptively calm, "have it your way. I¡¯ll ask you again after twenty lashes."


    The recruit¡¯s blood ran cold. She¡¯d seen what even half that number could do to a person. ¡°T-twenty lashes?¡± she stammered, coughing, her breath still stolen by the blow. The Knight-Lieutenant had punished her for mishaps and failures before, with a harsh beating or night duties in the kitchen, but she had been lucky enough to escape a whipping so far.


    ¡°Of course. Ten for starting a brawl in the chapel and ten for going to the Knight-Captain¡¯s chambers without authorization.¡±


    "What do you mean, without authorization? You gave me permission, Ser!" She burst out, her voice rising, gathering strength as disbelief fueled her words. "You told me I could go before the appointed time!"


    Alrik¡¯s brow arched with calculated indifference, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I told you no such thing. In fact, no words escaped my mouth at your request."


    "But¡ªbut you¡­" Her voice faltered, cracking under the weight of confusion and desperation as she tried to piece together what was happening. Her mind reeled, spinning back to that moment¡ªthe Knight-Lieutenant''s curt nod, the subtle acknowledgment she had been so certain of. There had been no words, true, but his gaze had met hers, and his head had inclined just so. She was sure of it! Why was he denying it? Was the gesture not meant for her after all? Had she misread him entirely? She felt her grip on certainty slipping, as though she were drowning in the sheer absurdity of it all.


    Alrik¡¯s voice dropped to a near-whisper, silkily coaxing, yet laced with menace. ¡°Anne, just stop with the lies. Only truth will deliver you from punishment.¡±


    The recruit felt the ground beneath her steady, a strange relief washing over her. She¡¯d heard those words countless times before, their familiarity almost comforting in their hollow, practiced falsehood. Lies delivered one from punishment, not truth¡ªthat lesson had been carved into her long ago, beaten into her by the unforgiving realities of the orphanage. Life in the Gallows had only reinforced it.


    The realization struck her with sharp clarity. Alrik, cloaked in the guise of righteous authority, didn¡¯t seek the truth¡ªhe sought her submission. He wanted her to betray Knight-Captain Cullen, to smear his name, to watch as the man¡¯s honor was shattered, his reputation destroyed. But whatever this twisted game was, whatever vile manipulation the Knight-Lieutenant thought he could force her into, she would not be a pawn in it.


    Something within Anne stirred. It almost rejoiced at the idea of suffering for a cause, of enduring for the sake of preserving her own honor and that of a man undeserving of this treachery. At that moment, she felt strangely unshaken, bracing herself for the torture with grim resolve. ¡°By the Maker and His Bride, I swear I¡¯ve spoken nothing but the truth, Ser.¡±


    Alrik chuckled softly, shaking his head before turning to rap on the door, summoning the Templars who stood guard. He issued his command with chilling detachment, sentencing the recruit to lashes for her transgressions and instructing that the punishment be carried out by him immediately. Without another word, he strode out of the cell.


    Anne¡¯s heart pounded in her chest as the Knights hauled her after Alrik, dragging her toward the whipping post in the adjacent chamber. Her legs struggled to keep pace with the Templars, her steps faltering under their relentless grip.


    The chamber, brightly lit by torches, reeked of sweat and blood, its oppressive air a disturbing echo of Idunna¡¯s cellar. The recruit barely had time to process her surroundings before rough hands yanked her tunic over her head, leaving her bruised and battered torso exposed to the icy air and the leering eyes of the Knights. Her skin prickled under the chill, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, a futile attempt at shielding herself, before the Templars seized her wrists. They pulled her arms upward, binding them to the post with thick, coarse ropes.


    As they finished, Alrik dismissed the two Knights with a wave of his hand. They obeyed without hesitation, filing out of the room and closing the door behind them, leaving Anne alone with the Knight-Lieutenant.


    From the corner of her eye, she saw him stride to a small storage chest near the wall, where the tools of punishment were kept. He opened it and withdrew a leather whip, uncoiling it with practiced ease. The sight of it sent a bolt of terror through her, but she steeled herself, refusing to flinch.


    ¡°Do you know,¡± he said softly, his voice low and reverent, ¡°there are few things more gratifying than the truth being ripped from a liar¡¯s mouth?¡± He grinned as he approached, the whip trailing behind him like a serpent.


    Anne clenched her teeth, forcing herself to breathe through the rising panic. She had endured beatings before¡ªmany, in fact. She knew the drill. All she had to do was hold on, just endure until it was over.


    But the first strike came without warning, and no amount of mental preparation could dull the pain. She gasped, her body jerking against the ropes holding her in place as the searing agony burned a path down her spine. Warmth bloomed where her skin split, blood trickling in thin, hot rivulets.


    The second strike followed, then the third, each one tearing deeper into her resolve. The whip bit mercilessly, each lash drawing a moan, a shudder, a sharp intake of breath. The pain quickly blurred into something unbearable¡ªraw, consuming, and endless. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste blood, determined not to give him the satisfaction.


    Soon, her back was a ruined expanse of raw flesh, blood soaking through her clothing, pooling at the waistband of her trousers. She lost count of the strikes. It didn¡¯t matter anymore. There was only pain, a blinding, endless wave of suffering that drowned out everything else.


    An eternity seemed to pass in that suffocating torment until Alrik¡¯s breathing grew heavy with exertion. His strikes slowed, each one more labored than the last. She heard him grunt, a low, guttural sound, and then, mercifully, the lashes stopped.


    Anne sagged against the post, her legs too weak to hold her weight. Her head lolled forward, her vision swimming, dark spots dancing at the edges. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.


    The clink of the Templar¡¯s armor drew closer. He stepped into her line of sight, his shadow falling over her. His gloved hand grasped her chin, tilting her head up with a gentleness that made her skin crawl. She was too broken to resist, her body trembling as she stared up at him through blurred, bloodshot eyes.


    Alrik¡¯s face hovered inches from hers, his cheeks flushed and his eyes gleaming. His lips curled into a predatory smile as he licked them, the tip of his tongue flicking over his teeth. ¡°Tell me the truth,¡± he whispered, his voice soft, intimate. ¡°Say that you were Knight-Captain¡¯s victim.¡±


    Her vision swam, the pain making it hard to form words. ¡°I¡­ will not lie.¡±


    The man¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Very well,¡± he murmured, releasing her chin.


    Her head dropped, too heavy to hold up any longer. But then, to her surprise, Alrik slammed his head against the whipping post with a sickening thud.


    The recruit blinked, confused, as he turned back toward her, his expression unnervingly calm. Blood welled instantly from the gash on his forehead, dark and viscous, running down his face in thick, crimson streams.


    Otto leaned in close to Anne¡¯s ear. ¡°Another twenty lashes,¡± he breathed, ¡°for assaulting your Knight-Lieutenant.¡±

 Conversations

    The evening sun, pale and indifferent, seeped through the narrow windows of the Gallows, casting its wan light across the austere stone corridors. Cullen strode briskly through the hallway with Faith by his side, her paws tapping softly on the cold floor. He had spent the last three days, from before dawn until dusk, discussing pressing matters with the Knight-Commander.


    Meredith was in one of her intense moods, and this time her sharp, unwavering focus fixated on the persistent issue of increasing the funding for the Templar Order''s activities in Kirkwall. The Gallows, while imposing, were perpetually in need of upkeep: from repairing the aging stonework to maintaining the ever-demanding supply of lyrium that fueled the Templars'' vigilance.


    "Elthina remains obstinate," Meredith had remarked earlier this day, her tone clipped and her steely gaze fixed on a series of ledgers and correspondence exchanged between the Circle and the Grand Cleric. "She insists on funneling the Chantry''s donations into frivolities¡ªorphans, alms for the poor. Charity," she had spat the word like a curse. "Resources wasted on those who contribute nothing to the city''s security."


    "Perhaps if we demonstrate the tangible benefits of increased investment in the Order," he''d uttered, leaning forward in his seat. "We could organize a city-wide initiative¡ªenhanced patrols of the City Guard or public drills. Something visible that reminds the populace where their safety truly comes from."


    "I approve of this idea, Rutherford. Handle it.¡± Her eyes narrowed. ¡°But we must also secure influence and loyalty among the elite¡ªthis is the key to ensuring we have the funds to truly safeguard Kirkwall from the threat of magic."


    After much deliberation, they had arrived at a plan. The Templars would quietly offer protection to several prominent merchant families in exchange for a steady flow of "donations" directly to the Order. Additionally, they would discreetly leverage their authority to ensure the city''s guild leaders and artisans favored Templar contracts over those of the Guard.


    Now, free from Meredith''s office and its heavy air of command, Cullen allowed himself a moment to exhale. His hand brushed absently over his hair, still slightly disheveled from the morning¡¯s hurried routine, as a low rumble escaped his stomach. Faith¡¯s ears perked at the sound. She barked once, sharply, as if scolding him for ignoring such a basic need. Then came the whine¡ªsofter, plaintive, the sound of shared hunger. He glanced at her, meeting those big, expectant eyes. ¡°All right, girl,¡± he murmured. ¡°I get it. Let¡¯s head to the kitchens.¡±


    He could have requested their dinner be brought to his office, of course, but after three days locked in conversation with Meredith, he craved a distraction. He respected the woman, admired her even, for her tenacity and unwavering commitment to their cause, but her close company for extended periods was¡­ exhausting.


    "Knight-Captain," a familiar voice called out from behind him. Cullen turned to see a middle-aged Templar jogging to catch up with him. His expression was bright, though his eyes betrayed a hint of weariness¡ªevidence of a day likely spent on patrols.


    ¡°Thrask.¡± Cullen offered a small, respectful nod. He knew the man well enough¡ªa good soul, a mediocre Templar. Too soft, too lenient. It was a wonder he hadn¡¯t succumbed to the dark powers of the maleficars or the vile manipulations of the mages, much like Samson had.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you around the past few days, Ser,¡± the Knight remarked, falling into step beside him. ¡°Not even at the services.¡±


    The Knight-Captain huffed softly, the corner of his mouth lifting. ¡°I missed them not by choice.¡± He glanced over at Thrask. ¡°But no doubt the Maker understands. The Knight-Commander had pressing matters to discuss.¡±


    The Templar hummed knowingly, offering no further comment. That was a relief. Cullen wasn¡¯t one for small talk¡ªhe preferred silence over pointless chatter.


    They walked on, the quiet between them settling into something almost comfortable. Almost. For it was impossible not to notice that Thrask¡¯s lips parted now and then, his brow furrowing as if wrangling some thought that refused to take shape. Each time, however, the words faltered, retreating unspoken into the stillness of the corridor.


    The man''s hesitation grated on Cullen, as indecision often did. He was about to push when they reached the cross-corridor leading to the mages'' quarters, and Thrask stopped, turning to face him with a frown. ¡°Permission to speak freely, Knight-Captain?¡± After the Ferelden gave a curt nod, the man continued, ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but overhear some spirited discussions among the Templars recently. It seems there¡¯s been a lot of interest in command changes. People speculating about how things might look under different leadership.¡±


    Cullen paused, his gaze sharp. ¡°It could be just the usual grumbling.¡±


    The Knight stepped closer, lowering his voice. ¡°It could be, but....¡± He hesitated, then added, ¡°Sometimes whispers come from somewhere deeper. It might be worth keeping an ear to the ground. You never know who¡¯s planting the seeds.¡±


    He studied the Templar in silence for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the warning. ¡°You¡¯re being careful with your words. Why?¡±


    The man kept his posture rigid. "I wouldn''t bring it up if I didn''t think it was important, Ser. But I also have no evidence to support my hunch about who''s behind this. I simply do not wish to defame anyone¡¯s name without the concrete proof."


    ¡°I see.¡± Cullen exhaled through his nose. ¡°I appreciate your candor, Thrask, and I will take your observations under advisement. Anything else I should know?¡±


    ¡°No, Ser. Only that loyalty still runs deep in most quarters.¡±


    The Knight-Captain straightened. ¡°Understood. Remain vigilant, Thrask.¡±


    ¡°Always.¡±


    The Templar saluted crisply and turned down the hallway. Cullen stood still, his gaze lingering on the retreating figure of the man until Faith¡¯s nose nudged his hand. The hound let out a quiet huff, her yellow eyes glancing toward the hallway ahead, where the faint scent of cooking wafted through the air. Dinner would be over soon, and Cullen had no desire to wrestle with an empty stomach for the third night in a row.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he murmured, patting Faith¡¯s sturdy flank.


    They made their way toward the kitchens, the scents growing stronger with each step. The air was thick with the earthy smell of porridge, underscored by the savory aroma of beans simmered with potatoes. As Cullen stepped inside, the chatter of voices from the dining hall beyond filtered through the open doorway.


    The kitchen itself was a controlled chaos of clanging pots and bustling cooks. The Ferelden moved with practiced ease, heading toward the long counter where steaming cauldrons sat, their contents ladled out by tired apprentices. He grabbed a bowl and filled it with the night¡¯s offering, which, as usual, promised more sustenance than flavor. Next, he reached for a smaller bowl, the one meant for Faith. It was a special preparation, set aside for the Knight-Captain¡¯s hound: a mix of grains, diced vegetables, and bits of offal, the latter giving it an aroma that made Faith¡¯s tail wag.


    With both bowls in hand, Cullen passed through to the dining hall. The crowd was already thinning, most having finished their meals and retreated to their evening duties. He scanned the room for a quiet spot and found one near the far corner, away from the largest clusters of benches. He settled there, setting Faith¡¯s bowl on the floor before lowering himself to the bench.


    Faith ate eagerly, her mighty jaws working at the stew with audible enthusiasm. Cullen ate more slowly, methodically, his thoughts drifting into a gentle, almost blissful void¡ªa rare reprieve he permitted himself only during meals. The dining hall around him grew quieter, the scrape of spoons and the murmur of voices fading as the last stragglers departed.


    Just as Cullen set his empty bowl aside, Faith licking hers clean with a contented snort, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. A young man approached¡ªred-haired, freckled, with a long face that was drawn into an expression of worry.


    ¡°Knight-Captain,¡± he uttered, his voice low but urgent. ¡°I would like to speak with you. It¡¯s about... well, it¡¯s important.¡±


    Cullen studied the man''s face, a flicker of recognition passing over his features. It was the Knight he had pulled from the clutches of a blood mage Idunna, alongside Anne. The memory of the recruit stirred faint embers of vexation and unease in equal measure. He straightened in his seat, the sluggish exhaustion of the day receding, replaced by a cool attentiveness.


    "Alright," he said evenly, his brows knitting in quiet concern. He gestured to the bench across from him. "Take a seat, Tamron."


    ¡°It¡¯s Tamlin, Ser. Not Tamron.¡± The young man¡¯s tone was apologetic, yet firm, as though he feared offending his Captain but felt compelled to correct him.


    Cullen¡¯s brows lifted slightly in acknowledgment, a flicker of embarrassment igniting within him for having misremembered the name. ¡°Tamlin, then,¡± he continued, inclining his head. ¡°Tell me about this important matter.¡±


    The young Knight hesitated for a breath, his gaze darting briefly over the dining hall, before nodding and lowering himself onto the bench. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward as his hands clenched into fists on the table. "It''s about Knight-Recruit Anne, a close friend of mine. She''s also the one who volunteered to do the cleaning in your quarters. She was taken to the cells three days ago, right after the morning service, and I-."


    ¡°Why?¡± Cullen interrupted, his expression darkening.


    ¡°Ser Alrik said it was for starting a fight with other recruits at the Chapel,¡± Tamlin replied, his voice tight with disbelief. ¡°Which is ridiculous. Anne wouldn¡¯t do something like that¡ªI mean, not without a reason. So I¡¯ve been asking around, talking to other Knights and recruits, trying to find out what really happened. But they all say the same thing. Exactly the same thing: that she just started swinging at people out of the blue.¡± He exhaled sharply and shook his head as if trying to clear it. ¡°First, those stupid rumors about her spread overnight. Then she¡¯s accused of brawling, thrown into a cell¡ªand when I asked the Knight-Lieutenant about her punishment, or when she¡¯d be released, he refused to answer.¡± Tamlin¡¯s hand jerked toward his face, tracing a line over his forehead. ¡°He also had a nasty wound on his head. An odd injury for someone like Ser Otto, who never leaves the safety of the Gallows.¡± His gaze locked with the Knight-Captain¡¯s, his eyes steady but shadowed with unease. ¡°I¡¯ve got a very bad feeling about this, Ser. Please¡ªlook into it.¡±


    Cullen furrowed his brows, letting the torrent of words sink in as he pieced it together. He had expected some whispers after the unfortunate incident with the recruit, but part of him still hoped Tamlin was speaking of something unrelated. The chances were slim, yet he had to ask. ¡°What rumors are you talking about?¡±


    The Knight shifted uneasily in his seat, his eyes darting to the side before meeting Cullen¡¯s again. ¡°A bunch of nasty, stupid shi¡ªthings, about Anne and you, Ser.¡± He paused for a moment. ¡°Things that I really, really don¡¯t want to repeat.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Cullen didn¡¯t need to hear more¡ªhe had spent enough time in the Circles to know the kind of nonsense people could concoct. Naturally, he would deal with the Templars responsible for starting it. They would be scrubbing chamber pots for months between their night patrols through Darktown. That ought to make them think twice before spreading gossip again.


    Yet his mind churned, snagging on Thrask¡¯s earlier words. A sense of unease twisted in the Ferelden''s gut, whispering that this whole situation with Anne¡ªand the rumors¡ªwas somehow tied to the Knights and their talk of "discussing the leadership."


    Faith shifted at the Ferelden¡¯s side, her sleek form tensing as her paws tapped faintly against the stone floor. Her restlessness pulled at his awareness, and without thinking, he reached down to pat her head. ¡°Alright,¡± he said, his tone firm. ¡°I¡¯ll speak with Knight-Lieutenant Alrik about the recruit. This needs to be handled properly.¡±


    Tamlin¡¯s shoulders sagged with relief, the tension draining from him in an instant. ¡°Thank you, Knight-Captain,¡± he said, his voice thick with gratitude. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what else to do.¡±


    Cullen gave him a nod, his face set in calm determination. ¡°Return to your duties in peace, Knight.¡±


    The young Templar stood, visibly steadier now, and after a final nod of thanks, he turned and left, his steps lighter than before. Cullen watched him go for a second, then looked down at Faith, who was still observing the Knight''s exit from the dining hall. He sighed and removed his hand from her head. "Time to call Otto into my office. Be on your best behavior."


    A pair of yellow eyes locked on him. "Woof."


    Cullen sat behind his desk, fingers steepled as he stared down at the neatly stacked reports that suddenly seemed far less important than the nagging unease curling in his chest. Faith lay curled at his feet, her tail twitching as if she could feel the tension radiating from him. A knock at the door broke the silence, sharp and deliberate. In an instant the mabari sprang upright, her body tense with anticipation.


    ¡°Enter,¡± the Ferelden uttered.


    The door creaked open, revealing Otto. As always, his expression bore the dead weight of indifference. Yet Cullen''s gaze was instantly drawn to the wound on his forehead¡ªa vivid, angry red of it standing out starkly against his pale skin, just as Tamlin had described.


    Alrik¡¯s posture was stiff as he approached Cullen¡¯s desk. ¡°Knight-Captain,¡± he greeted, his voice flat.


    ¡°Knight-Lieutenant,¡± Cullen replied, shifting his gaze from the injury back to Alrik¡¯s face. ¡°I wanted to ask about the recruit assigned to clean my quarters¡ªAnne of Lowtown. I was informed that she was taken to the cells three days ago and is yet to be released. What are her crimes exactly?¡±


    Otto¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. ¡°Anne? Why the sudden interest in a lowly recruit?¡± He smirked faintly. ¡°I know that you need a volunteer to clean your chambers, Ser, but I can assure you, another one will not take long to appear. We¡¯ve no shortage of young women eager to prove themselves useful to the distinguished Knight-Captain.¡±


    Cullen¡¯s expression remained stony, unfazed by the layered meaning behind Alrik¡¯s words. ¡°I''ve asked you a question, Knight-Lieutenant, yet I received no answer.¡±


    Alrik¡¯s smirk faded into something colder. ¡°The girl started a fight with the other recruits in the Chapel. Disrespectful, unruly behavior in the house of the Maker. But even before that incident, she committed insubordination¡ªleft her training to do cleaning duties in your quarters before the assigned time.¡± The Ferelden raised an eyebrow. Anne had told him she had received permission from Alrik to change the time of her shift, so one of them was lying, yet he held his tongue, waiting. ¡°For those crimes, I had sentenced the recruit to twenty lashes.¡±


    The Knight-Commander straightened in his chair. ¡°Twenty?¡± he repeated, the words heavy with disbelief. ¡°That¡¯s the harshest punishment decreed for offenses of this kind, and even so, it is meant only upon those who transgress time and again. Why such severity?¡±


    ¡°Because beyond the misdeeds I had already reported to you, Ser,¡± Otto gestured to his forehead, his voice calm yet laced with indignation. ¡°The recruit dared to strike me when I visited her cell. This compelled my decision to impose a harsher sentence for her earlier transgressions, along with an additional twenty lashes and seven days of solitary confinement for willfully inflicting harm upon a superior-ranking Knight.¡±


    Cullen¡¯s fists pressed hard against the worn wood of his table. His voice, when it came, was taut with barely restrained fury. ¡°You oversee the training of the recruits and their discipline, Alrik, but you do not hold the authority to seal their fate. Dismissal from the Order¡ªor punishments that might prove fatal¡ªrequires explicit, written permission from me or the Knight-Commander.¡±


    Otto, however, remained unmoved, his expression carved from stone. ¡°Forty lashes and solitary confinement do not constitute a death sentence, Ser,¡± he continued, his tone as dry and calculated as a scribe reading from doctrine. ¡°Not when healing is provided. Which, I might add, is precisely what I ensured. I instructed one of the Knights on duty to administer a healing potion to the recruit as I left her cell. I acted entirely within the mandates of the Order.¡±


    The Ferelden shot to his feet, the chair scraping harshly across the floor. His hands were flat on the desk as he leaned forward. ¡°No,¡± he uttered, the tremor of anger in his voice replaced with cold resolve. ¡°You¡¯ve overstepped your authority, Knight-Lieutenant. Release the recruit immediately and transfer her to the infirmary. Be advised¡ªthis will go before the Knight-Commander, and she will determine what consequences your actions merit.¡±


    The room fell heavy with silence for a moment, safe for the sound of Faith''s heavy breathing, punctuated by the low, menacing growl rumbling in her chest.


    Otto regarded him with a cold detachment, his tone devoid of any semblance of emotion. ¡°Any further orders, Ser?¡±


    ¡°None for now. Dismissed.¡±


    Alrik inclined his head and turned on his heel without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence in the room felt heavier than before.


    Cullen exhaled slowly, his thoughts racing as he stared at the door Alrik had just exited through. Hastily, he scrawled a note to Tamlin, recounting what had happened to his friend and advising him to find her in the infirmary. Folding the message into a scroll case, he handed it to his hound. ¡°Go find Tamlin, girl. Give it to him.¡±


    Faith barked once, sharp and clear, then carefully took the scroll case in her maw and hurried toward the exit. With practiced ease, she nudged the door with her paws, pushing it open before bounding out into the corridor. Her claws tapped against the stone, the sound fading as she disappeared around the corner.


    Cullen gathered the scattered reports from his desk, aligning them into a neat stack before setting them aside. After a final glance around the quiet office, he stepped out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.


    His steps were purposeful as he made his way once again to Meredith¡¯s office. He knew the woman would still be awake¡ªeven at this late hour. Sometimes, he wondered if she ever slept at all.


    The Ferelden stopped before the heavy wooden door of the Knight-Commander''s office, his knuckles rapping firmly against it. He waited, hearing only the faint sound of papers shifting before her voice rang out.


    ¡°Come in.¡±


    Pushing the door open, Cullen stepped inside, standing straight and formal as the Knight-Commander looked up from her desk. Her brows rose slightly, betraying a rare flicker of surprise. ¡°Rutherford, at this hour? I assume this must be important.¡±


    The Knight-Captain bowed his head briefly before stepping forward. ¡°It¡¯s not an urgent matter, Knight-Commander, but I felt compelled to speak to you about it now.¡±


    Meredith set down her quill and folded her hands. ¡°Go on.¡±


    He straightened his posture. ¡°It concerns Knight-Lieutenant Alrik and a recent incident with a recruit named Anne of Lowtown.¡± Meredith¡¯s expression remained unchanged, but her gaze hardened as Cullen recounted the situation in detail.


    Once he finished his speech, the Knight-Commander leaned back slightly in her chair. For a moment, the room was silent. ¡°Your concern is noted, Knight-Captain,¡± she said at last, her tone measured. ¡°I will see to it that Knight-Lieutenant Alrik receives a private reprimand.¡±


    Cullen¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°A private reprimand, Knight-Commander?¡±


    ¡°Yes. This is the first slip in Alrik¡¯s impeccable service record. Whatever his methods, he has brought results time and time again. Discipline among recruits has increased under his watch, and his performance has been exemplary in all other areas. Furthermore...¡± She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. ¡°You are not unaware of his family¡¯s position, are you?¡±


    Cullen stiffened. ¡°No, Knight-Commander, I am not.¡±


    ¡°Then you know the noble house he belongs to is among the Order¡¯s most significant benefactors,¡± Meredith continued. ¡°Their support¡ªfinancial and political¡ªhas been instrumental in maintaining the Order¡¯s operations, particularly in these trying times. To act against Alrik publicly risks jeopardizing that support, and I don''t believe such a minor offense is worth it."


    ¡°With all due respect, Ser. I do not consider this to be a minor offense,¡± Cullen uttered, his frustration carefully masked behind a composed expression. ¡°The Order¡¯s integrity depends on adherence to its principles.¡±


    The Knight-Commander''s expression hardened, her tone cutting. ¡°I am as committed to the Order¡¯s integrity as you are. But leadership requires compromise, even when it is¡­ unpalatable.¡± She fixed him with a sharp look. ¡°Do not forget that.¡±


    He wanted to press the issue further, but he knew Meredith well enough to see she would not be moved. ¡°Of course, Knight-Commander,¡± he said finally, bowing his head in deference.


    Meredith gave a small nod, her tone softening just slightly. ¡°Dismissed.¡±


    Cullen hesitated for a moment, then saluted, turned, and walked out of the office.


    As he made his way down the corridor, his frustration simmered. He had done his duty, but what had it accomplished? A private reprimand? A quiet word? It didn¡¯t feel like enough. He was almost certain that Alrik would go on, emboldened by Meredith''s leniency and shielded by the power of his name. And the recruits would continue to bear the brunt of it.


    The next morning, Cullen sat at his desk, a steaming mug of tea untouched beside him as he sorted through reports. His focus was broken by a sharp knock at the door. A courier entered, handed him a folded note, and quickly departed.


    The message was brief, penned in the familiar, elegant hand of Senior Enchanter Ilara:


    Knight-Captain, your presence is requested in the infirmary at your earliest convenience.


    Ilara seldom summoned him for trivial matters, so without hesitation, he rose swiftly from his chair, Faith falling into step beside him, and together, they strode briskly through the halls of the Gallows.


    The infirmary was a vast, high-ceilinged space that felt strangely serene despite the suffering it housed. Sunlight filtered through narrow, slitted windows, catching the motes of dust that floated lazily in the air. Rows of cots lined the walls, many occupied by Templars recovering from injuries hunting the apostates or apprentices who had pushed themselves too far with spells. The faint scent of herbs and healing salves mingled with the sharp, tangy smell of the apple vinegar with which the healers scrubbed the floors here.


    Cullen entered, his eyes scanning the room. A familiar figure approached¡ªHawke¡¯s sister, Bethany. She greeted him with a tentative smile, her hands clasped in front of her.


    ¡°Knight-Captain, Faith,¡± she said softly, her tone deferential but edged with nervousness.


    The mabari huffed softly in response.


    "Bethany," Cullen replied, his voice stiff yet polite. The fact that the Order had taken her in Hawke''s absence would ruin their cooperation with Garrett''s band of surprisingly capable misfits¡ªa partnership that had proved fruitful time and again. A shame, really, but it was a small price to pay for the assurance that one less mage wandered freely, tempting fate and all but inviting demons to corrupt them.


    The young woman motioned for the Ferelden to follow, leading him toward the far corner of the infirmary. Her steps were quick but careful, and she glanced over her shoulder once or twice, as if checking that she was followed.


    ¡°Knight-Recruit Anne is this way,¡± she said, her voice quieter now as she gestured toward a secluded corner. There, the recruit lay on her stomach on a cot, her limp, fragile-looking form partially obscured by the Senior Enchanter bent over her. Beside them, Tamlin sat on a small wooden chair, his expression grim. As Cullen approached, the Knight looked up and stood to salute him but remained silent.


    Ilara stood at the head of the cot, her delicate hands emitting a soft glow of healing magic. Her long blonde hair was neatly braided back, the light of her enchantment shining upon her flawless, elegant, and utterly arresting features. Maker, she¡¯s beautiful, the thought surfaced unbidden in Cullen¡¯s mind before he could suppress it. His chest tightened, guilt creeping in as he recognized the betrayal of Neria¡¯s memory. His Neria. She had been a mage too, but not a menace like the others. She was utterly devout, a true Andrastian. There had been no one like her, and there never would be again¡­


    He shook the thought away, forcing his attention back to the Senior Enchanter as she completed her spell. The glow around her hands faded, and she straightened before turning to Cullen with a polite nod. "It''s a miracle that the Knight-Recruit is still alive, Knight-Captain, another day in the cells with these injuries and she wouldn''t have made it".  Her porcelain-like face was composed, but her blue eyes were heavy with sympathy. ¡°As soon as she regained her senses, she has been asking to speak with you. She was very insistent,¡± Ilara added softly before stepping aside.


    Cullen''s brow furrowed as he looked down at Anne, who lay with her eyes tightly shut, her bare back a gruesome tapestry of pain, crisscrossed with deep, raw welts that oozed blood and pus despite Senior Enchanter¡¯s efforts. Bruises blossomed around each lash mark, purpling her pale skin. Some wounds had torn into the muscle, leaving jagged edges that would undoubtedly scar. The Ferelden had seen the aftermath of floggings before, but rarely had he witnessed anything so severe.


    Faith studied the young woman on the cot as well, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air before letting out a quiet whine.


    At that moment, the recruit stirred, her lashes fluttering as her eyes slowly opened. Her green irises were striking, made even more vivid against the bloodshot whites. Her chapped lips moved as she rasped, ¡°Permission¡­ to speak with you¡­ alone, Knight-Captain.¡±

 The Templar ( part 1)

    Pain was a constant companion. It throbbed in Anne''s back, sharp and relentless, each breath a jagged blade scraping against her ribs. She swallowed hard, the effort making her throat ache, but she forced her eyes open fully. The light hurt, but she needed to see him. Needed to tell her hero everything that had happened, for Alrik might weave more lies and deceit¡ªlies that could make Cullen hate her or believe she had betrayed him.


    "Permission¡­ to speak with you¡­ alone, Knight-Captain," she rasped. Even forming the words made her wince, but the urgency outweighed the agony.


    Cullen¡¯s expression tightened, his jaw set as he nodded. He glanced at Ilara and Tamlin, who shifted uncomfortably, his concern etched plainly on his face.


    ¡°An¡­¡± her childhood rival began, his voice heavy with uncertainty, but his words trailed off as the Senior Enchanter stepped forward, her movements graceful yet firm. She rested a hand on the Knight¡¯s arm, guiding him gently but insistently away. ¡°This way, Ser. Please.¡±


    Tamlin hesitated, his eyes flickering between Anne and the Knight-Captain, but after a tense moment, he allowed himself to be led away. His back was rigid, and his steps reluctant as he disappeared with Ilara toward the main area of the infirmary.


    Now alone with Cullen, Anne turned her gaze toward him. He stood tall and imposing, his expression grim but attentive. Faith sat at his side, her yellow eyes fixed on the recruit with an intensity that felt almost human.


    The young woman¡¯s breath came shallow and uneven as she began, ¡°Knight-Captain¡­ please, listen. I need you to know what happened¡­ what Ser Alrik tried to do.¡±


    Cullen¡¯s brow furrowed further, and he nodded curtly. ¡°Speak.¡±


    Anne began her tale as hastily as she could, revisiting the restless morning that followed her sleepless night. She described the sting of humiliation in the Chapel, where cruel recruits had jeered at her, forcing her to her knees and provoking her furious retaliation¡ªa moment that had spiraled into her being dragged to the cells.


    She longed to soften the harsh edges of her story, to dilute the venom of Alrik''s whispered rumors and the vile accusations he had tried to force upon her about Cullen. Yet, once again, the truth surged forth unbidden, her words painting the events with painful honesty. At this moment Anne saw the mabari¡¯s ears twitch, the hound letting out a low growl, a sound that sent a ripple of reassurance through the young woman. Faith¡¯s anger wasn¡¯t directed at her¡ªshe knew that instinctively.


    Yet, as Anne recounted each harrowing detail, her spirit seemed to wither, her voice faltering and her body trembling. A tide of emotions welled within her, rising like an unrelenting tide, threatening to drown her as she relived the ordeal. By the time she reached the final chapter of her story, where Alrik had left her alone in the cell with a meager health potion for company, her voice cracked.  ¡°I thought¡­ I thought this time for sure I was done for,¡± she confessed. ¡°But I didn¡¯t betray you, Knight-Captain, on the Maker and His Bride! I couldn¡¯t let Knight-Lieutenant smear your name.¡± A shuddering breath escaped the recruit as the dam finally broke, tears streaming down her cheeks. ¡°I owe you my life. And I¡­ I would rather have died than¡­ than let him take your honor!¡±


    Anne turned her head slightly, wincing at the pain, but enough to see the Knight-Captain¡¯s face more clearly than before. Cullen¡¯s expression was a storm of rage and indignation, his jaw working as if to keep himself from speaking too soon. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not in threat but in an unconscious gesture, as though grounding himself against the fury that coursed through him. He closed his eyes briefly, his shoulders rising and falling as he drew a deep, steadying breath. When he opened them again, the fire in his gaze was tempered by something softer, though no less resolute.


    ¡°You did well, Knight-Recruit.¡± Cullen¡¯s voice was steady, carrying a note of reassurance. ¡°And I swear to you, the Knight-Lieutenant will answer for this.¡± He paused, his expression darkening, frustration etching lines across his face. ¡°But for now¡­ there¡¯s no proof to substantiate your account. Though I believe you, it will be your word against his if I denounce his actions before the Knight-Commander. Ser Alrik¡¯s impeccable record and his¡­other merits,¡± the Ferelden¡¯s voice strained, the word ¡®merits¡¯ laden with bitterness, ¡°would ensure you lose. But even if I can¡¯t bring the Knight-Lieutenant to justice right now, I will ensure those who spread these rumors about you, and those who provoked you in the Chapel, are punished.¡± His gaze locked onto hers, firm and unyielding. ¡°You¡¯ve been through enough. Rest now. Don¡¯t worry; I¡¯ll find a way to protect you from Ser Alrik¡¯s further machinations.¡±


    Anne closed her eyes, her lashes trembling as fresh tears welled up. This time, however, they were tears of happiness. The tension and fear¡ªthat suffocating dread that her hero might doubt her words or her loyalty¡ªbegan to unravel. Her body sank into the rough embrace of the cot, her exhaustion mingling with newfound peace. Her lips moved faintly, shaping whispered words of gratitude, though they were barely audible. Of course, she would have preferred to see Alrik pay for his crimes here and now, but if Cullen swore the Knight-Lieutenant would face justice, she believed him. A man of honor did not make such promises lightly.


    Her quiet weeping and incoherent murmurs were likely misunderstood by Cullen as a bitter disappointment, for he quickly added. ¡°I understand and share your frustration with this turn of events, but one must face the realities of the world with a strong spirit. The Knight-Lieutenant will answer for his despicable actions but in due time.¡± He straightened, the faint creak of his armor breaking the silence as he prepared to leave. ¡°May the Maker grant you a swift recovery.¡±


    Before he could walk away from the cot, Anne¡¯s voice broke through the quiet. ¡°Ser, wait.¡± Her words came haltingly, trembling with emotion. ¡°I trust and have faith that you will see the right thing done. And I¡¯m just so endlessly relieved that you trust and have faith in me too¡­¡± She hesitated, her face burning with shame at the audacity of what she was about to say. Yet, try as she might, she could not hold the words back. ¡°Before you go, could I ask for just a little more kindness? Please, Ser. Just a word more.¡±


    Cullen stopped mid-step, his back stiffening as her plea hung in the air. He turned slowly, his expression one of surprise and uncertainty. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Faith, however, took matters into her own paws. The mabari stepped forward, her wet nose nuzzling against Anne¡¯s face before she began to lick away the tears on her cheeks. Startled, the young woman let out a weak laugh, squinting her eyes and scrunching her nose against the hound¡¯s affectionate attention. In a few swift strokes of Faith¡¯s soft tongue, Anne¡¯s tears were gone, and with a huff, the mabari turned her attention to Cullen. Gently, she took his hand in her maw, guiding it with care until it rested atop the recruit¡¯s head. Once satisfied with her work, Faith sat back, her short tail wagging in quiet triumph.


    The Ferelden blinked, clearly taken aback. For a moment, he looked utterly lost, his fingers hovering stiffly on Anne¡¯s hair. He cleared his throat, his cheeks coloring slightly. ¡°Uh¡­ there, there,¡± he mumbled, his hand hesitantly patting the young woman¡¯s head before scratching lightly behind her ear, much like he would for Faith. ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re strong, Knight-Recruit. You¡¯ll get through this.¡± He withdrew his hand, standing too rigid for a moment. ¡°Yes, well... as I said, may the Maker grant you a swift recovery.¡±  At his feet, Faith let out a low bark¡ªnot sharp, but gentle, as if she too shared in the wish.


    Anne thanked them both heartily, and together Cullen and his hound retreated from the infirmary, leaving behind the recruit who, despite her pain, injuries, and the injustices she had endured, found herself in remarkably high spirits.


    The next morning, she woke slowly, the familiar haze of pain gripping her body but feeling slightly less sharp than it had the night before.


    ¡°Good morning, Anne. How are you feeling?¡± Senior Enchanter Ilara¡¯s soft voice broke the silence.


    Anne blinked against the soft morning light and turned her head slightly. Ilara stood beside her cot, her golden hair braided around her head in a crown, her porcelain-like features serene but watchful. At her side was Bethany, her youthful, round face etched with quiet determination as she held a small bowl of steaming porridge.


    ¡°I¡­ better,¡± Anne managed, her voice hoarse. She winced as she shifted slightly, but a gentle hand pressed her shoulder, stilling her.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Ilara uttered. She knelt beside the cot, her delicate hands glowing faintly as she passed them over Anne¡¯s back. A soft warmth followed the movement, and Anne exhaled slowly, the magic dulling the worst of the pain.


    Bethany stepped forward. ¡°Here, I brought some food. You¡¯ll need your strength for the healing to take hold.¡±


    The recruit tried to sit up instinctively but was immediately met with a sharp protest from her battered body. Ilara frowned softly, shaking her head. ¡°Not yet. You¡¯re still too weak to move. Bethany will help you.¡±


    Anne hesitated, feeling a flush of embarrassment, but the apprentice offered her a small, reassuring smile. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she said quietly, settling into a chair beside the cot. She scooped a spoonful of porridge and held it out. ¡°Just take it slow.¡±


    Despite her initial discomfort, the recruit yielded, opening her mouth to taste the worm porridge, which, to her surprise, was reminiscent of a slice of heaven. Bethany fed her patiently, pausing when Anne needed to catch her breath or adjust her position. All the while, the healer continued her silent enchantment, her magic weaving a cocoon of relief around the wounded recruit.


    As Anne ate, she couldn¡¯t help but revel in Ilara and Bethany¡¯s care and attention. She wasn¡¯t accustomed to being doted on or pampered; in fact, this was a first for her. The Sisters at the orphanage had always been too tired and overworked to give much affection to the children, and the Templar Order¡ªwell, there was no room for kindness toward its recruits there at all.


    The apprentice wiped Anne¡¯s lips with a cloth as she finished the last of the porridge. ¡°There,¡± the young mage uttered with satisfaction. ¡°That¡¯s a good start. You¡¯ll be feeling stronger in no time.¡±


    The recruit offered a faint smile in return. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Ilara stood, smoothing the folds of her robes. ¡°You¡¯re in good hands, Anne. Rest now. Bethany and I will check on you later.¡± She placed a hand lightly on the apprentices¡¯ shoulder, and together, the two mages retreated to tend to the other patients.


    Anne closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. If only all mages were like this¡ªlike Ilara and Bethany¡ªso kind, so good. The thought pinched at her heart, bittersweet. And if only all Templars were like my Cullen¡ªstrong, fair, and true. Life would be so much better... Her eyes flew open, her cheeks burning. My Cullen? What kind of foolishness was that!?


    The soft creak of the infirmary door pulled her from her thoughts, and soon she saw Tamlin approach her with a stack of tomes and scrolls balanced in his arms.


    ¡°Morning, An,¡± he greeted, setting the materials down on the floor beside her cot.


    ¡°Morning,¡± the recruit replied, propping herself up slightly. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡±


    ¡°Your new study materials,¡± he said simply. ¡°Knight-Captain Cullen instructed me to bring them to you.¡±


    Anne¡¯s brows knitted in confusion. ¡°Study materials? I¡­ I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Tamlin pulled a chair closer to her cot and sat, his arms resting on his knees as he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a more serious tone. ¡°The Knight-Captain has devised a plan to protect you from Alrik.¡±


    Anne blinked, ¡±So soon?¡±


    Tamlin¡¯s jaw tightened, ¡°Yes. As long as you¡¯re a recruit, you¡¯re under his authority. And that puts you in danger. We both know that.¡±


    The young woman nodded. The thought of returning to Alrik¡¯s supervision filled her with dread. ¡°But¡­ I¡¯m not supposed to become a Templar until next year,¡± she said hesitantly.


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing, you¡¯re not waiting until next year. The Knight-Captain wants you to study hard while you¡¯re here recovering. Harder and faster than anyone else. If you can pass the tests early, you¡¯ll be allowed to take a Vigil and be raised to the Templar status right after you leave the infirmary. That means Alrik will have no hold over you.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Anne looked down at the tomes, the titles etched in elegant script: Mastery of The Chant of Light, Templar Discipline: Advanced Lessons, The Fade and Its Inhabitants, The only good maleficar is a dead maleficar. Scrolls lay beside them, their edges lined with notes and diagrams she couldn¡¯t yet decipher. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ I reckon the Knight-Captain thinks too highly of me. I¡¯m daft, and my memory ain¡¯t worth much¡­¡±


    Tamlin grinned, that cheeky, self-assured grin Anne hadn¡¯t seen since the day they¡¯d been caught by the blood mage. ¡°Yes, you are, but don¡¯t fret. With me teaching you, even a thick-skulled Ogre has a chance.¡±


    Despite herself, Anne chuckled. ¡°Well, we¡¯ll see about that.¡± She couldn¡¯t help it. Somehow, she found she preferred this annoying, cocksure version of him to the grim, brooding Templar he¡¯d become after the blood mage incident. It was good to see not all of him had been lost to that whore Idunna. Then she remembered something she¡¯d meant to say. She hadn¡¯t thanked him for worrying over her when she was locked in the cell, nor for getting Cullen¡¯s help. ¡°Oh, and by the way, I don¡¯t know why you cared enough to run to the Knight-Captain about me, but¡­ thanks.¡± After a beat, she added with a smirk, ¡°Horse-face.¡±


    Tamlin¡¯s grin grew into a wide smile. ¡°What¡¯s the point of life if I am not the one who makes the Ogre miserable, eh?¡± His voice was playful, but surprisingly there was something softer beneath it. ¡°Now enough of this mushy talk,¡± he continued, his usual demeanor snapping back in place. ¡°Let¡¯s get to work. I¡¯m the best teacher you¡¯ll ever have, but even I can¡¯t turn water into ale.¡±


    The days that followed were a blur of healing and study. Each morning began with the Senior Enchanter and her apprentice tending to her wounds, followed by Tamlin¡¯s lessons. At first, the recruit doubted his ability to teach, given his short temper and cocky attitude, but she was soon proven wrong. He had a knack for explaining even the most tedious of doctrines in a way that stuck, though whenever Anne got an answer wrong¡ªand there were plenty of those¡ªTamlin would flick her forehead with just enough force to make her scowl. ¡°Wrong again,¡± he would say. ¡°Honestly, it shows that Sister Petrice dropped you on your head as a babe!¡±


    But for every sharp remark, there was also a layer of care. He noticed when she struggled to stay focused and forced her to rest when her exhaustion became too obvious to ignore. He ensured she had everything she needed, whether it was a spare quill or a moment of quiet.


    Meanwhile, the recruit¡¯s body healed slowly but steadily. Each day, she felt a little stronger, and the excruciating pain dulled to a persistent ache. She began to sit up on her own, then walk short distances with Bethany¡¯s support. The scars forming on her back were rough and uneven, and when she caught glimpses of them in the polished surface of a basin, she couldn¡¯t help but shudder yet also feel proud. They were hideous, but they were hers¡ªa testament to the dedication to preserve Cullen¡¯s honor.


    Evenings brought news from the outside world. One day, Tamlin shared that the Knight-Captain had finally punished every single bastard who had spread rumors or insulted her in the Chapel.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen their faces,¡± her ¡®teacher¡¯ said with a grin. ¡°One of them practically fainted when Knight-Captain Cullen started listing their offenses. They¡¯re going to be scrubbing those chamber pots for months, not even allowed to touch a sword!¡±


    Anne¡¯s chest tightened at the thought. Cullen had fought for her dignity and upheld his promise. It was a feeling she couldn¡¯t quite describe¡ªgratitude, elation, and something else, something she could not put a finger on.


    And so, weeks passed in this steady rhythm, each day a relentless tide of learning and growth. The recruit found herself brimming with knowledge: battle tactics, the intricate workings of blood magic and its influence on the Veil, doctrines etched into her mind alongside the precise patterns of Templar abilities and combat strategies. Her thoughts often swirled with the weight of it all, an endless cascade of lessons and challenges. Yet, despite its overwhelming nature, she could not deny the transformation taking hold of her.  Each passing day chipped away at the young woman who only ever wanted to be away from the Gallows and in her place, Anne began to see the faint outline of a true Templar¡ªa figure steady on her feet, armed with strength forged through trial ¡ªsomeone worthy of serving under the Knight-Captain Cullen.


    The day of her test arrived with little fanfare, yet Anne¡¯s chest thrummed with both anticipation and dread. The infirmary, which had been her sanctuary for so long, now felt stifling as she awaited Ilara¡¯s final inspection. The Senior Enchanter worked nearby, alongside Bethany, tending to an apprentice who had burned her hands and face while miscasting a fire spell. The boy lay on the cot, wincing as Bethany carefully applied salve under Ilara¡¯s watchful eye.


    Tamlin stood in front of Anne, his back to the mages, rattling off last-minute advice. ¡°Alright, Ogre, focus. Recite the Canticle of Trials. And don¡¯t you dare mess up again.¡±


    The recruit tried to concentrate, but her nerves made it nearly impossible. Her gaze darted repeatedly toward the healer, watching for any sign that she was done and ready to clear her to leave.


    ¡°An!¡± Tamlin barked, snapping his fingers in front of her face. ¡°Are you even listening? Or is your head as empty as it looks?¡±


    Before she could respond, he flicked her forehead. ¡°Focus.¡±


    Rubbing the sore spot, the young woman glared up at him. ¡°I am trying, horse-face.¡±


    Before their banter could escalate, the infirmary doors swung open with a loud creak. A short, stocky female Templar strode in, her dark, bobbed hair bouncing with each step. A jagged scratch marred her chin, and her scowl was as sharp as her tone when she voiced her demand, ¡°Senior Enchanter! I need healing. Now.¡±


    Ilara looked up, her expression turning that of a hunted dove. ¡°Knight-Templar Eda,¡± she uttered, her voice shaking slightly. ¡°I understand your need, but this apprentice has suffered serious burns. I ask for your patience while I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I said now, mage,¡± Eda interrupted sharply, cutting her off. She moved to an empty cot and sat down heavily, crossing her arms and glaring at the enchanter. ¡°I¡¯m not waiting while you coddle some fool who can¡¯t control his magic.¡±


    The healer¡¯s shoulders sagged with a sigh, but she turned to Bethany. ¡°You¡¯ll need to finish tending to the burns. Apply the salve gently, and keep his hands elevated to minimize swelling.¡±


    The apprentice gave a solemn nod and set about her task, while Ilara stepped forward, her focus settling on Eda. Before the seated woman, the enchanter began her incantation, the soft shimmer of magic illuminating her hands. Yet, as the spell took form, Ilara faltered. Her hands quivered, her body shrinking subtly, as though she sought to make herself smaller.


    Anne, observing the peculiar change in the healer''s demeanor, narrowed her gaze. Something was amiss. It was only then, as her attention sharpened, that she discerned the cause of Ilara¡¯s distress. Eda, sitting there with a creepy smile, had allowed her hand to slip beneath the folds of the Senior Enchanter robes, her fingers gliding along her slender leg with a deliberate, intimate motion. Anne''s jaw tightened, her temper flaring hot. Before she even knew it, the words slipped right out of her mouth, ¡°The nerve of this bitch!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Tamlin frowned and whipped around to look over his shoulder, following her gaze.


    Meanwhile, Anne was already getting to her feet, her anger propelling her forward. But Tamlin¡¯s hand came out fast, clamping down on her shoulder and shoving her back onto the cot. ¡°Stay put,¡± he ordered, his voice firm and low. ¡°You can¡¯t go stirring up trouble right before the test. This is exactly what the Knight-Lieutenant wants. Let me deal with it.¡±


    Anne shot him a glare, but the look on his face left no room for argument. ¡°Alrik, you bold fuck, not on my watch,¡± he grumbled under his breath, turning and striding toward Eda before she could ask him what the Knight-Lieutenant had to do with it.


    He stopped beside the Templar, his stance deceptively casual. ¡°My fair Eda, how¡¯s your dear wife doing these days?¡±


    The woman¡¯s round head snapped up, her hand jerking away from Ilara as if burned. She pushed the mage back roughly and glared up at Tamlin. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    The man smirked. ¡°Oh, nothing much. Just thought I¡¯d check in. You know, make sure everything¡¯s well at home. Your wife wouldn¡¯t want to hear about¡­ misunderstandings like this, would she?¡±


    Eda¡¯s face turned red with fury as she shot to her feet, fists balled tight. ¡°You¡¯re poking that ugly nose of yours where it doesn¡¯t belong,¡± she hissed. ¡°Just because you¡¯re kissing the Knight-Captain¡¯s arse so hard your lips are swollen doesn¡¯t mean you won¡¯t regret this.¡±


    Tamlin''s grin stretched wide. "Ah, Eda, at least I''m planting kisses on a fine, firm backside of a proper stud. Better that than the saggy, wrinkled arse you lot are slobbering on, Orlesian-style.¡±


    Eda''s glare darkened further, and Anne could swear for a heartbeat that the female Templar¡¯s gaze flickered to her. ¡°I can¡¯t wait until all of you gets what coming,¡± she hissed venomously.


    Tamlin¡¯s smirk stayed firmly in place. ¡°And I can¡¯t wait to write a nice little note to your wife about you being a cheating turd.¡± He cocked his head. ¡°Unless, of course, you fancy dragging your fat arse out of here this instant?¡±


    For a long, tense moment, Eda stared at him, her jaw tight. Then, with a sharp scoff, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the infirmary, slamming the door behind her.


    Tamlin exhaled softly, his smirk fading as he turned to Ilara. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    The Senior Enchanter nodded, though her hands betrayed a subtle tremor, her fingers twitching as she clasped them tightly together. "Though I appreciate your intervention, Ser," she murmured. "It... it would have been better to leave it be. Knight-Templar Eda¡­ it was far from the first time such things have occurred. It''s wiser, in such cases, to simply endure. Once she gets what she wants, she leaves me in peace. That¡¯s how it always is." A dark shadow crossed the healer¡¯s face, and her voice faltered. "But now... now I fear that she will turn her anger upon me, or worse still, accuse me of blood magic."


    Before Tamlin could respond, the recruit rose swiftly and crossed the infirmary. She placed a steady hand on the woman¡¯s trembling shoulder. "I swear I will not let that happen! Tamlin will speak to the Knight-Captain about Eda¡¯s behavior and will get stationed here until I¡¯m a full-fledged Templar. After that, I¡¯ll request this post myself to guard you and Bethany from any other perverts.¡± Ilara¡¯s lips parted in astonishment at Anne¡¯s fiery words, but she said nothing, allowing her to continue as the recruit turned to the Templar, "You will do as I say, will you, Tamlin?"


    Bethany, who had been watching the exchange from a distance, now stepped closer, her hands still coated with a salve from tending the burned apprentice, her expression one of tentative hope. Their combined gazes, heavy with expectation, caused a faint blush to creep up the man¡¯s ears.


    ¡°Right,¡± he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯ll talk to the Knight-Captain. Stop staring at me like that!¡±


    Bethany let out a soft sigh of relief, the tension in her shoulders easing, and Ilara¡¯s haunted eyes softened just a fraction.


    ¡°I... I appreciate it,¡± the healer said quietly. ¡°Thank you. I hope¡­¡± Her words trailed off as a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. She shook her head as if to banish the thought. ¡°Thank you. Truly. Now, I should go back to my patient.¡± She gestured to Bethany, her tone turning brisk. ¡°Come, let¡¯s finish the treatment.¡±


    The apprentice gave Anne a small, grateful smile before following Ilara back to the burned mage¡¯s cot. As Ilara walked away, she turned briefly to the recruit. ¡°I will be with you after I tend to the boy.¡±


    The young woman waved dismissively. ¡°No worries. Take as long as you need.¡±


    As the two mages resumed their work, Anne turned back to Tamlin, eager to pose her queries. ¡°Why did you mention Alrik earlier by the way? And who¡¯s this Eda buttering up?¡±


    The Templar¡¯s gaze shifted toward the door the female Knight had slammed moments before. He glanced around to ensure no one was listening, then nodded toward a quieter corner of the infirmary. ¡°Come here,¡± he said softly, motioning for her to follow.


    Anne¡¯s brow furrowed, but she trailed after him. Once they were out of earshot, Tamlin leaned in, speaking in hushed tones. ¡°This whole thing with Eda... It¡¯s not just her being a horny creep abusing power. I¡¯m sure today was Alrik¡¯s doing. It¡¯s sabotage, An. A plain and simple attempt to make you stir up trouble and get thrown back into the cells right before your test.¡±


    Anne stiffened, her blood running cold. The Knight-Lieutenant¡¯s plan would have absolutely worked if not for Tamlin. She would be brawling on the floor with Eda right now, guilty of starting another fight. Bethany and Ilara were kind souls, but they weren¡¯t the bravest¡ªthey wouldn¡¯t have dared to defend her for fear of Alrik¡¯s punishment. The scars on her back ached at the thought, and she shivered. ¡°I know he¡¯s mad I won¡¯t play his bloody game, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t just about you,¡± Tamlin cut in, his voice grim. ¡°This is bigger than either of us. Look, I didn¡¯t want to tell you this before, you needed to focus on your studies and recovery, not get distracted by politics, but the Order¡¯s splitting apart at the seams. It¡¯s damn near a civil war in the Gallows.¡±


    Anne blinked, jaw dropping. ¡°What? Since when!?¡±


    Tamlin dragged a hand through his coppery hair, letting out a heavy sigh. ¡°Since Captain Cullen started cracking down on folks spreading gossip about you. The Order is divided into two camps now. On one side, you¡¯ve got the Knight-Lieutenant and his pals. They¡¯re Templars coming from families with titles, money, and connections. They think that Alrik is the right one to lead. They do not fancy the idea of a Ferelden upstart with a dog giving them orders. On the other side, there¡¯s Cullen and the rest of us¡ªcommon folk. Farmhands, blacksmiths, merchants¡¯ sons, and daughters. We¡¯re larger in number, but we don¡¯t have the kind of funding or influence Alrik¡¯s people do. And trust me, that influence makes all the difference.¡±


    Anne¡¯s jaw tightened as she processed the information. ¡°And Eda? She¡¯s one of Alrik¡¯s?¡±


    Tamlin nodded grimly. ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s kissing up to him, hoping he¡¯ll throw her a bone when¡ªif¡ªhe takes power.¡±


    Vexation rose within her. ¡°This is insane. The Templars are supposed to protect people from magic, not play power games.¡±


    Tamlin shrugged. ¡°Yes, well, the Order¡¯s ideals and its reality ain¡¯t always the same, are they? Alrik wants Cullen¡¯s position. Andraste¡¯s burning tits, he probably has his eye on Knight-Commander after that. And this¡ªwhat Eda pulled¡ªis just one of his many schemes to chip away at the Knight-Captain¡¯s support.¡±


    Anne¡¯s frustration turned to confusion. ¡°But... Knight-Commander Meredith. Why doesn¡¯t she stop this? Isn¡¯t it her duty to keep order within the Gallows?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s tricky, An.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± she pressed, her tone sharper.


    ¡°Meredith isn¡¯t a fool,¡± he replied, his voice even quieter now. ¡°She knows what¡¯s happening, but as I told you, Alrik¡¯s allies aren¡¯t just Templars. They¡¯re former nobles. They have connections outside the Order. Powerful merchants, Chantry clerics, and magistrates. If she moves against them it will have to be for outright treason or criminal behavior, or else she risks alienating those nobles. And if they pull their funding¡ªor worse, call for her removal¡ªher life is going to get really tough. Yet, she also can¡¯t let them overstep too much, or she risks losing her authority completely. It¡¯s a delicate dance, and she¡¯s not willing to stick her neck out unless she has to.¡± Anne¡¯s hands balled into fists as the Templar continued, ¡°But Captain Cullen is not giving up. That¡¯s why you becoming a Templar is so important. You¡¯re one more voice on his side. One more loyal Knight to support him.¡±


    At his words Anne¡¯s resolve hardened more than ever. She straightened her back, her eyes blazing with determination. ¡°Then I¡¯ll pass this bloody test, take a Vigil, and become a Templar come what may, even the Blight itself!¡±


    Tamlin¡¯s lips quirked into a small smile. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Just don¡¯t get so fired up that you forget the material, Ogre.¡±


    Anne¡¯s smirk returned, her defiance undimmed. ¡°Shut it, horse-face. I said, I¡¯ll pass, and I will.¡±


    Tamlin chuckled, the weight in the room lifting a bit. ¡°Yes, yes. Now, come on. We¡¯ve still got a lot to cover before Ilara gives you a final look, and I ain¡¯t letting all my forehead-flicking go to waste.¡±

 The Templar (part2)

    The chamber in which Anne was to face her final test had not been built for such purposes. It was an archive, a place where letters, reports, and missives¡ªeverything that passed between the mages and the world beyond¡ªwere stored once the enchanters had deemed them read and set aside. Yet, as was so often the case in the ancient halls of the Gallows, rooms took on new meanings when necessity called for it, and now this quiet, dust-laden space had been transformed into a trial chamber where a Templar¡¯s knowledge would be judged.


    The shelves, sagging under the weight of countless documents bound in yellowed parchment and coarse twine, looked like they could crumble at any moment. The air was dry and thick, disturbed only by the slow descent of dust motes in the thin beams of light that filtered through the high, narrow windows. Anne stood still, her back straight, her hands clenched, but despite her best efforts, she could not keep her nose from twitching. She prayed to the Maker that she would not start her test by sneezing directly into the stern, unyielding face of the Knight-Corporal before her.


    Meanwhile, Knight-Corporal Tobias, a man of strong build and cold eyes, regarded her with a gaze that was both assessing and inscrutable. Behind him, a row of Templars stood in solemn observance, their faces like masks, revealing nothing of their thoughts.


    "Templar-Recruit Anne of Lowtown," Tobias began, his rough voice softened by a faint undercurrent of solemnity. "You have trained your body, mind, and soul in service of the Maker and the Order of His Bride. Are you prepared to be tested?"


    Anne swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and nodded. "I am, Knight-Corporal."


    The test began with a quiet intensity. The questions came swiftly, each one a blade probing the strength of her knowledge. The Chant of Light, the history of the Order, the nature of magic and its perils¡ªall demanded to be answered instantly, and she offered the replies as best she could, her voice steady though her heart quaked.


    After a while, the questions grew more intricate, touching upon the complexities of demonology and the ever-present threat of possession. Anne''s mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of half-remembered lessons and the hurried teachings Tamlin had imparted during her recovery. She faltered once or twice, but overall, she felt confident that her responses were accurate.


    At last, Tobias nodded, a faint flicker of approval in his eyes. "You have done well, Templar-Recruit Anne. Your knowledge is sound. But knowledge alone is not enough. A Templar must also possess discipline, focus, and unwavering faith. You will now begin your Vigil."


    Anne bowed her head, her heart swelling with relief¡ªthe most challenging part was behind her. What came next, the Vigil - a trial of the spirit¡ªseemed almost trivial: three days of constant prayer, without water, food, or sleep, to seek the guidance of the Maker in the silence of a small, dark chamber. It was nothing compared to what Alrik had put her through. The corners of her lips twitched into a faint smile. The bastard had done his job well, hardening her spirit. She didn¡¯t doubt for a moment that she would breeze through this part.


    Yet as Anne stepped into a small, windowless chamber¡ªbare save for a single, battered chamber pot¡ªshe quickly found herself humbled. When the heavy door swung shut behind her with a deep, echoing thud, plunging the room into silence and pitch-black darkness, a shiver ran through the recruit, and before she could stop it, memories of her time in the cells rushed to the surface unbidden.


    She was on the floor again, the cold stone slick with her own blood. Her limbs too weak to move and reach for a healing potion, her vision swimming as the shadows stretched long and endless around her. The iron tang of blood on her tongue, her back a burning agony of pain, the despair and helplessness all-consuming.


    Anne¡¯s breaths came in shallow gasps, her frame trembling. She pressed her back against the wall, willing herself to be still, but the panic crawled up her throat, clenching tight like a fist around her windpipe. In desperation, she clung to the one memory that could anchor her. She closed her eyes and called forth the image of the Knight-Captain. His hand, strong yet gentle, resting on her head, the reassuring weight of it as his fingers combed through her hair. She held onto that warmth, that kindness, as if it were a lifeline. He had always been the one to remind her that she could endure, that there was light even in the darkest of places.


    ¡°My hero, give me strength,¡± she whispered to herself, steadying her breath. Slowly, she sank to her knees, forcing herself to find calm amidst the chaos of her mind. With a deep breath, she straightened her spine, forcing stillness into her shaking limbs. She clasped her hands together and began to recite the Canticle of Trials. Her voice wavered at first, but she did not stop. If the Templar beyond the wall did not hear her prayers¡ªif they doubted her faith for even a moment¡ªshe would fail the Vigil. And that could not, would not happen.


    By the end of the third day, Anne felt tired beyond measure¡ªher body hollowed out by hunger, but more than anything, by thirst. Her lips were cracked and raw, her tongue thick in her mouth, saliva turning to something sluggish and useless. Her head throbbed with a dull and ceaseless ache, and yet, in the strangest way, she felt at peace.


    So when the door finally groaned open, the rush of torchlight slicing through the black, she did not startle. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, her limbs stiff, her joints aching in protest. She squinted against the sudden brightness, her head swimming as she stepped forward on unsteady legs.


    Her throat was too dry to speak at first. She swallowed, though it felt like choking, and when she finally forced the words out, they were little more than a hoarse whisper. ¡°Please,¡± she rasped. ¡°Water.¡±


    The Templar before her¡ªfaceless in the glare of the corridor¡ªdid not move to grant her request. His voice was flat as he replied. ¡°Patience, for the moment ordained is still before us.¡±


    Anne nodded as she passed a hand over her face, forcing herself to stay upright and to keep moving forward.


    She was brought before the Knight-Corporal once more, this time in the dim hush of the Circle¡¯s Chapel. The air was heavy with incense, the candlelight flickering against the solemn faces of the senior Templars who stood in a ring around her. Tobias, his countenance grave, watched her with the patience of one who had seen this moment repeated many times before.


    From the shadows, a Sister approached, a small vial of lyrium cradled in her hands. Its soft blue glow pulsed like a living thing, its light casting long, trembling reflections upon the stone floor. She murmured a prayer, her voice weaving through the silence, low and steady, invoking the Maker¡¯s blessing.


    "First, allow me to offer my congratulations, Anne of Lowtown," Tobias began. "You have endured the trials of mind and spirit and emerged victorious. In doing so, you have proven yourself worthy to stand among the ranks of the Templar Order." He paused, allowing his words to settle, his piercing gaze fixed upon her. "Now," he continued, his tone grave and reverent, "you stand at the threshold of your final initiation. To fully embrace your destiny as a Templar, you must partake of the lyrium. Know this: it is both a gift and a burden. It will grant you the power to smite demons and maleficarum, to shield the innocent, and to uphold the sacred duties of our Order. Yet, it will also bind you, body and soul, for the rest of your days. Once consumed, there is no retreat, no reprieve. The path you choose today is irrevocable. Do you understand the weight of this choice? Do you accept the sacrifices it demands? Speak now, and let your words be true."


    Anne¡¯s throat burned, her very bones aching with thirst. The vial, with its shimmering promise of something liquid, filled her vision. The Templars, the Sister, the solemn rites¡ªall faded into mere shadows behind it. At this moment, she would have sworn to anything, agreed to any vow, if only to quench that unbearable thirst. "I understand and accept it."If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The Sister stepped forward, lifting the vial to the recruit¡¯s lips, her voice a soft benediction. "By the Maker¡¯s will, may this blessed lyrium quench your thirst, strengthen your spirit, and be a shield against the wickedness of magic."


    The lyrium was cold against her cracked lips, a relief so sharp it nearly undid her. Anne drank greedily, the liquid burning as it slid down her parched throat, its unnatural chill spreading through her like ice in her veins. For a single, blissful moment, the thirst that had tormented her vanished, replaced by a flood of sensation so overwhelming that she barely registered the way her limbs trembled.


    Then the fire came.


    It started deep in her chest, a searing heat curling through her ribs, spreading outward with every pulse of her heart. Her breath hitched. The world around her blurred, colors sharpening and smearing in dizzying waves. The Chapel¡¯s stone walls, so familiar, now seemed too bright, too close, their edges humming with energy she had never noticed before. The Knight-Corporal addressed her again, yet his voice was distant, warping as if carried through water.


    Anne clenched her hands into fists, desperate for something solid¡ªsomething real¡ªto hold onto. But the lyrium was already sinking deeper, threading through her blood, seeping into the marrow of her bones. She felt weightless and unbearably heavy all at once. Her mind swam, a thousand thoughts splintering into something raw and untethered.


    She gasped, staggering back, and then everything went black.


    When Anne opened her eyes, she found herself standing in an abyss¡ªan endless void stretching beyond sight, where neither sky nor earth existed, only darkness vast and impenetrable. A melancholy tune, strange and distant, began to echo around her, its notes stirring something deep within her soul¡ªa faint longing for something forgotten. But the moment of stillness did not last. Suddenly, from the very heart of the darkness, chains of blue light burst forth, twisting and coiling around her like serpents. Cold and relentless, they wound tighter and tighter, their touch burning her skin with a cruel, searing pain. She struggled, gasped, but the chains only pulled harder, dragging her down, deeper into the nothing.


    Anne clenched her jaw, summoning all her will to resist, but each movement only made the grip of the chains stronger. And yet, as if in answer to her silent cry, a brilliant light erupted from within her. The chains recoiled at once, hissing and writhing like living creatures, shrinking back from the radiant glow. The light swelled, filling the void, and began to take shape¡ªa figure, tall and majestic, materialized before her. It was a Templar, clad in shining armor, his form towering, his sword raised high, gleaming like the morning sun. Anne¡¯s heart leapt with sudden recognition of her hero.


    ¡°Knight-Capt¡ª¡± she began to exclaim.


    ¡°Stand firm, child,¡± the radiant figure interrupted, its voice steady and commanding. ¡°You will not be bound by the blood of the Titans, but by the Code of Honor.¡±


    With a swift and mighty stroke, the Templar¡¯s sword descended, its blade slicing through the chains. They shattered with a sound like breaking glass, scattering into countless shards of blue light that dissolved into the void. The darkness trembled, as if recoiling from the force of his presence, and before Anne could fully grasp the enormity of what had happened, she felt herself being lifted, rising from the depths, pulled inexorably back toward the waking world.


    Anne awoke with a sharp gasp, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. For a moment, her surroundings were blurred, her mind disoriented, still half-entangled in the dream or vision that had consumed her moments ago. As her eyes adjusted to the midday light streaming through the high windows, she realized with a sudden jolt that she was no longer in the Chapel but lying on the cot in the Templar barracks. The chamber was surprisingly still, the wooden cots around her empty, though it would be an expected sight at this hour.


    She pushed herself upright, her muscles aching as if she had fought a great battle. From beyond the closed doors, the distant sounds of footsteps, the clinking of armor, and muffled voices wove together, a steady hum of life beyond her solitary moment.


    And then, realization struck. If she was here¡ªno longer among the recruits¡ªthen she had done it! She was a Templar now!


    A voice cut through the quiet, low but clear, drawing her from her thoughts.


    ¡°Awake at last.¡±


    Startled, Anne whirled around to see the golden figure standing there, his presence as luminous and commanding as it had been in the void. His sword was sheathed at his side, his bearing proud yet at ease.


    ¡°Knight-Captain Cullen!¡± she exclaimed as she tried to rise from the cot. But her strength faltered, and she fell back onto the thin mattress, her body still weak from the trials of the Vigil. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, steadying herself, and spoke again, her tone both reverent and bewildered. ¡°Forgive me, Ser. I have not yet recovered my stamina. I¡­ I saw you. In the void... How did yo-¡±


    ¡°I am not who you believe me to be, child,¡± the golden figure interrupted her.


    ¡°What do you mean, Ser?¡± Just as when she first met him, the helmet hid his face, but the voice was undeniably Cullen''s. Yet even as the words left her lips, a creeping realization took hold. The light that surrounded the Knight-Captain was not merely the sun¡¯s reflection upon his polished armor¡ªit was something far more ethereal, a radiant glow that seemed to emanate from within. And¡­oh, Maker preserve her, the edges of his form flickered!


    Anne scrambled back, her pulse hammering in her ears, instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn¡¯t there. The figure did not move, nor did he seem surprised by her reaction.


    ¡°What are you?¡± She hissed. ¡°A demon?¡±


    "No, child," the Knight¡¯s voice cut through her rising panic, firm but not unkind. ¡°I am Valor, given form and purpose. I came to you when the blood mage sought to bind a foul spirit to your soul. It was I who shielded you from that grim fate, for I have glimpsed the spark of greatness within you and deemed you a vessel worthy of my presence.¡±


    Anne froze, her breath quick and shallow, her mind reeling under the weight of his words. A spirit bound to a mortal form¡ªthere was but one way to sever such a bond. Death. Why had this happened to her? Could she not be granted a single moment¡¯s respite? If she were discovered, it would be the end of her. Dread coiled deep within her, spreading like a poison. Cullen. He would despise her. He would see her as an abomination. He would try to kill her. ¡°No, this¡ªthis can¡¯t be real! You can¡¯t be inside me! Spirits possess, they corrupt¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Valor¡¯s voice was stern now, full of strength that allowed no room for argument. ¡°You will not speak of me as if I were some foul thing. I am no corrupter, nor do I prey upon your weaknesses or twist your desires. I do not tempt, but strengthen. That which is noble in you, I magnify. I am bound by honor, not malice, and you shall give me the respect I am due.¡±


    A tremor ran through the young woman. ¡°What do you want?¡± she whispered.


    Valor took a single step toward her, and though his presence was vast and unshakable, there was no malice in it. Only purpose. ¡°I am here to lend you strength in your hour of need, to uphold the virtue of valor. You shall bear me with you, child, and together, we shall wage noble battles in the name of justice and honor.¡±


    Anne hesitated, caught between fear and something else¡ªa fragile, desperate hope that perhaps things were not as dire as they seemed. She drew a slow, measured breath, willing her voice to remain steady, ¡°And you will never seek to control me?¡±


    ¡°I shall not impose my will upon you save for when you do stray from the path of the Code of Honor.¡± His form began to fade, the golden light dimming, dissipating into the midday air.


    Anne''s hand instinctively reached out. "Wait!" she called, but her fingers passed through the light, touching nothing but air. The figure of Valor shimmered, nearly gone.


    "If your resolve wavers," the spirit uttered, his voice now like a fading echo, "I shall be there to guide you back to the light of your purpose."


    And then, he was gone. The barracks were empty once more, the silence pressing down upon her like a bronto. Her mind swirled with questions. What is this Code of Honor?


    Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain tore through her left hand. She gasped, clutching her arm, her pulse racing with the shock of it. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing her forearm.


    Before the young woman¡¯s eyes, fine red lines began to etch themselves into her skin, stretching from her elbow down to her wrist. She could hardly look away, her heart pounding in her chest as the words appeared, written in blood like some sacred covenant. With bated breath, Anne read:


    Commandment I: Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness, for truth is the steel that binds the shield-wall of honor.


    Commandment II: Thou Shalt Face the Foe with Unbroken Resolve, for the warrior who falters betrays not only himself but all who depend upon him.


    Commandment III: Thou Shalt Honor the Adversary, for striking the defenseless or taking pleasures in cruelty stains the soul and dishonors thy name.


    Commandment IV: Thou Shalt Master the Arts of War, for excellence is the path of the true warrior.


    Commandment V: Thou Shalt Uphold the Righteous Cause, for justice is the sacred duty of the warrior.


    The writing stopped. The pain faded, leaving only the mark¡ªthe commandments¡ªseared into her flesh like a brand.


    Anne¡¯s gaze fixed on the words etched upon her skin. For a few moments, she traced her fingers over them, as if hoping to rub them away, but they remained indelible, a permanent reminder of the oath she now bore. She let her sleeve fall back into place, covering the commandments, and closed her eyes. At least now she knew why she had been so blunt and so hard-pressed to say anything but the truth all this time...


    The barracks were still empty, but she no longer felt truly alone. Valor''s presence lingered, like a distant, watchful force that would always be there, waiting.


    Maker¡¯s breath, she thought, her chest tightening.  Why can¡¯t I get a break?

 Dancing barefoot on broken glass

    The night was heavy, the kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting to break. Cullen sat on the edge of his bed, his hands clenched together, his shoulders tense. The room was dim, lit only by a single candle that flickered weakly on his desk. In the corner, Faith lay curled up on her blanket, her breathing slow and steady. She was asleep, untroubled by the worries that gnawed at her master.


    Cullen passed a weary hand over his face, yet it was not merely fatigue that burdened him¡ªno, it was something far heavier, a weight born of duty, ambition, and the ceaseless machinations of men. At the heart of it all stood Knight-Lieutenant Alrik, a man whose relentless drive for advancement knew no bounds. Alrik coveted Cullen¡¯s post with a singular intensity that left no room for scruple. The bastard didn¡¯t stop at anything, bending principles and breaking loyalties whenever it served his purpose.


    The Ferelden leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the bed, the rough texture of the wood grounding him as his mind churned over the day¡¯s events. Alrik, ever scheming, had wielded his family¡¯s wealth and influence like a blade in the dark. Through distant relatives and shadowy connections, he had orchestrated the deliberate delay of a vital shipment¡ªsupplies Cullen had personally vouched for¡ªleaving the Order in disarray and casting doubt on the Knight-Captain¡¯s competence. It was a masterful stroke, designed to erode Meredith¡¯s trust without leaving a trace of his own hand in the act.


    And it might have succeeded, had it not been for Thrask. A long-standing patron of the Blooming Rose, Thrask had, over the years, cultivated a network of informants¡ªprostitutes who knew the comings and goings of the city¡¯s elite. Through them, he had pieced together the threads of the scheme, tracing the delay back to Alrik¡¯s second cousins and their trade partners.


    Though in Cullen¡¯s eyes, the evidence pointed unmistakably to the Knight-Lieutenant¡¯s involvement, it was not enough to prove his guilt. Still, the truth had been laid bare before the Knight-Commander, and his reputation was saved. The Ferelden knew, with a heavy but grateful heart, that it was only thanks to the steadfast loyalty of men like Thrask and the other Knights who still believed in him that he had managed to preserve his position so far.


    Yet Alrik was not without allies in the Order either. He had gathered a faction of like-minded Templars, men who shared his disdain for Cullen ¡ª not only for his ¡®unearned rise through the ranks¡¯ and ¡®mongrel pet¡¯ but for something far more ingrained.


    Filth of the fields. Ferelden mudblood.


    That were the names they muttered in hushed voices, believing he would not hear.


    Cullen had always known there were those who looked down on him for his humble origins, but Alrik had turned that quiet contempt into a rallying cry. He had gathered the disgruntled, the proud¡ªthe ones who believed a Knight-Lieutenant of proper lineage was better suited to lead. Together, they were a constant thorn in Cullen¡¯s side, questioning his authority at every turn, challenging his decisions, and sowing doubt among the ranks.


    But Cullen could not relinquish his position¡ªnot to Alrik. It was not a matter of pride, nor a hunger for power, nor even the fact that the man was, at his core, so morally bankrupt that he had no place within the Order. No, it was something far deeper, something that burned within the Ferelden like an unquenchable flame: the truth. The truth he had witnessed with his own eyes, the truth etched into his flesh and carved into his soul.


    Mages were not merely men and women; they were volatile vessels of power most terrible. Magic was a curse, a force that could twist the purest of hearts and unleash horrors beyond comprehension. It was a truth one could not fully grasp unless they had lived through it¡ªunless they had felt the searing heat of its corruption, heard the screams of the innocent, and borne the scars of its wrath.


    Alrik knew nothing of this. He had not lived through it. He had not suffered, had not fought, had not bled. His world was one of politics and influence, of whispered deals and calculated maneuvers. He cared not for the dangers of magic, nor for the lives it could destroy. And that, above all else, was why Cullen could not yield. To do so would be to betray the truth he carried, the truth he had paid for in blood and pain. It would be to abandon those who relied on him to stand as a shield against the darkness. And so, he would endure, for there was no other choice.


    Faith let out a soft snore, and Cullen glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The candle was almost out now, its light fading. He sighed and walked over to kneel beside her, scratching behind her ears. ¡°You¡¯ve got the right idea, girl,¡± he murmured. ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s another day.¡±


    He stood and blew out the dying candle, plunging the room into darkness. Faith let out a contented sigh, and the Ferelden lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a heartbeat before closing his eyes.


    The dream came slowly, like a fog creeping over a frozen lake. Cullen found himself standing in the familiar halls of Kinloch Hold, but the stone walls were encased in ice, their surfaces glistening like mirrors in the pale, ghostly light. Snow fell from the ceiling in slow, silent drifts, dusting the ground in a thin, white blanket. The air was bitingly cold, so cold that he could see his breath clouding in front of him. He tried to flex his fingers, but they were stiff, almost lifeless, yet the numbness was almost a relief. It dulled the sharp edges of his thoughts and muffled the noise in his mind.


    He began to walk; the silence was deafening, broken only by the faint crunch of his boots as he moved forward. The halls were empty, the doors to the mages'' quarters hanging open, revealing dark, hollow rooms. He didn¡¯t know why he was here once again, but he couldn¡¯t stop. Something was pulling him forward, something he couldn¡¯t see or name.


    Suddenly his gaze was drawn to a small, leather-bound diary lying on the floor, half-buried in the snow. Cullen froze, his breath catching in his throat. He recognized it instantly. It was Neria¡¯s. His hands trembled as he reached for it, the numbness in his fingers making the simple act of picking it up feel clumsy and awkward. The diary was scorched, its edges blackened and brittle, as though it had been pulled from a fire. He opened it carefully, the pages crackling under his touch. Most of them were burned away, their words lost to ash. But one page remained, its edges singed but the writing was still legible.


    Oh, Blessed Andraste, grant me deliverance from this torture! Loving him is like dancing barefoot on broken glass...


    The words pierced his soul, crushing him under their weight. And then, like a floodgate breaking, the memories came. They hit him in flashes, vivid and unrelenting, each one tearing through the frozen stillness of the dream.


    The first flash was sudden and violent. The snow around him vanished, replaced by charred walls and ashen floors. He was locked in the magical cell, his body a frail, trembling shell, ravaged by withdrawal, by pain, by thirst, by hunger. The barrier of the cell burned against his skin as he pressed his face against it, desperate to see, to act, to do something¡ªanything¡ªto stop the horror unfolding before him.


    Across the hall, Neria was there. Amidst the rabble, she knelt on the floor, her lithe hands bound tightly, the delicate fabric of her nightgown torn and blackened by fire and filth. Her head hung low, her white hair matted and streaked with soot, but even in her state, there was a defiance in the way she held herself, a quiet strength that refused to be extinguished.


    Uldred loomed over her, his face twisted into a cruel smile, a mask of malice that seemed to revel in her suffering.


    ¡°Dance for us, little bunny,¡± he sneered, his fingers glowing with the sickly red light of blood magic as he reached out to caress her face, the touch both intimate and vile. ¡°Your kind is known for their grace,¡± he mused, tilting her head so she was forced to meet his gaze. ¡°Show us.¡±


    Neria¡¯s body jerked unnaturally, her limbs moving against her will as the blood magic took hold. She stood, her feet bare, and stepped onto the shards of broken glass that littered the floor. Cullen¡¯s stomach turned as he saw the blood welling up beneath her feet, staining the ground crimson. She tried to scream, but no sound came out¡ªonly a choked, strangled gasp.


    Cullen slammed his fists against the barrier, his voice raw as he shouted her name. ¡°Neria! Stop it, you bloody bastard! STOP IT!¡±


    But the maleficar only laughed. ¡°You can¡¯t save your whore, Templar. You can¡¯t even save yourself.¡±


    The second flash came, and the scene shifted.


    Cullen was still standing in his cell, but now he could see more¡ªmages and Templars alike, their bodies twisted and broken, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. Neria was still dancing, her movements jerky and unnatural, her feet leaving bloody footprints on the floor. Her eyes were wide with pain and despair, and Cullen could see the tears streaming down her face. He wanted to look away, to close his eyes and block out the horror, but he couldn¡¯t. He owed it to her to bear witness, to remember what she was enduring.


    ¡°Please, Uldred,¡± he whispered, his voice breaking. ¡°Please, stop this¡­¡±


    The third flash came like a wave of nausea, pulling him deeper into the nightmare, deeper into the agony.


    His eyes were squeezed shut¡ªhe was ultimately too weak to witness it all, too broken to endure the sight. But he could not block out the sounds.


    Wet squelches of Neria¡¯s steps as blood spattered the floor in rhythmic splashes, the gurgling moans of abominations, the whispering hisses of demons, and the low crackle of dark magic; they all slithered into the depths of his tormented mind, coiling there like serpents. And the stench¡ªMaker, the stench¡ªrotting flesh, blood, sweat, filth, and death, thick enough to choke him.


    "You ungrateful Chantry dog!" Uldred¡¯s voice rang out. "I made this show for you, and you dare not to look? Open your eyes, Knight, or I¡¯ll finish your whore off!"


    Cullen forced his swollen, crusted eyes open. The lids felt like lead, but the pain of seeing was worse than any physical torment.


    The walls, slick with pulping gore, pulsed like a thing alive all around them.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Neria was no longer alone.


    The desire demons circled her, their movements fluid, languid¡ªlike dancers at some unholy revel in the Black City. Their claws trailed over her as they passed, cutting, slicing deep into her arms, her back, her legs. Fresh rivulets of blood trickled down her torn flesh, mingling with the filth and sweat that clung to her. What little remained of her gown was soaked through with crimson, its shreds plastered against her frail body. Her eyes¡ªthose brilliant, defiant eyes¡ªhad lost their fire. They were dull now, glassy, unfocused as if she hovered on the precipice of oblivion.


    Tears burned hot in Cullen¡¯s eyes, carving a path down his gaunt, unshaven cheeks. His broken, bloodied fists pounded against the magical barrier, the pain lancing up his arms, shooting through his fractured bones. But nothing could compare to the agony clawing at his heart.


    "Neria¡­" His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse, trembling. "Please, no¡­ please¡­"


    And then¡ª


    Her eyes met his.


    For one fleeting moment, there was recognition. A flicker. A spark. She was still there. Still fighting. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak.


    Suddenly, the doors to the chamber burst open with a deafening crash.


    A dwarf, stocky and grim, charged in first, wielding a massive axe that glinted in the dim light. His face was twisted with fury, and without hesitation, he launched himself at Uldred. Beside him, a red-haired woman raised her bow, her arrow already loosed before she had fully stepped inside. And there, towering over them both, was a Qunari¡ªa massive figure wielding a two-handed sword, its blade gleaming like a harbinger of death.


    Cullen¡¯s tortured mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. But his eyes never left Neria.


    The dwarf roared and swung his axe in a wide, furious arc toward Uldred. But the maleficar was quicker, his movements unnaturally fluid, and with a flick of his wrist, he conjured a shimmering barrier that deflected the blow with a resonant clang. The room erupted into chaos, a cacophony of steel meeting claws, the low thrum of magic vibrating through the air, and the snarls of demons and abominations clashing with the battle cries of the newcomers. It was a maelstrom of violence, each moment stretching into an eternity of struggle and fury. And then, in one final, horrifying instant¡ªa breath suspended between life and death¡ªit happened.


    The Qunari charged forward, his sword raised high, but it wasn¡¯t Uldred or the demons he was aiming for. It was Neria.


    "No! No! NO!" Cullen screamed, his voice tearing through the air. ¡°She is not one of them!¡± But it was too late. The Qunari¡¯s blade swung down, cleaving through the elf¡¯s neck in a single, brutal stroke. Her body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, and her head tumbled after it, rolling to a halt just inches from Cullen¡¯s cell.


    The world froze. Everything stopped. The sounds of battle, the clash of steel¡ªall of it faded into the background, swallowed by the ringing in his ears. His chest tightened as he sank to his knees, staring at the severed head.


    Her eyes¡­ Those empty eyes continued to hold him, trapping him in their gaze.


    And then, she blinked.


    Cullen woke with a start, his body jerking upright in the darkness. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his skin slick with sweat despite the chill in the room. For a moment, he remained motionless, battling the storm within, willing his breath to calm, his heart to cease its furious pounding.


    A soft whimper broke through the haze of the nightmare still gripping him.


    Faith.


    In an instant, he became aware of his hands, his fingers clenched tightly around her, his grip too firm¡ªtoo harsh. She had been nudging him, trying to wake him, and he had latched onto her without thinking. Guilt surged through him as he quickly loosened his hold, pulling his hands away as if burned. ¡°Maker, I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    Faith gave a small huff and licked his hand, her warm breath ghosting over his fingers. She didn¡¯t shy away, didn¡¯t retreat from him. No matter how often he woke in the middle of the night, broken from whatever horrors replayed in his mind, she was always there. Always patient. Always enduring.


    With a shuddering exhale, he reached out again¡ªtentatively this time¡ªhis touch softer as his hand glided over her black fur. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"


    Faith pressed closer, her warmth a balm against the jagged edges of his waking dread. Her eyes searched his, questioning him in her way, a low whine escaping her as if to ask how deeply the night had wounded him this time.


    He swallowed hard, the ache in his throat near unbearable, the weight of unshed tears threatening to break him. The nightmare had stripped him bare, leaving him raw and exposed, as though the past had clawed its way back to the surface, reopening wounds he had spent years trying to heal. He forced himself to breathe¡ªslow, deliberate breaths. In, then out.


    "It¡¯s all right, girl," he whispered, though the words felt hollow. The darkness pressed in, thick and suffocating, and he felt the familiar pull of it¡ªan undertow threatening to drag him beneath... He knew exactly what he needed to prevent himself from sinking too deep into the abyss.


    His hand found Faith¡¯s side. ¡°It¡¯s all right. Truly,¡± he murmured, his voice soft yet firm, as he nudged her gently toward her usual place in the corner.


    She hesitated.


    Even in the dim light, he could see the flicker of doubt in her yellow eyes, the way she lingered, ears flicking as if she could hear the falsehood woven into his words. But after a moment, with a quiet huff, she relented, circling once before settling onto her blanket.


    Still, her gaze remained on him¡ªwatchful, patient. Waiting.


    Cullen dragged a hand down his face, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet, the chill seeping into his bones as he pushed himself upright. His muscles protested, stiff with exhaustion. The Ferelden¡¯s gaze landed on the desk, the small lyrium kit resting there like an old trusted friend.


    His fingers trembled as he reached for it. The vial glowed faintly in the dim light, the blue liquid sloshing inside like liquid fire. He hesitated, his grip tightening. He had already surpassed the recommended dose for the day¡ªdoubled it, even¡­ It didn¡¯t matter.


    Right now, he needed silence.


    With a practiced motion, he downed the lyrium in one swallow. It burned its way down his throat, cold and sharp, before spreading through his veins like frost creeping over glass. Almost instantly, the tension in his body began to unwind, the sharp edges of his thoughts dulling. The pain and darkness were still there - he could feel them, coiled deep within his soul - but now they seemed distant, muted, as if they belonged to someone else.


    He exhaled, long and slow, staring at nothing. Faith rested her head on her paws, watching him with quiet concern.


    Outside, the night stretched on, indifferent to the ghosts that haunted him.


    The morning light filtered through the narrow windows of Cullen¡¯s office, casting a golden glow over the stacks of reports and correspondence cluttering his desk. He sat with a cup of lukewarm tea in one hand, the other shuffling through the latest pile of paperwork. The demands of his position never seemed to end, and today was no exception.


    As he waded through the dreary expanse of a particularly tedious report on weapon requisitions, something on the edge of his desk caught his eye. A folded piece of parchment, crisp and unassuming, lay there, neatly sealed with a small disc of wax. The imprint displayed the unmistakable insignia of a Knight-Templar, and below it, his title was inscribed as a recipient in precise, formal script. He recognized the handwriting immediately: Anne¡¯s.


    Cullen set down his tea and carefully broke the seal, unfolding the parchment with a faint sense of curiosity. Anne had only been knighted a few days ago and was meant to be taking it easy, doing simple tasks around the barracks while her body adjusted to lyrium. What could she possibly have to write to him about in such a formal manner? He began to read, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in her words.


    Knight-Captain Cullen,


    I write to submit two requests that I believe will allow me to better serve the Order and support your command.


    First, I request assignment to the infirmary. Having spent considerable time there, I can attest that it remains consistently understaffed, particularly in light of recent incidents. You may recall the situation involving Knight-Templar Eda and Senior Enchanter Ilara. It is my intent to ensure that such occurrences do not repeat themselves. My presence alone may serve as a deterrent, and if not, I will act by protocol to safeguard those under my charge.


    Second, I respectfully request to continue maintaining your quarters. I understand that such duties typically fall to the Tranquil or recruits and that my rank makes this request unconventional. However, given the current state of affairs within the Gallows, I believe it is prudent that you have someone you trust in this capacity. Your quarters are private spaces, and I would see them handled with discretion and respect that befits your station.


    I recognize that this may be met with scrutiny or serve to rekindle rumors you have worked diligently to quell. If so, I will face whatever criticism arises. Those of true consequence will understand the necessity of trust in uncertain times; those who do not will find no shortage of other matters to gossip about.


    With the highest respect,


    Yours in service,


    Knight-Templar Anne of Lowtown


    Cullen read the letter twice, his expression shifting from curiosity to contemplation. The first request was straightforward, and he had no reservations about granting it. Anne¡¯s dedication and integrity made her an ideal candidate for the infirmary, and this role was also well-suited for a Templar beginning their service, offering a position of lower risk while they honed and mastered the powers bestowed upon them by lyrium. It was the second request that gave him pause.


    He leaned back in his chair, the parchment resting on the desk in front of him. Anne¡¯s reasoning was sound, and her loyalty was beyond question. But the implications of allowing a full-fledged Knight to clean his quarters were not lost on him. Alrik and his followers would seize on it as evidence of favoritism¡ªor worse.


    Cullen exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his tight curls, his fingers catching on the knots of tension at his scalp. Anne had spoken the truth¡ªthose who despised him had long since decided what they thought of him. Whether he allowed her to continue cleaning his quarters or not, their opinion would remain unchanged. And yes, trust was a rare thing in the Gallows, a luxury he could scarcely afford to turn away. If her presence in his chambers meant one less knife at his back, one less betrayal waiting in the dark, then perhaps it was a risk worth taking.


    Besides, Faith had taken to the girl¡ªthat much had been obvious. He could still see the mabari¡¯s eyes watching Anne, the slow, deliberate way she had licked away the former recruit¡¯s tears in the infirmary. And then there was that moment, fleeting yet strange, when Faith had placed his hand over Anne¡¯s head, urging him to offer some measure of comfort beyond words.


    The Ferelden grimaced at the memory. Maker¡¯s breath, why had he scratched behind Anne¡¯s ear? A gesture so natural when soothing Faith, yet wholly inappropriate when extended to a fellow Templar. The girl had not recoiled, had not laughed nor looked at him with scorn¡ªbut that did not make it any less absurd. Then again, he thought wryly, when had he last offered kindness to anyone but his loyal hound? Years, surely. Long enough that such gestures felt foreign and clumsy.


    Cullen glanced down at Faith, the mabari beside him watching her master with unwavering focus, her head tilted slightly as if already sensing he was about to say something.


    ¡°What do you think, girl?¡± He murmured, running a hand over the dog''s broad head. ¡°Anne wants to keep tending to my quarters. Says I should have someone I trust handling it.¡±


    Faith, with the certainty only a mabari could possess, let out a single, resolute bark.


    Cullen remained still, watching her. No hesitation, no doubt. Just a simple truth, spoken in the only way she knew how.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s decided.¡±


    He reached for a quill and a fresh piece of parchment, dipping the nib into the inkwell with a decisive motion. His response was brief but clear.


    Knight-Templar Anne,


    Your request to be stationed at the infirmary has been approved. Given your familiarity with its operations and the ongoing need for capable personnel, I trust you will fulfill your duties with diligence and professionalism. Ensure that protocol is followed at all times, and report any incidents directly to me.


    Regarding your second request, I acknowledge your concerns and the reasoning behind them. While I recognize the potential for speculation, trust and security take precedence over perception. You are permitted to continue maintaining my quarters; however, this remains a voluntary arrangement. Should you reconsider or encounter any issues as a result, you are to inform me immediately.


    Knight-Captain Cullen


    He sealed the letter with his own insignia and set it aside to be delivered. As he did, he felt a strange mix of relief and unease. The decision was made, and he would stand by it, but he suddenly couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this small act of trust would have larger consequences¡ªconsequences he would have to face sooner or later.


    For now, though, he pushed the thought aside. Whatever came next, he would face it with the same determination that had carried him this far.

 Unexpected Revelations

    Anne had come to dread bath time ever since becoming a Knight. It wasn¡¯t that she disliked being clean¡ªon the contrary, she relished scrubbing away the sweat and grime of the day. The issue was where the Templars had to do it: the Gallow¡¯s bathhouse, a place where privacy was as scarce as a Qunari without horns.


    While she was bound to the truth, letting anyone catch a glimpse of the commandments etched into her left forearm would be a death sentence. This was why whenever she needed a bath, she had to sneak around like a thief, hoping no one wandered in on her. This time she was extremely careful as well¡ªwaiting until the dead of night when even the most dedicated insomniacs were roaming the Fade.


    Entering into the chamber, Anne made sure that the place was empty. Perfect. She moved quickly, her fingers fumbling with the ties of her tunic and the laces of her boots, eager to get the ordeal over with.


    The air in the bathhouse was damp and heavy, carrying the faint scent of soap and mildew, mingled with the acrid tang of smoke from the dim torchlight that flickered weakly against the stone walls. Anne kept her head down, her eyes darting cautiously as she positioned herself near the closest basin, its water faintly rimmed with residue from previous uses.


    Taking a washcloth hanging nearby, she began to scrub, her right hand working in brisk, deliberate motions over her skin. Her left arm, however, was kept angled awkwardly away from the light, tucked close to her body, just in case.


    Suddenly, commandment number five ¡®Thou Shalt Uphold the Righteous Cause¡¯, decided to make its presence known. It started as a tickle. Then an itch. Then a full-blown, raging inferno of irritation. Anne gritted her teeth and rubbed at it furiously. "Oh, come on," she muttered, shaking her arm. "Why can¡¯t I get a break!"


    She barely had time to process the fact that the letters had started glowing faintly before a familiar voice rumbled through the bathhouse.


    ¡°You shall not forget your vow, child.¡±


    Her body froze, the rag slipping from her fingers as a golden shimmer flickered right in front of her.  Before she could even begin to hope that she was imagining things, the ethereal form of Valor began to materialize, as if this were a perfectly acceptable time and place for his arrival.


    ¡°No. No, no, no. Not here, not now, spirit!¡± Anne spluttered, her face flushing as she frantically covered her chest and nether regions with her hands.


    But the damn spirit paid her no mind. He completed his form with an almost smug glow, unfazed by her protests. "There is no need for alarm. I merely came to speak with you."


    "Speak?! I''m¡ªI''m bathing!" Anne''s voice rose in incredulity as she curled tighter into herself. The fact that the bastard spoke with Cullen¡¯s voice made the situation even more unbearable. "You can¡¯t just show up when I¡¯m naked!"


    Valor stared at her, apparently utterly baffled. "Your bare form is of no concern. I dwell within your very soul. I have seen all that you are."


    "That is exactly the problem!" the Templar snapped as she slowly backed toward the shelf to snatch a towel and wrap it tightly around herself. "Have you no respect for privacy?¡± She waved her hand furiously. ¡°Get out! Shoo! Shoo!"


    The spirit crossed his arms, his glowing intensifying. ¡°I cannot and will not ¡®shoo,¡¯ insolent child. I am ever with you. Only death will part us.¡±


    "Well, I know that much, but can you at least, I don¡¯t know, turn around?" Anne gestured wildly. "Or disappear and come back when I''m fully clothed?"


    Valor regarded her for a long moment before, to her great relief, he slowly began to fade. ¡°I simply came to remind you that you have sworn a vow to honor the request of fair Bethany Hawke. The hour has come to fulfill your pledge.¡± His form nearly vanished. ¡°Five days I grant you. Should you falter or delay, I shall see the vow fulfilled by my own hand.¡±


    Anne groaned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. ¡°Oh, go already!"


    And just like that, he was gone. The Templar stood there, staring at the empty space where the spirit had been. The itch and the glowing on her arm subsided, leaving her in relative peace.


    "Of all the spirits I could¡¯ve been stuck with¡­" Anne muttered under her breath, glaring down at the etched commandments on her forearm. She sighed heavily. In the chaos of everything that had happened, she¡¯d completely forgotten about Bethany¡¯s plea¡ªto uncover the fate of the beggar she had tried to save at the market, the very act of kindness that had landed her in the Gallows. The apprentice was utterly shy¡ªno wonder she didn¡¯t dare to pester her with reminders. Now, Anne wishes she actually would have.


    "I''ll have to ask the Knight-Captain to look at her records after I''ve finished cleaning his chambers tomorrow, that''s my best chance of finding out what happened to that man," she murmured to herself, her mind already racing through the steps. The thought of involving Cullen made her uneasy. He already had enough on his plate without her adding to his burdens. But he was the only one she could turn to¡ªfrom all the Knights that held her in good enough regard to consider her request, he was the only one with the rank to access the records.


    And what choice did she have? Valor¡¯s ultimatum left no room for hesitation. Five days. She had five days to unravel this mystery, or the blighted spirit would take control of her body. And Maker only knew what would happen then. Better not to find out. Anne shuddered at the thought, tightening her grip on the towel. She would do this. She had to. There was no other way.


    After a night of exceptionally poor sleep¡ªthanks to a late-night washing, an unexpected visit from a spirit, and the nervous anticipation of getting to clean Cullen¡¯s chambers again, hopefully without an accident¡ªAnne woke up feeling like she¡¯d been trampled by a bronto. Her short hair, unruly and defiant, stuck out at odd angles, refusing to be tamed no matter how many times she tried to smooth it down. She sighed, running a hand through the mess, and resigned herself to yet another day of looking as though she¡¯d been dragged through a hedge backward.


    The morning service in the Gallows chapel passed in a blur of half-heard chants and drowsy nods. Anne¡¯s head bobbed forward more than once, her chin nearly meeting her chest, as the Chantry Sister¡¯s voice droned on like a distant hum. She jolted awake only when the final hymn echoed through the stone walls, its somber notes pulling her back to the waking world. Breakfast in the dining hall was no better¡ªa watery porridge that clung to her spoon like glue, its bland taste doing little to improve morale.


    She ate quickly, mechanically, her thoughts already on the day''s tasks. The infirmary awaited, and she was grateful for that. The Knight-Captain¡¯s approval of her position there had been a rare stroke of luck. The place was her sanctuary. She loved the smells¡ªsharp and clean, with the faintest hint of herbs¡ªand the hushed tones of the healers as they moved about their work. Ilara and Bethany, always kind and patient, made the infirmary feel almost like home. It was a dream, really, to be allowed to work there, and Anne cherished it more than she could say.


    But today, the Maker, in His infinite wisdom, seemed determined to remind her that even dreams must be tempered by reality. The morning had barely begun when the news arrived: a shipment of supplies had come to the Gallows. Crates upon crates of healing herbs, bandages, and other necessities for the infirmary had been delivered to the square. And, of course, Alrik¡¯s people couldn¡¯t resist making life harder for those loyal to the Captain. Instead of sending a few sturdy hands to help, they assigned the task to two old, frail Tranquils who looked like a stiff breeze might knock them over.


    Anne¡¯s heart sank as she watched them struggle under the weight of the crates, their faces blank and their movements slow. She couldn¡¯t stand by and let them suffer. Without a second thought, she stepped in, taking the burden upon herself.


    The day became a blur of backbreaking labor. Up and down the stairs she went, hauling crates that seemed to grow heavier with each trip. Her arms ached, her back screamed in protest, and her legs felt as though they might give out at any moment. By the time the last crate was delivered, the evening light had long since faded, casting the Gallows in a dim, amber glow from the torches that lined the corridors.


    Anne sat on a low stool in the infirmary, leaning against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her¡ªtoo tired to care about propriety. She had long since shed her Templar armor in favor of a simple brown shirt and trousers, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to her sweat-damp skin. Her boots felt like lead weights on her aching feet. With a heavy breath, she wiped the sweat from her brow and let her head thunk against the wall, utterly spent.


    Bethany came to hand her a glass of water, her kind eyes filled with gratitude. ¡°You¡¯re a blessing,¡± the apprentice said, her voice earnest. ¡°I don¡¯t know what we¡¯d have done if you hadn¡¯t stepped in. Those poor Tranquils¡­ Maker knows they shouldn¡¯t have been given such a task.¡±


    The young woman waved her off with a tired smile, downing the entire glass in one swift sweep. ¡°It¡¯s no big deal. Someone had to do it, and I¡¯ve got the shoulders for it, don¡¯t I?¡± She attempted a laugh, though it came out more as a wheeze. Bethany chuckled softly before taking the empty glass and returning to her duties.


    Just as Anne was beginning to relish the brief moment of rest, the infirmary doors swung open with a dramatic flourish, and in strode Tamlin. He greeted Ilara and Bethany politely, though a bit stiffly, but when his eyes landed on Anne, a wide grin spread across his face.


    ¡°Well, well, if it isn¡¯t the Gallows¡¯ very own Knight-Ogre,¡± the redhead said, leaning casually against the wall beside her. ¡°How¡¯s the hauling business treating you? I hear you¡¯ve been single-handedly keeping the infirmary afloat today. Or should I say, single-shoulderedly?¡±


    She groaned, too exhausted to muster a proper retort.


    Leaning closer, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. ¡°Andraste¡¯s flaming sword, what is that smell? You reek like a nug that¡¯s been rolling in a dwarf¡¯s boots after a month-long trip to the Deep Roads!¡±


    Anne lifted her arm, revealing a large, damp stain beneath her armpit. She pressed her lips into a thin line and wafted the air toward him. "Go on, take a deep whiff and choke on it, horse-face!"


    Tamlin stumbled back. ¡°You know, Antivan Crows would pay a fortune for something this lethal¡ªprobably bottle it and call it ¡®Essence of Doom.¡¯ My poor nose may never recover.¡±


    Anne smirked, an idea for how to get back at him crystallizing in her mind. She crossed her arms and raised her voice just enough to carry across the room. ¡°Senior Enchanter Ilara! You might want to take a look at Ser Tamlin here¡ªseems he¡¯s got a wounded nose.¡±


    Ilara, ever the diligent healer, immediately perked up, her blonde brows furrowing with concern. ¡°A wounded nose? Ser, what happened? Let me take a look¡ª¡± She hurried over, already a healing spell starting to form on her fingertips.


    Tamlin stiffened, his grin faltering as the woman stepped closer, the faint glow of magic flickering in her hands. His shoulders tensed, and he took a hurried step back, raising his hands in a placating gesture. ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine! Really, I¡¯m fine! Just a¡ªuh¡ªyou have nothing to worry about!¡±


    Ilara wasn¡¯t having it. She advanced, her healer¡¯s instincts in full force. ¡°Nonsense, even small injuries can escalate. Now hold still¡ª¡±


    Tamlin flinched as her magic neared, and in a swift, instinctive motion, he caught her wrist. Not harshly, but firm enough to halt her hand mid-air. The moment stretched between them, his grip tightening before realization struck and he pulled away from her like she was something hazardous.


    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry, I have to return to my duties,¡± he muttered, voice hoarse. His accusatory gaze darted to Anne for just a second before he turned sharply on his heel and strode away, his usual swagger absent.


    Ilara watched him go, rubbing her wrist. She let out a soft sigh. ¡°I should not have pressed him. I ought to have realized and offered a healing potion instead¡­I do hope it¡¯s not serious.¡±


    Anne swallowed hard, the victory she had wanted now feeling hollow. Valor stirred inside her, demanding honesty with a woman who was taking the blame for her actions. This time, she didn¡¯t even try to fight it¡ªshe had messed up, the spirit was right. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Senior Enchanter, his nose simply got offended by the smell of my sweat.¡±


    Ilara gave her a questioning look.


    She sighed. ¡°I was trying to get back at Ser Tamlin for his sharp remarks by playing on his issues with magic. It was a cheap shot and not my best moment. And I¡¯m sorry you got caught up in it.¡±


    Ilara studied her for a long moment. The young woman braced herself for disappointment or reproach, but instead, the healer simply said, ¡°Your honesty is always refreshing.¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Anne¡¯s words were cut off as the evening bells began to toll.  Her eyes widened in panic. ¡°Maker¡¯s breath, I¡¯m late for cleaning duty!¡±


    Hastily muttering her goodbyes to the healer, she scrambled to her feet and took off at a run, her footsteps echoing as she dashed all the way to the storage room. She flung the door open, her eyes scanning the shelves before snatching a bucket, a mop, a bundle of rags, and a stack of fresh linens. Her hands trembled slightly as she gathered the supplies, urgency driving her every move. Hurrying toward Cullen¡¯s chambers she could only hope he would be too occupied to notice her disheveled state and the stench of sweat that Tamlin had so kindly pointed out.


    As she rounded the final corner and rushed toward the Knight-Captain¡¯s quarters, Anne nearly collided with the man and his mabari as they hurried out.


    Lyrium resonance, deep and thrumming, like a song vibrating through her very bones, hit her. It wasn¡¯t just the usual faint hum she had begun to notice from other Templars after she took her vows¡ªhis song was thunderous, relentless, filling every space around him. The sheer force of it made her breath hitch. How much of it was he taking!? The young woman barely had time to process it, let alone react, before she registered the insignia of the Knight-Commander stark against the folded note in Cullen¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Anne.¡± His voice was clipped and distracted, acknowledging her with a brief nod, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. ¡°I¡¯ve been called to an urgent meeting. I¡¯ll likely be there for some time, so once you¡¯re finished, you can head back to the barracks. No need to wait for me.¡±


    She opened her mouth to reply, but he was already striding down the corridor, Faith trotting loyally at his side. The mabari gave a quick, sharp bark in her direction¡ªa greeting or a goodbye, Anne couldn¡¯t tell¡ªbefore disappearing around the corner with her master.


    The young woman stood frozen in the doorway, her arms still clutching the bucket, mop, and rags. The weight of her supplies suddenly felt heavier, as did the disappointment settling in her chest. She hadn¡¯t realized just how much she¡¯d been looking forward to this moment¡ªnot just the chance to look into Bethany¡¯s records, but the possibility of exchanging a few words, perhaps even a smile, with the Knight-Captain. It was foolish, she knew, to hope for such things, but the abruptness of his departure left her feeling hollow. With a sigh, she stepped inside Cullen¡¯s chambers, closing the door softly behind her.


    The room stood as she remembered it¡ªcluttered, yet not unbearably so, carrying the faint, familiar odors of parchment, ink, and the ever-present musk of a dog. And, of course, lyrium. Even in Cullen¡¯s absence, its ghost lingered, seeping from the sweat-stained shirts and towels, from every fabric that had absorbed the essence of his body as it expelled the blue-tinged liquid. As she stepped into the center of the room, the faint, insistent buzz from the chamber pot reached her ears as well. Her heart clenched. Captain Cullen was clearly consuming far more of the lyrium than was advised¡ªfar more than any sane man should. This was wrong. This would unravel his mind far sooner than it ought to.


    Panic rose in her chest, a fluttering, suffocating thing, as she wondered why he would do this to himself. But then she remembered: he was a seasoned Knight-Captain, a man who had seen more battles than she could imagine. He knew what he was doing. What could she, green and inexperienced, possibly understand? She shook her head as if to dislodge the troubled thoughts and resolved to begin her work. There was no use in dwelling on what she could not change.


    Anne set down her cleaning supplies and began her task, the rhythmic motions of sweeping and scrubbing offering a small, temporary reprieve from her spiraling thoughts. Yet, even as she worked, her mind wandered back to Cullen¡¯s hurried departure earlier that morning. What could have been so urgent? The Knight-Commander¡¯s insignia on that note had looked ominous, as all correspondence from Meredith did. Would she even have the chance to speak with him again? What if he was sent on some mission beyond the Gallows and she missed the five-day window Valor had given her? The more she cleaned, the closer she came to finishing; the more certain she became: she would wait for Cullen, no matter how long it took. She will not risk it. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    When she was finally done, the room, though still bearing the faint traces of its usual disarray, now smelled faintly of soap and damp stone. She straightened, wiping her hands on her shirt, and glanced out the narrow window. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale glow slowly swallowed by creeping dark clouds. A moment later, the first drops of rain tapped against the glass, quiet but steady. Why hadn¡¯t he come back yet?


    She tucked all her cleaning supplies and a tight bundle of dirty laundry into the furthest corner and began to pace. Maker knew how long she walked in aimless circles until she finally acknowledged her exhaustion. She needed to sit down, even if just for a moment. But where? The bed was Cullen¡¯s, and even in his absence, it felt wrong to sit there, as if she were trespassing on something private, sacred. The chair behind the desk was no better¡ªit was his space, cluttered with papers and maps, the weight of his rank and responsibilities etched into its very frame. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to disturb it. So, with a sigh, she sank to the floor, her back against the wall. The stone was cold, the chill seeping through her pants and into her bones, and she shivered, pulling her knees to her chest.


    Her gaze wandered the room in boredom when it landed on the blanket tucked into the corner between the bed and the wall. Faith¡¯s sleeping spot. Looking so unresistingly cozy... Anne hesitated for only a moment before crawling over to it. She settled onto the blanket, folding her legs beneath her, and was surprised by the warmth it held, as if Faith¡¯s loyalty and steadfastness had left an imprint in the fibers. The sensation was soothing, and she felt her eyelids grow heavy. Leaning back against the wall, her head tipped to the side. She didn¡¯t notice the exact moment she drifted off, only that one moment she was awake, and the next, she was not.


    She awoke to a loud clap of thunder. The room was dark now, the candles long since burned out, leaving only the faint silver glow of moonlight seeping through the window. Occasional flashes of lightning lit up the space in brief bursts, casting jagged shadows against the walls. Outside, the rain pelted furiously against the glass in a steady, relentless drumming.


    Her body was stiff, curled on the floor, her neck aching from the awkward angle. For a moment, she was disoriented, unsure of where she was or why the floor beneath her felt so warm. Then it all came rushing back¡ªCullen¡¯s absence, the cleaning, the blanket, the exhaustion. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the dim light of the room.


    At that moment the door creaked open, followed by the unmistakable sound of wet, slurping footsteps and the soft patter of paws against the floor. A gust of cool air swept in before the door swung shut with a quiet thud. Then came the familiar noises of armor being removed and the distinctive rhythmic shff shff of a furry animal shaking itself dry.


    Cullen and Faith were back.


    Anne stiffened. Well¡­ this is awkward. Wanting to announce her presence with some dignity, she began to crawl away from Faith''s sleeping spot, slowly, carefully, trying to move with as much grace as possible¡ªwhich, given the stiffness in her limbs, was not much.


    Meanwhile, Cullen paced the room, his boots heavy against the floor, his voice low and tight with frustration. ¡°I swear, Elthina summoned Meredith and me to the Chantry in the middle of the night just to prove she could,¡± he muttered, speaking more to himself than to his hound. ¡°Just to remind us who really holds the reins in Kirkwall. Maker¡¯s breath, I am so bloody tired of these games¡­¡±


    Faith huffed in reply and then bounded onto the bed with a burst of energy, her paws sinking into the soft comforter as she landed. Her head tilted to the side, ears perking up inquisitively, as her big, yellow eyes locked onto Anne. Shit. The hound let out a sharp, excited bark that echoed through the room, her tail wagging furiously behind her. The young woman squeezed her eyes shut, holding a hand up to quiet and calm the mabari.


    ¡°Come here and behave yourself, girl!¡± Cullen commanded sharply.


    Anne, startled, jumped to her feet, moving to obey the order before her mind could catch up.


    The Ferelden¡¯s eyes widened in alarm, his hand flying instinctively to his sword¡ªonly to grasp at nothing. It lay on the weapon stand, out of reach. Another flash of lightning slashed through the room, but neither of them flinched. The mabari, ever obedient, leapt from the bed with a soft thud and padded over to Cullen, leaving Anne standing alone, heat rising to her cheeks. The command had been meant for Faith¡ªnot for her¡ªbut that wasn¡¯t the reason her pulse pounded. No, it was the man before her.


    Cullen was drenched from the storm, his golden hair darkened by the rain and plastered to his forehead. Water dripped from the tips of his curls, trailing down the strong lines of his jaw and neck. His broad shoulders, usually encased in the familiar bulk of his armor, were now bare save for a thin, soaked shirt that clung to his muscular frame like a second skin. The fabric left little to the imagination, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the faint scars that marred his skin¡ªtokens of battles fought and survived. His pants were equally soaked, the fabric clinging tightly to his powerful thighs and¡ªAnne swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry¡ªother areas she tried very hard not to focus on. He was a vision of rugged, rain-soaked exhaustion, and it was doing things to her composure that she wasn¡¯t prepared to handle.


    "I thought you¡¯d left," he uttered finally, his posture easing as he spoke. His gaze flicked to the floor, then back to her, and she could almost see the question forming in his mind. "I didn¡¯t see you there."


    ¡°I¡ªI fell asleep while waiting for you, Ser,¡± she stammered, forcing herself to meet his eyes instead of the very distracting sight of his form. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¡ªI was just¡ªso tired, and I really needed to speak with you today. It¡¯s about apprentice Bethany Hawke.¡±


    Cullen blinked, rubbing a hand over his face before sighing as if he wanted to complain, but held his tongue. ¡°Can this matter wait until I change?¡± He picked his drenched shirt off his abdomen only for it to cling even tighter against him.


    ¡°Oh! Yes! Of course!¡± Anne blurted, nodding so quickly it was a wonder her head didn¡¯t fly off. ¡°I¡¯ll, uh¡ªwhile you do that, I¡¯ll just go fetch you some warm soup from the kitchens.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not necessary¡ª¡±


    But she was already halfway to the door. ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine! You¡¯re freezing, Ser, and you probably haven¡¯t eaten all day, and I¡ªI''ll just be right back!¡±


    Before he could protest further, Anne bolted from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.


    She strode down the hall at a brisk pace, willing the very improper thoughts out of her head. Andraste¡¯s burning tits, Anne, get a grip! He was her hero, her savior, not some wet, brooding, ridiculously handsome¡ªshe groaned, running a hand over her burning face. Stop that!


    By the time she reached the kitchens, she had almost regained her composure. Almost.


    A small cauldron simmered quietly over the hearth, kept warm for the Knights on night shifts. She grabbed a bowl and ladled some of the broth inside, the comforting scent of herbs and beans filling the air. As she turned to leave, her gaze landed on a small piece of bread someone had left unattended. Anne hesitated. Then, with a shrug, she snatched it up. Faith deserved a treat too, after all.


    The walk back took longer than she expected, each step a careful balancing act as she cradled the bowl of soup in her hands. The young woman moved at a snail¡¯s pace, hyper-focused on not spilling a single drop. The last thing she wanted was to show up at Cullen¡¯s door covered in broth like an idiot.


    When she finally reached his chambers, she exhaled in relief and knocked. "Knight-Captain? May I enter?"


    There was a brief pause before his voice came through the door, calm and steady. "Come in."


    Anne pushed the door open and stepped inside, her eyes immediately finding him bathed in the warm, flickering glow of countless newly lit candles. Cullen was seated behind his desk, dressed in fresh clothes¡ªa simple red tunic and trousers. He looked noticeably more at ease than before, though the exhaustion still clung to his features. His hair, still a little damp, had been brushed back.


    She stepped forward, practically giddy at the thought of feeding the Knight-Captain. Though as she walked, she noted that the once-pristine surface she had scrubbed clean mere hours ago was now ruined¡ªdirtied with mud and rainwater, all her previous efforts for naught. And yet, she didn¡¯t care. She carefully placed the bowl on his desk, along with a spoon. "Here. Fresh from the kitchens."


    Cullen looked at the offering for a moment before giving her a tired but genuine smile. "Thank you." He picked up the spoon and took a tentative sip.


    The young woman watched, a little too intently, as his eyes slipped shut for a brief moment, his shoulders easing as the warmth of the broth spread through him.


    "Good?" she asked, trying and failing to hide her eagerness.


    He exhaled slowly. "Better than good." Anne felt an absurd amount of pride at that.


    A soft whuff caught her attention, and she turned to see Faith sitting beside her, gazing up expectantly. "Alright, alright, you too." She crouched and offered the mabari the piece of bread she had snatched earlier. The hound took it delicately from her hand and chewed with clear satisfaction.


    Cullen chuckled, watching the exchange. "Well, it seems you''ve officially won her over."


    The young woman beamed, scratching behind Faith¡¯s ears. "You hear that, girl? We¡¯re friends now."


    Faith huffed in approval.


    As Cullen continued eating, Anne grabbed a cloth and set to work cleaning up the puddles, mopping up the mess without a word. By the time she had finished, the Knight-Captain was setting aside his empty bowl, looking at her expectantly. "You said you needed to talk to me?"


    The young woman hesitated, suddenly a little less sure of herself now that the moment had arrived. "Yes, Ser. As I mentioned before, it¡¯s about apprentice Bethany Hawke," she began carefully. "She¡¯s really worried about the man she was healing when the crowd attacked her. She doesn¡¯t know if he made it, and it¡¯s been weighing on her."


    Cullen''s brows drew together slightly, his expression unreadable.


    Anne pressed on. "I was hoping¡ªif it¡¯s not too much trouble¡ªyou could go through her records and see if there¡¯s anything about him. Just¡­ to find out if he survived." She looked at him earnestly. "I¡¯d be forever grateful if you could do this for her."


    Cullen leaned back slightly, considering her request. He didn¡¯t reply immediately, and Anne¡¯s stomach twisted with nerves. She knew she was asking a lot¡ªdigging through records wasn¡¯t exactly something the Knight-Captain had time for.


    After a long pause, he exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping idly against the desk. "I suppose¡­ finding out the man¡¯s fate is an appropriate request." His lips pressed into a firm line before he gave her a small nod. "Alright. I¡¯ll look into the records in the next few days."


    Relief flooded through Anne, and she straightened, smiling brightly. "Thank you, Knight-Captain. Truly. You don¡¯t know how much this means to me¡ªand to Bethany."


    Cullen offered her a tight-lipped smile in return, his eyes softening, but there was an unmistakable weariness in his gaze. He cleared his throat. "It¡¯s late. You should return to the barracks."


    Anne blinked. "Of-Of course, you¡¯re right, Ser. I¡¯ll head back.¡± The giddy warmth from earlier dimmed slightly, though she couldn¡¯t blame him. He needed his space and probably some much-needed sleep. Gathering her supplies, she went for the door. ¡°Good night, Knight-Captain." She then turned to the faithful hound. "Good night to you, too, Faith."


    The dog gave a soft, sleepy whuff of acknowledgment before heading to her blanket.


    Cullen nodded, giving her a small smile. "Good night, Anne. And¡­ thank you for the soup."


    With a nod and another smile, Anne slipped out of his chambers, quietly closing the door behind her. The moment she was out in the hall, the cool air greeted her, and she let out a long sigh, letting her shoulders relax.


    What a night.


    As she walked down the dimly lit corridors of the Gallows, her steps led her to the storage room. There she started to put her cleaning supplies and dirty linens where they belonged, the task taking her behind the stacks of spare blankets and unused cots piled high. She dusted her hands off on her trousers, planning to finish quickly and head straight to bed. But just as she turned to leave, the door to the storage room creaked open.


    Anne stopped mid-motion. It was rare for someone to come here at this time of night. She could hear the faint sound of footsteps¡ªtwo pairs. Then came a woman¡¯s soft, honeyed laughter, light and melodic, followed by the sounds of passionate kissing. A moment later, the unmistakable thud of something heavy being dragged across the floor broke the silence¡ªthe door was being barred, sealed shut.


    Great . Of course, her luck would have her stuck in here while someone¡¯s off having a midnight romp.


    She had half a mind to make some ghostly noises just to scare them off, but she wasn''t particularly keen on the idea of doing anything before she knew who she was dealing with, as that could backfire spectacularly. So she listened, trying to place the voices, yet it was hard to make out exactly who they were at first. They moved deeper into the storage room, their voices growing clearer with every step.


    ¡°I was waiting the whole day for this, my dear Sebastian,¡± the woman uttered.


    Anne¡¯s brow furrowed. She knew that voice. It belonged to the middle-aged, portly Sister with a prominent mole on her nose¡ªthe one who delivered daily sermons to the Templars. What was her name again? Marta? Yes, Marta. So¡­ Sister Marta was in here for a late-night tryst? She couldn¡¯t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. After all, wasn¡¯t it just rich that the woman who preached so fervently about moral purity was now tangled in her own web of hypocrisy? And who is exactly Sebastian? A new recruit, perhaps? Or maybe someone far more unexpected, someone who would make this scandal useful for the Knight-Captain¡­ She couldn¡¯t just walk away and miss this opportunity.


    Fabric rustled in the dim light, followed by the soft clink of a belt.


    "Our love is reckless, my lady, but I am willing to risk it all for you," the man murmured with a slight accent, though his voice was eerily familiar.


    "Sebastian, my darling, enough talking. Take me already," Marta purred, her tone thick with impatience.


    Anne cringed so hard she nearly turned inside out, yet she carefully shifted her weight to peer around the stack of supplies and get a glimpse of the pair. The flickering torchlight barely reached the far end of the storage room, but as the couple moved, she caught sight of a flash of red hair and a long, freckled face¡­Tamlin!


    The young woman quickly retreated behind her cover. Why was Sister Marta calling Tamlin ¡®Sebastian¡¯? And why was he speaking like some pompous noble from who-knows-where?  She had no idea, and frankly, she didn¡¯t care to find out. Whatever game the two of them were playing while tangled up in each other was of no use to her or Cullen or anyone else, for that matter. All she wanted now was to get out of here.


    She edged toward the exit hoping against hope that she could slip out unnoticed. But the door was blocked by a large crate that had been shoved in front of it. Moving it would make too much noise, and the last thing she needed was to alert the lovers. Besides the obvious trouble of Sister Marta discovering she¡¯d been eavesdropping, there was also the fact that she¡¯d already been enough of an arse to Tamlin today. Ruining his chance at getting laid would be overkill, even for her. No, she¡¯d have to wait it out, no matter how much she despised the idea of being an unwilling witness to this spectacle.


    Returning to her hiding spot, Anne curled up tighter, as if she could will herself into nonexistence. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms hard against her ears, desperate to block out the sounds emanating from the other side of the room. But it was no use. The storeroom¡¯s acoustics amplified every movement, every breath, into an inescapable echo. Her stomach churned with disgust. Maker, please, let this end quickly.


    But it didn¡¯t. She was forced to endure it, her body tense, her mind recoiling, until, in the midst of their coupling, a strangled, breathless sound cut through the air. ¡°An¡ª¡± Tamlin choked, his voice catching before he abruptly silenced himself.


    The young woman¡¯s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding violently in her chest. Had he just¡ª? No. It couldn¡¯t be. It had to be something else¡ªsomeone else. I¡¯m imagining things. I must be.


    A sharp, furious intake of breath came from Marta. Then a vicious slap. "What. Did. You. Just. Say?"


    ¡°N-Nothing, my lady,¡± Tamlin stammered as his rhythm came to a halt.


    "Nothing?" The word dripped with venom. A pause¡ªthen a sudden, sharp sound, like hair being yanked. Tamlin let out a muffled grunt of pain. "You absolute disgrace." The woman¡¯s voice turned to a snarl. "Do you even hear yourself? Again, you moan your sister¡¯s name while you''re inside me? Again, you ruin everything!"


    Anne clapped a hand over her mouth before a noise of shock could escape. She felt the blood drain from her face. What¡­ what had she just said? But Tamlin didn''t have a sister, neither he nor anyone at the orphanage ever mentioned her existence.


    ¡°I¡ªsorry. Ugh. Just ignore it,¡± Tamlin mumbled, his fake accent slipping away as panic edged into his voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t mean to?¡± Another vicious yank, another grunt of pain. ¡°You inbred mongrel. You are as sick and sinful as your father," the Sister spat. "Lusting after your own kin¡ªjust like that wretched, disgusting man who sired you!"


    Silence.


    Why didn''t he deny it!? Why? Why!?


    After a long, trembling pause, Tamlin whispered, ¡°I¡¯ll do better¡­ I¡¯ll be the best Sebastian Vael I can be¡ªfor you.¡±


    Marta scoffed. ¡°Yes, you will. Or I swear I¡¯ll make sure everyone in the Gallows and beyond knows what a sick wretch you are. Including your precious harlot sister, of course.¡±  Her tone shifted, dripping with mockery. ¡°Oh, she¡¯d be thrilled to hear all the sordid details you spilled during your confession to me at the Chapel, when you were too drunk to know what your foul mouth was spewing. How the desire demon the maleficar summoned only had to whisper the truth you already knew¡ªthat you¡¯re nothing but a sniveling pervert. That you hunt for your sister¡¯s dirty laundry, sniffing her filth while you pleasure yourself. That you¡ª¡±


    Tamlin made a strangled sound¡ªpart fury, part shame. "Enough! Shut your damn mouth! Just¡ªshut it!¡±


    "Why should I?" The Sister cooed, sickly sweet. "I haven¡¯t even gotten to the best parts yet. Imagine the girl¡¯s face if I told her, imagine her horror when she learns that all this time, you¡ª¡±


    A sudden scuffle. A sharp gasp. Then, a choking wheeze.


    Startled, Anne picked out from her hiding place. Through the flickering torchlight, she made out Tamlin¡¯s silhouette¡ªhis hands wrapped tightly around Marta¡¯s fleshy throat as she lay pinned beneath him.


    ¡°I said shut your bloody mouth, bitch,¡± he snarled through clenched teeth. ¡°I¡¯m sick of your threats, your scheming, and this whole bullshit of playing Sebastian. I''m done downing potions so I can get hard enough to fuck you, you blighted hag. You make my skin crawl.¡±


    The Sister clawed at his grip. "Go on. Kill me." she whispered, hoarse but taunting. "Do it. I¡¯m not afraid. I¡¯ll gladly watch from the Maker¡¯s side as they drag you to the pyre for my murder, as you scream and writhe, engulfed in flames, you bastard. They¡¯ll see you for what you are¡ªa filthy, twisted monster. And I¡¯ll be there, smiling, as you burn."


    Tamlin¡¯s fingers twitched, and for a moment, Anne thought he might actually do it. She was poised to intervene, her muscles coiled like a spring, when suddenly his hands fell away. He staggered to his feet, his movements jerky and unsteady, and yanked his pants up with trembling hands. Fumbling with his belt, he secured it in quick, uneven motions, his face pale.


    Marta coughed, rubbing at the red marks on her neck. She inhaled sharply, her expression twisting into something both smug and disappointed. Slowly, deliberately, she rose to her feet. She smoothed out her robes, composed herself, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, almost pitying. "You should be grateful to me, you pathetic little worm. I let you pretend, just for a few moments, that you¡¯re someone else¡ªsomeone worthy. Someone clean."


    Tamlin stood silent, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped.


    "If you ever act up again, I will ruin you. Do you understand me?"


    He didn''t answer, just stared at the floor as if in a trance.


    ¡°Waste of flesh,¡± the Sister huffed as she turned on her heel and stomped away, her chantry robes swishing behind her.


    Anne pressed herself deeper into the shadows. The crate scraped against the floor as Marta pushed it aside, and the door creaked open. With one last muttered insult, the woman stormed out.


    For a moment, nothing happened. Then Anne heard it¡ªa shaky breath. A sniff. And then, Tamlin let out a broken, quiet sob.


    After what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat. His footsteps retreated, slow and unsteady, and the door creaked shut behind him, leaving the young woman alone in the suffocating silence.


    Through the whirlwind of disbelief, she struggled to process the overwhelming revelations crashing over her. What in the Maker¡¯s name had she just witnessed? And more importantly, what was she supposed to do with it all?

 Remember where the line is drawn

    The rain had followed Cullen for days. It drummed against Gallows¡¯ roofs and pooled in the crevices of the training yard, a relentless gray curtain that blurred the line between dawn and dusk. He stood by the window in Meredith¡¯s office, his fingers resting lightly on the chilled glass, observing the Knights below as they moved through their drills. Their voices, though softened by the rain, carried a stubborn resolve, rising faintly through the downpour.


    The room smelled of damp stone and old parchment, mingling with the sharp bite of ink from the unfinished reports scattered across the Knight-Commander¡¯s desk. Meredith had summoned him at morning bells to discuss the Order¡¯s next steps, but midway through, she had faltered, her face drawn with illness. She had excused herself for a moment, though it was plain she was in no state to be working at all. Their forced march to the Chantry in the rain two days ago had seen to that. Yet she pressed on, as she always did. Fever, exhaustion¡ªmere inconveniences. Cullen admired that about her¡ªher relentless dedication, her refusal to yield to weakness.


    His eyes wandered to a crack in the windowpane, a jagged line that spidered outward like a frozen bolt of lightning. A Knight-Commander¡¯s office ought not to bear such flaws, yet Meredith never spared thought or coin on such trivialities. There was always something more urgent¡ªalways a greater need. He understood. He respected that, too.


    Meredith returned to the office, the sharp, herbal scent of elfroot and healing salves trailing behind her. Her steps were measured, her posture as rigid as ever, though the faint flush of fever still lingered on her cheeks. She seated herself behind the desk with a curt nod, her hands folding neatly atop the scattered reports. ¡°That should sustain me for a few more hours,¡± she said dryly, her voice carrying its usual edge. ¡°Let¡¯s continue.¡±


    Cullen nodded and made his way back to the table, though he couldn¡¯t help but notice the faint tremor in the Knight-Commander¡¯s hands as she reached for a parchment. She cleared her throat and began without preamble. ¡°There¡¯s been a report of a group of young elven apostates on the Wounded Coast. Likely Dalish¡ªtheir magic must have manifested, and their clan cast them out. We can¡¯t afford to let them roam freely. They are untrained and volatile. A danger to themselves and others.¡±


    The Ferelden¡¯s jaw tightened, a bitter thought rising unbidden. Humans often decried the Circle¡¯s treatment of mages, yet they were blind to the ways other races handled their own. The Dalish, for all their pride, simply cast their mages out when they became too numerous for the clan to handle, leaving them to starve or fall prey to bandits. And the Qunari, they chained their mages, sewed their lips shut, and called it mercy.


    For a moment, an image flashed in his mind: he takes the needle, cold and sharp, and drives it through some maleficar¡¯s lips¡ªfirst the upper, then the lower¡ªyanking the thread to make the process even more painful. The flesh resists slightly before yielding, a faint trickle of blood welling up as the needle pierces again and again, stitching the mouth into a permanent silence. The blood mage¡¯s muffled cries are swallowed by the thread, his madness contained, his power stifled. A grim satisfaction flickered in Cullen¡¯s chest, and the corner of his lip twitched, though he quickly schooled his expression back into neutrality.


    Yet Meredith¡¯s sharp eyes managed to catch even that slight movement, and she raised an eyebrow. ''Something amuses you?''"


    He straightened, his voice steady. ¡°No, Knight-Commander. Just considering the... complexities of the situation. The Wounded Coast is riddled with caves and crevices¡ªperfect for hiding. It won¡¯t be an easy task to root them out.¡±


    The woman¡¯s gaze hardened, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her desk. ¡°Precisely why you and Faith will lead the search. The City Guard patrolling the area has procured some rags that belonged to the apostates. The mabari will have no trouble picking up their scent.¡±


    Cullen nodded, though his mind was already turning over the logistics. ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll take a detachment of seasoned Knights. They¡¯ll be better equipped to handle the terrain and any resistance we might enco¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Meredith interrupted. ¡°You¡¯ll take the ones who¡¯ve yet to be tested in the field. This will be their trial by fire.¡± She reached for a parchment on her desk and slid it toward him. ¡°Here¡¯s the list. Ten names. They¡¯ll accompany you.¡±


    Cullen¡¯s eyes scanned the paper, and his frown deepened as he settled on two familiar names: Anne of Lowtown and Tamlin of Lowtown. The young man, he knew, had served for a little over a year¡ªa Knight of earnest effort, though his duties had been modest so far. This mission, indeed, might serve as a crucible for the boy, a chance to test his mettle against something greater than the routine. But the girl¡ªthe girl was another matter entirely. ¡°Anne of Lowtown? She was only knighted a few weeks ago. It¡¯s too soon to throw her into a mission like this.¡±


    ¡°Are you questioning my judgment? Or is it that you¡¯ve grown too soft on the girl? First, you assign her to clean your quarters, then you shuffle her off to the infirmary¡ªcozy, comfortable postings. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d think you were showing her undue favoritism.¡±


    Cullen¡¯s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation rising in his chest. He forced it down, his tone measured but firm. ¡°Knight-Commander, I assure you, my concern is for her readiness, not favoritism. She¡¯s untested. Sending her into the field now could endanger her and the rest of the team.¡±


    Meredith¡¯s eyes narrowed, her voice cold and unyielding. ¡°The list stands as it is. The Order does not coddle its Knights, Cullen. They either rise to the occasion or they fall. Do I make myself clear?¡±


    He met her gaze for a long moment, the weight of her authority pressing down on him. ¡°Yes, Knight-Commander. It will be done,¡± he said finally, his voice clipped. He took the list, folding it carefully and tucking it into his belt.


    The woman leaned back in her chair, her expression softening ever so slightly. ¡°See that you prepare them well for the mission. The apostates cannot be allowed to slip through our fingers. Dismissed.¡±


    The Ferelden turned on his heel and strode from the office, fighting the urge to slam shut the door behind him. The mabari that was waiting for him at the door joined him instantly on his way, wagging her tail. He acknowledged her absentmindedly with a few pats on the side.


    Meredith¡¯s words lingered, a bitter taste in his mouth. Favoritism. The accusation stung, not because it was true, but because it undermined his judgment. But then again, he knew that it was exactly what would happen when he approved Anne¡¯s request. Maker¡¯s breath, Anne¡¯s request! He had promised the girl to look into Bethany Hawke¡¯s records to uncover the fate of the man she had tried to save on the day her magic was discovered. The memory of her pleading eyes flashed in his mind, and he sighed.


    ¡°Come, girl,¡± Cullen uttered to his hound, who trotted obediently at his side. ¡°Let¡¯s make a quick detour to the archives. See what we can find.¡± He took a sharp turn to the left, his boots echoing against the stone floor as they made their way through the dimly lit corridors of the Gallows.


    The archives were a cavernous room, its high ceilings lost in shadow. Shelves stretched from floor to roof, crammed with scrolls, ledgers, and dusty tomes. Cullen moved with purpose, his fingers brushing over the tags on the scrolls until he found the one marked Hawke, Bethany. He unrolled the scroll with care, the parchment crackling softly in the hush of the chamber.


    The first lines were familiar¡ªdate of birth, physical description, lineage, and a summary of her talents. Then, details about her Harrowing, recent and successful. At the edge of the page, a scribbled observation caught his attention: ¡®Displays exceptional control of her powers, but shows early signs of melancholy. Recommend monitoring for emotional instability.¡¯ A small, clinical judgment, but Cullen knew well enough what it meant. He had seen those words before, buried in the records of those mages who had found life too burdensome to endure.


    He turned to the next section to finally find a report by Knight-Corporal Tobias detailing the day Bethany had been brought to the Circle. The mob, frenzied and terrified, had turned on the girl and her family when she tried to heal an injured beggar. He wasn¡¯t surprised. Fear of magic ran deep, and when combined with whispers of blood magic, it often ignited like kindling. The crowd had been merciless, and if it wasn¡¯t for the Knights, the Hawke family¡¯s fate would have been grim.


    Cullen¡¯s expression hardened as he reached the part detailing the other group of Knights. They had been dispatched to investigate the supposed victim of Bethany¡¯s blood ritual. The account was brief, almost brutal in its honesty. By the time the Templars had arrived, the beggar Bethany had tried to save had been torn apart by the mob. His remains lay scattered, destroyed by the rage of those who feared he could have a demon inside of him. One of the Knights, however, had been able to identify him¡ªRaleigh Samson, a former Knight, now disgraced, his life reduced to begging after being cast out for smuggling goods to the mages.


    The name held him still; his fingers clenched the scroll tighter. He remembered Samson¡ªnot as the broken man he had become, but as he had been in those early days in Kirkwall. A good Templar, a decent man, his compassion for the mages his undoing. And now, this. His life, a long descent from duty to dishonor, had ended in savagery, torn apart by the very people he had once sworn to protect.  It was a stark reminder of where kindness toward mages would lead¡ªruin.


    Cullen¡¯s hands began to ache, the old fractures in his bones pulsing as if echoing the weight of his own past failures. The scroll in his grip grew heavy, its burden more than physical. Without a second glance, he rolled it tightly and placed it back on the shelf. He had found what he needed. There was no sense in dwelling on it any longer.


    The Knight-Captain strode back to his office to settle into the chair behind his desk, the familiar creak of the wood welcoming him. Faith curled at his feet with a soft huff, her ears flicking subtly in response to the rhythmic patter of rain against the windowpanes. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in ink, hesitating for a moment before beginning to write.


    Knight-Templar Anne,


    I have looked into the matter you requested. The man Bethany Hawke tried to save has been found and identified.  I regret to inform you that he did not survive the events of that day. While I cannot provide further details, I hope this brings Enchanter Bethany the closure she wanted.


    Knight-Captain Cullen


    He set the letter aside to dry, his gaze lingering on the words. Neither Anne nor Bethany needed to know who the man was¡ªor exactly how he had met his end. Some truths were better left unspoken.


    Next, he wrote to Thrask, his quill moving swiftly across the page.


    Knight-Templar Thrask,


    I am assigning you the task of preparing the knights listed in the attached note for an upcoming mission to the Wounded Coast. We will be hunting a group of elven apostates, and your experience will be invaluable in ensuring they are ready. Please see that they are properly equipped and thoroughly briefed. We depart as soon as the weather permits.


    Knight-Captain Cullen


    He leaned back, rubbing at his temple before adding, almost as an afterthought: Send word if there is anything you require before departure.


    Having completed the letters, he folded them neatly, adding the list of names he had received from Meredith to the one addressed to Thrask. With a quiet sigh, he summoned a Tranquil to ensure their delivery.


    The rain showed no signs of letting up, its relentless rhythm a constant backdrop to life in the Gallows as days passed in a blur of routine¡ªmeetings, reports, and the occasional brief respite in his office. Anne came to clean as she always did, her movements precise but lacking their usual energy. When she finished, she turned to him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.


    "Thank you, Ser, truly," she said, her voice soft but earnest. "For doing what I asked¡ªfor giving Bethany the answer she couldn¡¯t stop fretting over. She is upsetthat the man she tried so hard to save passed, but it¡¯s better than spending her days wondering what became of him."


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± he replied, studying the girl. There was something off about her demeanor, a shadow in her eyes that hadn¡¯t been there before. ¡°But¡­ is everything all right? You seem troubled. Are you nervous about the upcoming mission? It¡¯s natural to feel that way, especially for your first important assignment.¡±


    Anne shook her head quickly, her fingers twisting together. ¡°No, it¡¯s not that. I¡¯ll be ready, I swear it. I won¡¯t fail you.¡± She hesitated, pressing her lips into a thin line like she was trying to hold the words back, but then they spilled out, ¡°And no, I am not alright. I am deeply troubled. But please, please, Ser, don¡¯t ask me anything about it. Just know that it has nothing to do with the mission.¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Cullen raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild skepticism. An unusual reply, to say the least, he thought.  ¡®I am not alright, but don¡¯t ask me about it.¡¯ Was it a deliberate attempt to pique his curiosity? Was she playing some kind of game with him? He quickly dismissed the idea as his gaze lingered on her face¡ªher strained, earnest expression told him otherwise. She wasn¡¯t the type for such tricks, and he knew her well enough by now to trust that. Still, it was a peculiar way to respond, and it left him uneasy.


    ¡°Very well,¡± he said, his tone calm. ¡°I won¡¯t press you further. However, once we¡¯re in the field, I expect your full focus on the mission. Your complete dedication is paramount¡ªthe lives of your brothers and sisters in arms depend on it. Understood?¡±


    Anne straightened her posture, her expression tightening. ¡°Understood, Knight-Captain. You have my word. I won¡¯t let anything¡ªor anyone¡ªdown.¡± She gave a crisp nod before quickly gathering her things and leaving the room.


    As the rain finally relented, Cullen felt the weight of impending duty settle more firmly on his shoulders. The sky, though still streaked with lingering clouds, held the promise of fairer days ahead. He watched from his window as the last droplets slipped from the eaves, disappearing into the damp stone below.


    Tomorrow, they would ride out. The younger Knights would face their first true test, and Anne would be among them. Cullen had observed her in training¡ªcompetent, disciplined, and determined. Still, her lack of field experience lingered in his mind like a shadow. He dared to hope his reservations would prove unfounded, that she would rise to the challenge as he had seen others do before.


    A soft nudge at his hand pulled him from his thoughts. Faith, ever his loyal companion, pressed her head against his palm, her warm breath steady and familiar. He scratched behind her ears absently, knowing they would rely on her sharp senses in the coming days. The Wounded Coast was vast and treacherous, and if the apostates had any foresight, they would have covered their tracks well. Even with Faith¡¯s nose, tracking them after days of rain would be no easy feat.


    The arrangements were made. Thrask had ensured the supplies were ready, provisions packed for what would likely be a long search. The younger Knights had been briefed, their armor and weapons checked, their resolve tested in drills. All that remained now was the waiting¡ªone final night before they departed with the first light of dawn.


    Cullen exhaled, rubbing the mabari¡¯s head once more before stepping away from the window. He had done what he could. The rest would be decided on the road, by steel and by faith.


    The night was deep, the Gallows wrapped in a hush that even the restless sea could not disturb. A single candle flickered at Cullen¡¯s desk, its flame swaying with the faintest draft that crept beneath the heavy wooden door. He sat at the edge of his bed, rolling a vial of lyrium between his fingers. The crystalline substance caught the dim light, gleaming with a welcoming, blue luminescence.


    He exhaled slowly, tipping the vial back, the liquid chilling as it coursed through him. The second dose followed just as swiftly, its frost biting at his veins even harder, but it would ensure his rest was undisturbed. He needed his strength for the journey ahead, and that meant no nightmares¡ªno ghosts clawing at his mind from the past.


    Yet, as soon as Cullen lay back and closed his eyes, the dream took him.


    The cold was a living thing, burrowing beneath his armor, pressing into his skin, creeping deep into his bones. The vast expanse stretched before him, endless walls of jagged crystal refracting a pale, ghostly light. Frost clung to the air, drifting like fine ash, his breath curling in front of him, a fragile mist that vanished as quickly as it formed.


    And then, from the shifting white, she emerged.


    Neria.


    She was dressed in white, a gown that seemed woven from the very snow itself, its delicate folds barely stirring as she walked. Her long silver hair tumbled down her back, strands dusted with frost. The glimmering flakes settled in her lashes, her cerulean eyes peering through them, searching. As their gazes crossed, she extended her hands towards him, fingers pale and slender.


    ¡°Neria, my love, I come for you!¡± He declared with fervor, his voice ringing clear in the cold air as he strode forth, his boot crunching upon the frost-hardened ground. Yet, as his weight settled, a sharp snap broke the stillness beneath his step.


    The ice stirred. Creeping. Crawling. It slithered up his boots, clamping around his ankles, coiling higher with each movement. He tried to step forward again, but the ice held firm, a vice around his legs. His breath quickened, mist curling from his lips, and still, the elf stood there, arms extended, waiting.


    ¡°Neria. Neria!¡± He called out to her as he tried to break free, but every movement only gave the ice more purchase, snaking higher¡ªhis knees, his thighs. Tighter. Colder.


    Sudden warmth. A wet, damp sensation against his cheek, faint but jarring.


    The ice climbed to his waist.


    A sudden nudge, sharp against his ribs. His breath stuttered.


    The ice was already pressing all around his chest.


    A more forceful shove, pressure against his side.


    The cold wrapped around Cullen¡¯s throat¡ªchoking, unyielding. He couldn¡¯t breathe!


    And then¡ªlight.


    A blinding golden figure¡ªa Templar forged from pure radiance¡ªstepped into the chamber. Its sword burned with searing brilliance, too intense to gaze upon directly. When it spoke, the voice was his own, yet magnified, resounding with the weight of judgment.


    "Behold the truth of your weakness, Knight. You barter your honor for fleeting respite, your valor for the hollow embrace of oblivion."


    The golden Templar raised its blazing sword high, its searing light scorching the air, and with one devastating swing, shattered the pillar of ice encasing Cullen into a thousand glittering shards, sending him crashing to the ground in a burst of fractured light and chaos.


    He woke with a gasp.


    Panic. Disorientation. Cold sweat. His breath came in sharp, shallow pulls. The room was dark, save for the moonlight seeping through the window, and his vision blurred as he blinked rapidly, struggling to shake off the lingering haze of the dream.


    And then, above him¡ªa face.


    A blur of wide eyes, a shadowed silhouette against the dim moonlight. Hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him, voice trembling with urgency, though the words were lost in the fog of his waking mind. His body reacted before reason could catch up, his hands shooting out and shoving the figure away.


    A startled cry. A sudden thud as the figure stumbled backward, hitting the cold stone floor. A sharp gasp¡ªpain, shock. Then, a low whimpering sound. Faith.


    Cullen blinked rapidly, pushing himself upright as reality came crashing back, his vision sharpening until, at last, he saw her.


    Anne.


    She sat on the floor, her hands splayed where she had caught herself, her expression a fragile mix of surprise and hurt. Faith had nudged her side, then turned to Cullen with eyes darkened by reproach.


    Anne swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to have startled you, Ser. But Faith¡ªshe came to me in the barracks, dragged me here.¡± She hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. ¡°You were screaming. A woman¡¯s name.¡± Cullen¡¯s fingers tightened against the blankets. ¡°You were so pale, Ser. Gasping for air, your lips turning blue, and I¡ªI got scared.¡± Her breath hitched. ¡°I was only trying to wake you.¡±


    The remnants of the dream clung to him like frostbite¡ªthe crushing cold, the ice winding tight around his throat, the desperate reach for Neria that always, always fell short. The golden Knight¡¯s words pounded in his skull, relentless as a war drum: You barter your honor for fleeting respite, your valor for the hollow embrace of oblivion. Cullen¡¯s chest ached, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers twisted in the blankets, white-knuckled. ¡°Leave me,¡± he ground out, the words scraped raw from his throat.


    ¡°But, Ser¡ª¡±


    The Ferelden¡¯s eyes snapped open, blazing with fury. The weight of the nightmare, the shame of his weakness, the unbearable knowledge that she had witnessed it¡ªit all boiled over, snapping what little control he had left.


    ¡°Are you bloody deaf?¡± He snarled, voice rough with rage. ¡°Or simply too thick-skulled to take a damned order? Get out!¡±


    The young woman recoiled as if slapped, momentarily frozen on the floor. She blinked rapidly, battling the tears that threatened to spill. Then, with a strangled gasp, she pushed herself up and bolted from the room.


    The door slammed shut behind her, leaving only the ragged sound of Cullen¡¯s breathing. But the shame that curled in his gut only fanned the embers of his temper into a roaring flame, and his gaze turned to the only other soul in the room¡ªFaith.


    ¡°And you,¡± the Ferelden spat, his voice sharp. ¡°What in the blighted Void were you thinking, dragging her here?¡± The mabari let out a low whine, shifting slightly. ¡°The girl is under my command, damn you! She cannot¡ªshe must not¡ªsee me like that!¡± Faith¡¯s tail tucked low, but Cullen pressed on, the heat behind his eyes burning, his voice cracking. ¡°And if I would not wake, then bite me! Sink your Maker-damned teeth into my arm! Rip me from that cursed nightmare, but don¡¯t¡ªdon¡¯t bring others to witness it!¡± His voice wavered at the last, and suddenly, the fight bled from him. He dragged a shaking hand down his face, his shoulders sagging.


    Faith, her ears flattened and her large, solemn eyes locked on him, padded softly to his side before leaping onto the bed, gently resting her head on his lap as if to offer whatever small comfort she could muster.


    Cullen exhaled shakily, his fingers ghosting over her black fur. The anger had burned itself out, leaving only the bitter taste of regret behind.


    ¡°¡­Damn it. I''m sorry, girl," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I shouldn¡¯t have shouted at you."


    The hound let out a quiet huff, nudging his hand as if to say she forgave him. The simple, unwavering loyalty in her eyes made his throat tighten.


    "But you mustn¡¯t¡ªever¡ªreveal my weakness to others again. You¡¯re the only one I can trust with this, Faith. The only one who sees." His fingers stroked along her ear, his tone quieter now. "No one else."


    The mabari gave a soft, rumbling sound of understanding, pressing closer.


    Cullen exhaled heavily and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. "Anne¡­ the girl only wanted to help. Just like you. And I tore into her for it."


    His jaw tightened. She had looked so small when she fled, eyes glistening, shoulders shaking. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°I¡¯ll make it right,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Tomorrow, before we leave for the mission.¡±


    His gaze drifted to the empty lyrium vials on the table. A knot tightened in his stomach as he stared at them, the weight of their emptiness pressing heavily on his chest. Even two are no longer enough to keep the nightmares away... How long had it been since a single vial could quiet his mind? How long until even three wouldn¡¯t be enough? The thought sent a ripple of unease through him, but he pushed it aside, unwilling¡ªor perhaps unable¡ªto dwell on it further. He would manage. He had to.


    The crisp morning air in the Gallows courtyard buzzed with activity¡ªarmor clattered, voices murmured, and knights moved with purpose as they prepared for the mission. Cullen stood near the stables, his stern expression masking the lingering weight of the previous night¡¯s events. Beside him, Faith sat poised and alert, her ears twitching and sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with unwavering vigilance.


    Cullen¡¯s gaze drifted across the courtyard, settling on Anne, Tamlin, and Thrask as they emerged from the gates and made their way to the stables, engrossed in conversation. He couldn¡¯t help but notice the changes in them since their last meeting. Tamlin looked thinner, his frame more gaunt, while Anne¡¯s eyes were puffy and swollen, betraying the night spent in tears. As their conversation with Thrask drew to a close, the older Templar moved on to address others in the group, offering last-minute instructions.


    Seizing the moment, Cullen motioned for Faith to stay and stepped toward the two knights. ¡°Knight-Templars,¡± he acknowledged with a curt nod. ¡°Anne. A word.¡±


    The young woman flinched almost imperceptibly before nodding in silent agreement. She followed him to a quieter corner of the courtyard, her steps hesitant but deliberate. Tamlin¡¯s sharp gaze tracked their every move until Cullen raised a brow in his direction. Caught, the young man quickly averted his eyes, his attention snapping to the horses as if suddenly fascinated by their movements.


    Once out of earshot, Cullen turned to the young Knight. ¡°About last night,¡± he began, his tone measured, careful. ¡°I spoke out of turn. My words were harsh, and I regret that. You were only trying to help, and I should have recognized it.¡±


    Anne¡¯s eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, he feared she might burst into tears once more. ¡°What a relief!¡± She exclaimed, her voice rising, but as he lifted a hand to temper her tone, she continued, softer. ¡°Knight-Captain, I¡ªI couldn¡¯t bear the thought of you being angry with me, of you hating me. I just¡ªI couldn¡¯t¡ª¡± She broke off, twisting her hands together in a gesture so helpless, so painfully earnest, that Cullen was struck by a fresh wave of guilt over his outburst the night before. ¡°You mean so much to me, Ser. The thought of losing your trust, your regard, terrifies me. To me, you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re more than just my Knight-Captain. You¡¯re everything I¡ªI don¡¯t even know how to say it properly. You¡¯re everything, Ser.¡± Her face flushed crimson, as if the weight of her confession had only just struck her. Her eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze, and she took a shaky step back. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered, her voice so faint it might have been mistaken for the rustle of the wind. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have said that. I just...¡±


    As her words drifted into silence, the Ferelden couldn''t shake the sharp sting of discomfort. This wasn¡¯t just respect or fealty anymore¡ªit was something deeper, something far more personal. He recognized it all too well. It wasn¡¯t the first time this had happened to him¡ªyoung Knights, their hearts still untampered by the harsh realities of their duty, conflating loyalty with longing, admiration with infatuation. It was a dangerous line to tread, one that left him feeling both discomfited and perplexed. He had never sought this, never encouraged it, and yet, like the slow turning of the seasons, it always seemed to find him.


    He would not allow it to take root.


    ¡°Anne, look at me,¡± he commanded¡ªfirm, but not unkind.


    She obeyed, her eyes searching his face, brimming with fragile hope.


    ¡°Your loyalty and integrity are beyond question. I do not take them lightly. But you must understand¡ªmy role in your life is that of your captain, nothing more. It will never be more.¡±


    Her face flushed deeper, the hope that had briefly brightened her gaze flickering, then fading. She parted her lips to speak, but he pressed on.


    ¡°We are the Knights of Andraste. We have pledged ourselves to a cause far greater than any single soul among us. There is no room for this¡ªwhatever it is you believe this to be¡ªwithin the bounds of our lives.¡±


    Her face fell, tears spilling over despite her efforts to hold them back. ¡°I know,¡± she choked out, her voice raw, trembling. She scrubbed at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, as if she could erase the evidence of her weakness. ¡°I know, Ser. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll stop. I¡¯ll bury it, cast it into the Void if I must. Just¡ªplease, don¡¯t look at me differently for this. Don¡¯t let this be the thing that strips me of your trust. Let me remain your loyal Knight, unwavering and true.¡±


    Cullen sighed, his expression softening slightly despite himself. ¡°Anne, you have merely misplaced your heart, and I won¡¯t hold that against you. But from now on, I need you to understand where the boundary lies¡ªand to never step beyond it again.¡±


    Anne nodded¡ªa stiff, deliberate motion, as if forcing herself back into the rigid discipline expected of her. She straightened, shoulders squaring, pressing her lips together in a tight line as she willed herself into composure. ¡°Will do, Ser.¡± Her voice was steady, though a faint tremor betrayed her.


    He studied her a moment longer, then gave a curt nod. ¡°Good. Return to your preparations. We depart soon.¡±


    Anne cast him one last glance, her face still flushed, then gave a final nod before turning sharply on her heel. Her stride toward the stables was precise, purposeful as she threw herself into the task at hand. He watched as she joined Tamlin, helping secure the packs to the horses, her movements brisk and efficient.


    Cullen released a slow breath, relief creeping in¡ªit was over. One less thing to worry about.


    He turned, ready to make his own preparations, his thoughts already shifting to the danger ahead. The Wounded Coast awaited. The mission was calling. And it was time for him to answer.

 Interlude: Between Grace and Grit

    Cullen rode in silence, his breath steady as Faith moved ahead of him, sniffing the rugged terrain of the Wounded Coast as she tracked the elusive trail of the elven apostates they were pursuing. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and sunbaked stone, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of the sparse vegetation clinging to life in the harsh landscape. The Knight-Captain¡¯s sharp gaze swept across the rugged cliffs and jagged pathways, ever vigilant, his eyes scanning for the faintest trace of movement. The land was treacherous, its shadows hiding more than just apostates¡ªbandits and pirates lurked here, their presence a constant threat.


    Suddenly, something delicate on the ground caught his eye. A small cluster of white flowers, their petals trembling in the wind, stood between the cracks of the weathered rock. He pulled his horse to a halt, his breath catching in his throat. Andraste¡¯s Grace. The rare flower was unmistakable, its petals as white as freshly fallen snow, its form as fragile and exquisite as a whispered prayer. It was a sight so out of place here, so far from the rolling hills of Ferelden, that it felt almost like a sign. Memories surged unbidden¡ªvivid, bittersweet.


    Neria¡¯s silver hair glimmered in the candlelight as she spoke with wistful tenderness of her grandmother to her friends in the Circle¡¯s library, where he stood watch. ¡°She used to dry Andraste¡¯s Grace and tuck it between the garments stored in her chest,¡± the elf had murmured, tracing the edge of her robe with delicate fingers. ¡°Her clothes always smelled like honey. I miss that.¡±  From that day on, whenever his duties took him beyond Kinloch Hold, he searched for those flowers. He gathered them carefully, their petals as white as her hair, as delicate as her frame, as beautiful as her smile. Never once did he dare give them to her outright. Such a gesture would have been too bold, too revealing. Instead, he left them between her pillow and the covers, a silent offering. Afterward, she would pass him in the halls, the soft, sweet fragrance of Andraste¡¯s Grace trailing in her wake. Her gaze would flicker toward him¡ªjust a fleeting glance, a flash of cerulean eyes, brief yet unmistakably deliberate¡ªbefore a shy smile curved her lips, so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But he noticed. He always noticed. And for him, it was enough.


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    A sharp rustle shattered his reverie as Anne rode up beside him, her horse¡¯s sudden movement crushing the delicate blooms beneath its hoof. A flash of anger surged through him, his grip tightening on the reins. His lips parted, a curse forming, but he swallowed it down. It was just a flower. Nothing more.


    ¡°Knight-Captain? Is everything all right?¡± The young woman questioned, concern flickering across her face.


    He exhaled through his nose, forcing his expression into neutrality. ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± he lied. ¡°Just a headache.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°A headache? Don¡¯t you have a healing potion in your pouch? I have one¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Cullen interrupted, too sharply. He sighed, tempering his tone. ¡°I do have a potion, but I won¡¯t waste resources on something so trivial. We¡¯re on a mission.¡±


    Anne hesitated, then nodded, though her gaze lingered on him, uncertain.


    When they stopped for a brief respite, she dismounted without a word, moving toward the rocky outcrop. He paid her little mind¡ªuntil she returned, dirt streaking her gloves, her hands gripping a hardy green plant.


    ¡°Elfroot, Ser,¡± she said simply, offering it to him. ¡°Chewing on the roots helps with minor headaches. I thought¡­ well, it¡¯s better than nothing.¡±


    Cullen stared at her, then at the plant, before slowly reaching out to take it. ¡°Thank you,¡± he uttered, the words clipped but genuine.


    Anne nodded, her expression softening with quiet satisfaction before she turned away to tend to her horse.


    The Ferelden looked down at the elfroot in his palm. Its broad leaves were sturdy, its thick, long roots tangled with soil. There was no delicacy to it, no beauty, no fragrance. It was a plant of utility, of survival. And yet, something in its quiet resilience, in the way it endured where more delicate things withered, held a certain appeal. His fingers brushed over the dirt-streaked roots, a small, unexpected smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just in case I do get a headache," he murmured, tucking the plant behind his belt, securing it with more care than was truly necessary.

 A Deal on the Wounded Coast

    The briny scent of the sea filled Anne¡¯s lungs as she urged her horse onward, the steady cadence of hooves against the stone mingling with the ceaseless roar of waves breaking upon the shore. Around her, nine Templars rode in a solemn formation, their armor catching the dull, muted light of the overcast sky.


    Through the narrow slit of her visor, the young woman¡¯s eyes fixed upon Cullen¡¯s broad back as he led the procession together with his loyal mabari. Her fingers tightened instinctively around the reins as his words echoed in her mind with a persistence that refused to be silenced: ¡°You have merely misplaced your heart, and I won¡¯t hold that against you. But from now on, I need you to understand where the boundary lies¡ªand to never step beyond it again.¡±  The memory of his voice carried with it a peculiar duality¡ªa sting that pierced her heart but also an almost unbearable relief.


    He had not cast her out nor condemned her for the foolish, unruly emotions she had let take root within her. How fortunate she was, she thought, that her hero could be so merciful, so forgiving¡ªfar more than most would have been in his place. For she knew the reflection that stared back at her from the polished surface of a shield or the still waters of a trough. Those broad shoulders, sturdy as a plowman¡¯s; that square-jawed, thick-browed face, hard as the winter ground. No man would find pride or gladness to be desired by the likes of her.


    The wind picked up suddenly, whipping across her face, and Anne squinted against the gusts. She had promised Cullen she would bury her feelings for him, and she was determined to keep that promise. But how does one unravel emotions so deeply woven into the heart? She wished desperately for someone to confide in, someone wise and kind who could guide her through this tangled mess.


    In response to her troubled thoughts, the memory of Senior Enchanter Ilara surfaced. Much like the Knight-Captain, the woman was in her mid-twenties, and surely she knew a thing or two about matters of the heart. Besides, Ilara had always treated her with a gentle kindness, her warmth almost motherly in its comfort. Perhaps she could confide in her¡ªnot about Cullen, of course, but about the feelings themselves.


    Faith let out a sharp bark, pulling Anne from her reverie. The hound had stopped, her ears pricked forward as she sniffed at a patch of disturbed earth. Cullen dismounted in one fluid motion, crouching beside the dog to examine the ground. Anne watched as he ran a gloved hand over the dirt, his expression focused and intent.


    Even now, with the weight of their mission pressing down on him, she couldn¡¯t help but admire how the sunlight caught the edges of his armor and the confident set of his shoulders...  Stop it, she scolded herself, her jaw tightening.  You promised him you will stop it! Cursing inwardly, she raised her mailed hand and tapped the side of her helm with a dull, metallic clink. The gesture proved to be effective, helping her mind to focus on the task at hand.


    ¡°This was a recent camp,¡± the Knight-Captain announced, his voice cutting through the wind as he remounted his horse. ¡°The ashes are cold, but the ground hasn¡¯t fully settled. I¡¯d say it¡¯s about a day old. We¡¯re on the right track, but we need to keep moving.¡±


    Anne nodded in unison with the others, her head dipping slightly as she urged her horse forward, falling once more into line behind Cullen and Faith.


    The day stretched on, uneventful and monotonous, as they followed the rugged paths along the Wounded Coast until the world was bathed in the cool, muted tones of twilight. Eventually, Cullen raised a hand, signaling the group to halt. ¡°We¡¯ll camp here for the night,¡± he announced. ¡°It¡¯s too dark to continue safely. No tents¡ªjust bedrolls. Stay sharp. We move again at first light.¡±


    His words were met with silent nods, the Templars dismounting with steady purpose, eager to escape their saddles after a long day¡¯s ride. Their boots crunched against the gravelly sand as they moved to their tasks, the sound sharp in the quiet evening air.


    They found shelter in a shallow cave, its rocky walls offering some respite from the biting coastal wind.  Bedrolls were unfurled and laid out on the flattest patches of ground, and a small fire was lit. Anne watched as Cullen inspected the perimeter, his eyes scanning the dark outlines of the cliffs and the path that led to their makeshift camp. Even in the dim light, she could see the weariness in his movements, the way his shoulders sagged slightly when he thought no one was looking. But his vigilance never wavered. When he finally settled, his back leaning against a weathered rock, his hand resting gently on Faith, who nestled close beside him, she felt a pang of admiration¡ªand something else, something deeper, that she swiftly buried away.


    Tamlin''s request for them to be the first watch of the night was approved by the Knight-Captain, and they took their posts at opposite ends of the cave entrance while the others settled into their bedrolls. After a time, her gaze drifted to the redhead, his figure silhouetted against the faint, flickering glow of the firelight as he took his helmet for a moment to scratch the back of his head. He had always been lean, but now he looked gaunt, his face hollowed, his cheeks sunken as though the very life within him was slowly being drained away. Her thoughts turned unbidden to what she had witnessed in the storage room weeks ago, and the memory twisted her stomach into knots. It was no wonder that he was wasting away.


    Anne felt a pang of pity. Tamlin was, without question, a pain in the arse¡ªbut he was also a man who had done much good. He had helped her become a Knight in record time, a feat that had freed her from the Knight-Lieutenant¡¯s grasp. He had stood guard over Enchanter Ilara, shielding her while Anne took her Vigil and adapted to lyrium. And now, in these troubled times within the Order, he stood steadfast by the Knight-Captain''s side against Alrik and his ilk.


    For all of it, recently¡ªand to her own surprise¡ªshe had come to regard him as a friend. It was a realization that crept up on her, unexpected but undeniable. Tamlin, with his sharp tongue and stubborn pride, had somehow carved out a place in her life that went beyond mere ¡äfellow orphan from the Lowtown¡ä. And with this realization came a deep, aching sympathy.  So what if he was lusting after someone he shouldn¡¯t?  He didn¡¯t deserve to be crushed beneath the weight of shame and fear for it, nor to be forced into the bed of that wretched hag Marta.


    The young woman wanted to make an earnest attempt to pull her friend out of this mess; yet, the problem was, she didn¡¯t know where to begin. She had tried to uncover more about Tamlin¡¯s family, hoping that if she could piece together the same information the Sister held, she might devise a proper plan. She had even written to Sister Petrice at the orphanage where they had both been raised, pleading for any scrap of knowledge about Tamlin¡¯s past.  But the reply had been curt and unhelpful. ¡°The records are sealed,¡± Petrice had written, ¡°to ensure that the past remains undisturbed. It is not our place to reopen old wounds.¡±


    The denial left Anne at a loss. She didn¡¯t know where else to turn. The thought of asking Tamlin himself about his family crossed her mind, but the idea felt fraught with risk. How could she broach the subject out of nowhere when she had never shown interest in his past before? And considering she couldn¡¯t lie¡ªthanks to the blighted spirit¡ªshe feared it might reveal to Tamlin that she had witnessed him with Marta. She didn¡¯t want him mortified; she didn¡¯t want to add to the weight of his shame. He was already carrying enough as it was.


    The young woman had been so utterly lost in the quiet pull of her own musings that Tamlin''s sudden movement startled her. He turned his head, meeting her gaze directly. Caught off guard, she quickly looked away, fixing her attention on the darkness beyond. Tamlin, however, continued to watch her, his boots scuffing against the rocky ground as he shifted his weight. The silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward, until he broke it, his tone strangely fervent yet weak at the same time.


    ¡°Anne, aren''t you sick and tired of taking orders, of suffering for some cause that doesn''t give a damn about us? I just¡­ I can¡¯t do it anymore. What if we ran? You and me, away from all this. We could go right now if you say yes."


    The young woman¡¯s head snapped up, eyes wide.  "Eh? Is this some kind of joke or something?"


    Tamlin shook his head, his words tumbling out in a hurry. "I mean it. I¡¯ve thought it through. We could leave tonight, while the others are snoring. There¡¯s a merchant cart passing nearby at dawn, heading deeper into the Free Marches. I talked to the driver a few days ago¡ªhe¡¯ll take us, no questions. From there, we could go anywhere. Antiva, Rivain, even Tevinter if we had to. Places where the Order¡¯s reach is weak, where we could disappear.¡±


    Anne turned to him fully. "What nonsense is that?" she whispered harshly, her voice low but sharp as she glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping Knights, hoping they were too deeply asleep to overhear.


    Tamlin reached out, hesitating before grabbing her hand. "Please, just listen. I¡¯ve been saving my wages. Got enough coin to get us started. We could become swords for hire¡ªwe are both good with a blade¡ªor we could learn something new. I¡¯d do anything, Anne. Anything to give us a chance at a better life together.¡±


    She yanked her hand back. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me. Desertion is a death sentence, plain and simple. They¡¯ll track us to the ends of Thedas if they have to. And don¡¯t even get me started on the lyrium. You¡¯ve been on it for more than a year now. You think you can just quit? You¡¯re hooked, and we both know it. Besides, I¡¯d never just abandon the Knight-Captain. Not after everything. Not a chance in the Void."


    As Tamlin remained silent, she searched his face, but with his helmet on, all she could see were his eyes. And Maker, his eyes¡ªthere was something hollow in them, something frayed at the edges. ¡°So, you¡¯d choose him over me? Is that it?¡±


    Before she could respond, the moment was abruptly shattered by a sudden rustle in front of them, followed by the sharp, slicing whoosh of something cutting through the air. Instinct took over. The young woman lunged forward, shoving Tamlin aside just as a spear thudded into the ground exactly where they had been standing. From the shadows, figures surged forward¡ªbandits, their movements swift and predatory, unleashing their fury like a pack of wolves descending on their prey.


    "To arms! To arms! We are under attack!" Anne shouted, drawing her sword in one fluid motion. Her warning had no sooner left her lips than the night descended into chaos.


    Tamlin reacted first, his sword flashing as he parried a vicious strike aimed at her. With a practiced riposte, he drove his blade through his attacker¡¯s armpit¡ªthe only soft point in the man¡¯s armor. Beside him, Faith launched herself at another attacker, dragging him down in a flurry of snarls and blood.


    "Form up!" Cullen bellowed as he and the other Knights joined the fray.


    The young Templars scrambled to obey, but the hesitation was fatal.


    Marcus, barely nineteen, lifted his shield too slowly. A bandit wielding a warhammer seized the moment, swinging low, crushing his knee. The Templar crumpled with a strangled cry, but the bandit wasn¡¯t finished¡ªhe reversed his grip and brought the hammer down again. This time, the blow landed on Marcus¡¯ helmet. The sound was sickening, like an eggshell shattering underfoot. He didn¡¯t scream after that.


    Anne, momentarily distracted by the gory sight, had less than a second to register the glint of an axe swinging toward her side, yet her body moved on its own, twisting sharply to the left as the curved blade screeched against her breastplate, sending sparks flying. The force of the blow jarred her, but she didn¡¯t falter. Before her attacker could recover, she seized the opening. With a swift motion, she drove her sword upward, the blade slipping neatly through the gap between the bandit''s helmet and gorget. The man shuddered, a choked gurgle escaping his throat before his body went limp and crumpled to the ground.


    Two bandits from the rear hurled a massive clay pot at the Knights. It shattered against the ground near the Templars with a deafening crack, and in an instant, the battlefield was engulfed in a roaring inferno. Anne barely managed to dive behind her shield as the explosion sent a searing wave of fire rippling across the rocky terrain. This wasn¡¯t just some crude firebomb tossed into the fray¡ªthis was an alchemical abomination, a nightmare concoction of oil, tar, and quicklime that clung to everything it touched and burned hotter than a dragon¡¯s breath.


    The heat was unbearable, even though her shield protected her from the searing waves of fire pressing against her like a living thing. Smoke filled her lungs, forcing her into a coughing fit, her eyes watering as she peered over the edge of her shield.


    Eldon, one of the older Templars in the group, had taken the brunt of the blast. Flames clung to his plate armor, seeping into the joints and crevices, cooking him alive inside his own metal shell too fast for anyone to intervene.


    "Don''t fall back into the cave!" The Knight-Captain''s voice cut through the chaos as Faith, her teeth bared, lunged at a bandit attempting to flank her master. "Don¡¯t let them box us in! Hold the line!"


    The hound tackled the assailant to the ground, her jaws tearing into his face. But before she could finish him, another bandit charged in, swinging a massive maul with terrifying force. The weapon whistled through the air, aimed straight for mabari¡¯s ribs¡ªbut it never landed. Cullen was already moving. In one fluid arc, his sword flashed, and the bandit¡¯s head tumbled from his shoulders.


    Meanwhile, Anne could feel that Valor started to act through her, her blade moving with the speed and precision that would leave even the most seasoned Knights astonished. The fact that the spirit took control should have left her terrified, but there was no fear¡ªonly a wild, intoxicating joy. The thrill of battle surged through her, each deadly strike feeding into a warrior¡¯s bliss.


    But that bliss shattered the moment she saw it¡ªanother clay pot, smaller this time, spinning through the air in a deadly arc. It was headed straight for Tamlin.


    He saw it too. She watched as his eyes locked onto the pot, his body tensing. He had time to raise his shield. Space to move. But instead, his hands dropped to his sides, and he tilted his head back.


    Anne''s breath caught in her throat as the pot struck Tamlin¡¯s chest, the impact hurling him backward. He hit the ground hard, the thud of his body drowned out by the roar of the fire engulfing him. His screams tore through the battlefield¡ªraw, ragged, and almost inhuman¡ªas the inferno consumed his form. His armor glowed a molten red, the metal twisting and warping under the unbearable heat, melting into his skin.


    ¡°Tamlin!¡± Anne cried out, shoving past a bandit with a brutal force that sent him stumbling¡ªstraight into the waiting jaws of Faith, who tore into him without hesitation. But the young woman¡¯s focus was locked on the burning Templar. His body convulsed violently, his fingers twitching, as his nerves fired in agony.


    She lunged for him, reaching for his hands¡ªonly to recoil as the unbearable heat scorched through her gloves. Too hot. Too hot! I can¡¯t touch him¡ªI have to get him out!


    Desperation clawed at her as she ripped the cloak from one of the dead bandits and grabbed one of Tamlin¡¯s wildly flailing hands, wrapping the thick fabric around it to shield her own from the searing heat of his molten armor. Gritting her teeth, she pulled.


    The battle raged around them¡ªshouts, the clash of steel, the crackle of spreading flames¡ªbut all Anne could hear was the wet, shuddering sound of Tamlin gasping for air as she hauled him, inch by inch, out of the inferno.


    The young woman¡¯s eyes swept across the battlefield, frantic and searching for anything that could save her friend. Then she spotted it¡ªa barrel of fresh water in the cave, one of the supplies they had carried from the Gallows. That¡¯s it. Her heart surged with a flicker of hope. Tightening her grip on Tamlin¡¯s now limp form, she began dragging him toward it, her muscles straining with every step.


    With a desperate grunt, she reached the barrel and propped Tamlin against it. Summoning the last of her strength, she tipped the barrel over. Water gushed out in a violent torrent, crashing over his body. A thick cloud of steam erupted as the liquid met the searing heat radiating from him. The air hissed and crackled, the flames sputtering and dying beneath the deluge. The steam was overwhelming, obscuring her vision. She stumbled back, her breath catching. Please, let it be enough!


    As the mist cleared, Anne dropped to her knees beside her friend. His body lay in a soaked heap, his burned armor still radiating warmth, but no more fire. She rolled him onto his back, making sure every last ember was out. The stench of charred flesh and scorched metal clogged her throat, thick and nauseating. She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to gag.


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    Her hands trembled as she fumbled at her belt, fingers slick with water. Where is it¡ªwhere is it?! Then she found it¡ªthe small glass vial. She yanked it free, teeth bared in determination. ¡°Don''t you dare to die on me!¡±


    She uncorked the vial and poured the crimson liquid over the worst of Tamlin''s burns, wincing as it sizzled against his ruined skin. The potion worked fast, the concoction knitting together the rawest wounds, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Not even close. Still, for now, it would have to do.  The battle was far from over. Her eyes darted to the body nearby¡ªMarcus. She forced herself to avoid looking at his shattered skull, focusing instead on his shield. She grabbed it and propped it over Tamlin¡¯s head as a makeshift cover before rushing to rejoin the chaos of the battlefield still raging around her.


    The young woman noticed that two more Knights had fallen, their armored forms crumpled on the ground, twisted and broken. Yet, despite the losses, the Templars pressed on relentlessly, the tide of the ambush shifting, the attackers¡¯ initial advantage slipping until the last of the bandits broke ranks and turned to flee, but the Knight-Captain¡¯s command rang out to doom them¡ªno mercy!


    Anne was more than willing to comply. Her blade flashed as she moved with deadly purpose, cutting down the fleeing enemies. One by one, the bastards fell, the battlefield filling up with bodies until the last of the resistance was snuffed out.


    And then¡ªit was over.


    A suffocating silence settled, broken only by the ragged breathing of the surviving Templars. They all stood frozen, blades still clenched in trembling hands, their eyes wide with the shock of what they had just done¡ªwhat they had just survived.


    Just like for Anne, for most, this had been their first real battle. The first time they had seen a man¡¯s throat split open beneath their blade, the first time they had heard the gurgling death rattles of those they had cut down. One Knight doubled over and vomited into the dirt. Another stared at his blood-soaked hands as if they belonged to someone else.


    Anne also felt the nauseating sensation creep over her mind, a cold, sinking realization that sent a shiver down her spine¡ªshe had enjoyed it. The rush of battle, the thrill of the fight, the way her blade had cut through flesh and bone. For a moment, she had reveled in the bloodbath, and the thought sickened her.


    Just as her composure began to unravel, the spirit of Valor flared in her chest, its presence a steadying force that anchored her fraying nerves. The warmth of its resolve pushed back the darkness, grounding her. Snapping back to reality, she turned and rushed to Tamlin, dropping to her knees beside him once more.


    He lay deathly still, his armor scorched and warped, the faintest rise and fall of his chest the only sign he was still clinging to life. Her hands moved quickly, uncorking vial after vial, the crimson liquid glinting as she poured the healing potions over his seared flesh.


    "Knights, form a perimeter!" Cullen''s voice rang behind her, hard as steel. "Keep it together. This fight isn¡¯t over until I say it is."


    The younger Templars snapped to attention, some forcing themselves to swallow their horror, others gripping their weapons with renewed purpose. Slowly, they began to spread out, forming a defensive line in case more enemies lurked in the shadows.


    Cullen approached Anne, his gaze flickering over Tamlin¡¯s motionless form. "How is he?"


    The young woman met his eyes without hesitation. "He needs a healer, Ser. Soon. Or he¡¯s going to die."


    Cullen exhaled heavily. His gaze flicked to the horizon, where the first traces of dawn were beginning to stain the sky in hues of deep indigo and gray over the sea.


    "It¡¯s almost morning," he said, voice low. "Not far to the east, a City Guard patrol should be passing soon. We¡¯ll request to send the dead back to the Gallows¡ªthem and Tamlin." His expression hardened. "One of our own will accompany them to make sure they reach the Circle. The rest of us continue the mission."


    Anne nodded. The apostates were still out there, and they couldn¡¯t afford to lose the trail. But the cost of the ambush had been devastating. Four Knights dead, Tamlin gravely injured, and the Templar who would need to stay behind to tend to him¡ªthat left them with what? The Knight-Captain, Faith, and four Knights, herself included. It wasn¡¯t much of a force, not against whatever awaited them ahead.


    ¡°Keep him alive until then.¡±


    She gave another curt nod.


    As Cullen turned to bark orders at the others, Anne pulled the last vial from her belt. She wanted to pour the healing potion into Tamlin¡¯s mouth to give him every chance to survive, but she hesitated. To even attempt it, she¡¯d have to remove his helmet¡ªbut the metal had fused to his skin in places, warped and melted by the searing heat of the explosion. The thought of prying it sent a chill through her. She would tear away flesh with it, causing more harm than good. Maker, what do I do? She clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus.  Keep him alive however you can. That¡¯s all that matters.


    For the next hour, Anne did what little she could; all the while, her mind was a storm, replaying the night¡¯s events again and again, each loop solidifying one undeniable truth: Tamlin, the one who prided himself on his honesty, his bluntness, and his refusal to sugarcoat the truth, had lied to her. His desperate need to leave the Order wasn¡¯t about being tired of taking orders or frustration over unrecognized sacrifices. No, it was something more. It had to be. Because when she refused to desert with him, he had chosen the only escape he saw: death. And there was only one reason grave enough to drive him to that¡ªSister Marta.


    The realization tightened around Anne¡¯s chest, a mix of anger and sorrow clawing at her insides. She had avoided confronting her friend, unwilling to expose what she knew, afraid of humiliating him. But if he was ready to end his life over it, she had no choice. Once he recovered, she would have to face him. No more sidestepping the truth, no more protecting his pride at the cost of his life¡­ She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. The confrontation would have to wait. For now, there was work to do.


    Finally, the first rays of dawn cut through the smoke-laden air.


    The Templars moved swiftly, gathering their supplies, tending to wounds, and preparing the fallen for transport. Anne helped where she could, securing what few personal effects the dead had left behind. Their bodies, wrapped in cloaks, were tied carefully to the horses. Tamlin, still unconscious, was strapped to a mount, his body secured as best as possible for the rough journey ahead.


    Anne stood beside him for a moment, her hand resting briefly on the horse¡¯s flank. The weight of exhaustion was settling in, heavy and unrelenting. Unlike the rest of the group, she hadn¡¯t slept a wink the entire night.


    Cullen swung into his saddle and gestured toward the road. ¡°We move. The patrol should meet us along the route.¡±


    With one last glance at her friend, Anne turned, mounted her horse, and rode toward the hope of help.


    They reached the road just as the sun crested the horizon, the pale morning light stretching long shadows over the sandy path. Cullen dismounted first, signaling for the others to do the same. Tamlin was carefully lowered from the horse, his unconscious form laid out on the ground with as much care as possible.


    And then¡ªthey waited.


    Hours passed. The morning mist burned away under the growing heat of the sun, yet still, there was no sign of the patrol. The road remained eerily empty, stretching toward the city like a promise unfulfilled.


    Tamlin was getting worse. His breath, already weak, was turning ragged, each inhale a struggle. Anne tried another healing potion, but it barely helped. The concoction can only do so much. He needs a real healer. She clenched her teeth. Where are they?


    The moments dragged on, stretching into an agonizing eternity until at last, there was movement on the road. A trio of unfamiliar figures emerged, walking at an unhurried pace.


    The first man was an elf, tall and broad-shouldered for his race. His short hair was as white as snow, a striking contrast to his tanned skin, yet it matched the intricate tattoos that coiled across his arms and neck like frost on a winter morning. The markings seemed to shimmer faintly, their patterns both beautiful and unnerving. His armor¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªwas light, form-fitting, a mix of leather and metal designed for speed rather than defense. His green eyes burned with almost predatory intensity, and his entire body seemed coiled, ready to strike at a moment¡¯s notice.


    Beside him walked a man with a mage¡¯s staff slung across his back, his blond hair tied back in a messy ponytail. His coat, long and travel-worn, was lined with blue feathers at the collar, and a knowing smirk played at his lips despite the sharpness in his eyes.


    But it was the third man who made Anne¡¯s breath catch.


    The sheer size of him was staggering. He was the largest human she had ever seen¡ªjust as massive as a Qunari. Broad shoulders, thick with muscle, loomed over the others. His long, matted black hair hung past his shoulders, blending with the equally unkempt beard that framed his face. His countenance was a patchwork of scars, old wounds carved into his flesh by years of battle. His nose had healed wrong after a break, twisted slightly to the left, and part of his upper lip had been torn at some point, leaving it jagged and uneven, exposing the sharp white of his teeth¡ªteeth that looked too long, too pointed, almost bestial. He wore nothing but a pair of worn leather pants and a wide strap of dark leather slung across his hairy chest, securing the heavy sheath of a great axe against his back. Every inch of him radiated raw, feral power.


    Anne stood up immediately, stepping in front of Tamlin and placing a firm hand on the hilt of her sword. Faith padded closer to her master, her teeth bared and hackles raised, a low growl rumbling from deep in her throat. The other Templars reached for their weapons as well, yet Cullen seemed to be calm; he simply watched the group approach, his expression unreadable.


    ¡°Well,¡± the massive man rumbled, his voice deep, rough, and edged with disdain as he continued forward without breaking stride. He tilted his head slightly, his piercing black gaze locking directly onto Cullen. ¡°If it isn¡¯t the Knight-Asshole himself!¡±


    ¡°Watch your mouth,¡± Anne snapped, anger flaring hot in her chest as Faith let out another low, warning growl, muscles coiling as if ready to lunge.


    Yet, before she or the hound could make another move, Cullen raised a hand. ¡°Everyone stand down. Garrett and his companions have been allies of the Order on many occasions. I will handle them myself.¡±


    Anne shot him a sharp look. ¡°Garrett? Garrett Hawke?¡±


    When the Knight-Captain nodded, she turned her gaze back to the towering brute before her. Her eyes widened slightly. This? This hulking, hairy beast of a man was Hawke? The man who had once saved her life? The same man Bethany had spoken of with such fondness, admiration, and warmth?


    Her mind reeled as she struggled to reconcile the image before her with the one she had built from the healer¡¯s tales. She had always envisioned Garrett as a male version of Bethany¡ªperhaps broad and strong, but refined, exuding an air of gentle kindness. Not this half-naked, ill-mannered creature covered in enough hair to rival a damned bear. How in the Void were he and Bethany even related?


    As the strange trio approached the Templars, tension filled the air. The elf and the mage exchanged silent looks, clearly used to the animosity in Hawke¡¯s presence, though neither seemed inclined to intervene. They remained close but kept their distance, watching the scene unfold with a sort of practiced wariness.


    Meanwhile, Garrett and the Knight-Captain stepped forward, facing each other like two war dogs measuring whether they were going to snap or simply snarl.


    Cullen exhaled, his tone carefully even. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to see you here.¡±


    Hawke bared his sharp teeth in something that wasn¡¯t quite a smirk. ¡°Neither did I.¡±


    ¡°Regardless,¡± the Ferelden pressed on, clearly trying to steer this toward diplomacy, ¡°I want to congratulate you on regaining your noble title and standing in Kirkwall¡¯s elite. It must be¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you take those pleasantries and cram them so far up your tight ass you¡¯ll be shitting them out for a week?¡± Hawke interrupted, his voice rough as gravel.


    Several Templars bristled, Faith let out a low growl yet again, and Anne took an involuntary step closer to Cullen, half-expecting the entire situation to explode into violence. The Knight-Captain, however, didn¡¯t react with anger. His gaze hardened, but he stayed composed. ¡°You¡¯re still holding onto that grudge, then?¡±


    ¡°Oh, mate!¡± Garrett¡¯s laugh was utterly humorless. ¡°I fought for your fucking Order, risked my neck, saved your asses more times than I can count¡ª¡± he jabbed his meaty, calloused finger toward Cullen¡¯s chest, ¡°¡ªand the second I was gone, your lot came sniffing around for my sister.¡± His voice dropped even lower. ¡°So yeah. I¡¯d say I¡¯m clinging onto that grudge. Like shit to a boot.¡±


    Cullen¡¯s eyes narrowed, his stance shifting just slightly¡ªnot backing down, but preparing for the worst. ¡°I must remind you that aiding and abetting apostates is a crime punishable by no less than a decade of hard labor in the mines. And yet, you and your family walk free because of your service. Because you fought for us. Because you helped.¡± Hawke¡¯s lips peeled back in a sneer, but Cullen cut him off. ¡°While you were chasing your fortune in the Deep Roads, the mob in Kirkwall was ready to tear Bethany apart on suspicion of blood magic. If it hadn¡¯t been for my Knights stepping in, she¡¯d be dead. Not just her¡ªyour entire family. So show some bloody gratitude. And some respect.¡±


    Hawke stepped closer, looming over the Ferelden like a storm rolling in, his sheer size making even the Knight-Captain seem small. The air between them crackled, the tension thick enough to snap.


    Then, suddenly, Hawke stilled.


    His head tilted slightly, his bushy brows furrowing as if he were listening to something. His expression turned distant, pensive¡ªeyes flicking upward, somewhere beyond. His nostrils flared, his jaw worked, and then¡ª¡°Mhm. That one is about to bite the dust.¡±


    ¡°Are you threatening me?¡± Cullen¡¯s voice was low and dangerous, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. Around him, Anne and the other Knights mirrored the action, their armored forms tense and ready. The elf and the mage accompanying Hawke shifted into defensive stances as if daring the Templars to make the first move.


    Hawke, however, appeared unfazed by the escalating tension. With a dismissive wave toward Tamlin¡¯s prone form, his earlier aggression softened into something more inquisitive, almost nonchalant. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m talking about the lad. He¡¯s about to croak,¡± he remarked, idly scratching his thick beard before adding, ¡°In seven minutes, give or take.¡±


    Cullen, brows furrowing, glanced up at Tamlin then glared back at Hawke. ¡°What in the Void are you talking about? He¡¯s hanging on¡ª¡±


    ¡°By a thread, Knight-Asshole. Can¡¯t you smell that?¡± Garrett asked as if it were obvious. ¡°The stink of rot? His body¡¯s already shutting down.¡±


    Anne¡¯s mouth went dry. She moved to kneel beside her friend, but she couldn¡¯t smell anything except blood, dirt, and charred flesh.


    Garrett shoved Cullen aside with a rough push, dropping into a crouch beside Anne. ¡°Look,¡± he said, tapping a finger to the side of his nose. ¡°Enhanced senses. Perks of...being me.¡± His lip twitched, halfway between a grin and a snarl. "I can smell the rot setting in, the burnt flesh breaking down, the blood turning stale in his veins. His heartbeat¡¯s too slow, too uneven. His lungs sound like they¡¯re filling with sludge. Soon he¡¯s gonna start convulsing, then piss himself, and then¡ª" He made a sharp whistling sound, flicking his fingers outward as if scattering dust to the wind. "Gone."


    Anne¡¯s fingers curled into fists. ¡°No... he can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Hawke cut her off with a dismissive shrug. ¡°Denial won¡¯t change the facts, mutt.¡±


    Cullen took a single step closer, his tone now edged with barely restrained frustration. "If that¡¯s true, then stop running your damn mouth and tell your mage to do something!"


    The blond enchanter bristled, his shoulders stiffening as he turned to face the Ferelden. ¡°I am not his mage, Templar! I am a Gray Warden, don¡¯t you da-¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Anders,¡± Hawke snapped, straightening to his full height. The glare he fixed on the mage could have melted steel.


    Anders¡¯ face twisted, his eyes flaring a vivid, unnatural blue for the briefest of moments before he clenched his jaw and looked away. Anne stilled, there was something terribly off about the flash of blue in his gaze. She glanced around, her eyes scanning the faces of the other Templars and the Knight-Captain, but no one noticed. Why? The unease in her chest grew, but she said nothing, her instincts screaming at her to stay silent.


    Meanwhile, Hawke folded his arms, expression darkening as he turned back to Cullen. "Tell you what. I¡¯ll make you a deal. Let me visit Bethany, and you get my healer to save your dying boy."


    Cullen¡¯s face hardened. "You know I can¡¯t do that. Knight-Commander Meredith would never allow someone as prominent as you to waltz in and out of the Gallows unchallenged. The entire city watches your movements, Hawke."


    Garrett exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. "Then you can all fucking rot!" He turned on his heel, already motioning for his companions to follow.


    "Wait."


    Cullen¡¯s voice stopped him mid-stride. Hawke stilled but didn¡¯t turn around.


    "You can¡¯t come. But your mother could. Discreetly."


    That gave Hawke pause. Slowly, he pivoted, black eyes locking onto Cullen¡¯s face with renewed interest. He studied him for a long moment, and then, for the first time since arriving, he smiled. A real smile, something genuine, something almost soft.  "Well now," he murmured. "Why didn¡¯t you lead with that, Knight-Asshole?" Without waiting for a response, he turned and jerked his chin at Anders. "Heal him."


    The blonde enchanter¡äs face twisted in disgust. "I will not heal the jailer of the mages."


    Garrett rolled his eyes. "And I will not listen to your self-righteous bullshit." His voice dropped. "You will heal him, or I will impale you on that magey staff of yours."


    Anders hesitated for half a breath before letting out a sharp, frustrated growl. "Fine!" He strode toward Tamlin, grumbling under his breath. "Bossing me around like a mabari just because he helped me this one time¡­ bloody bastard¡ª"


    With concern etched across her face, Anne watched as the mage knelt beside her friend and placed his hands over the most severe burns. A golden glow flared beneath his fingers, so intense it was nearly blinding. The sheer power of the spell was breathtaking¡ªeven Ilara, the most skilled healer in the Gallows, paled in comparison to this man.


    Tamlin¡¯s burnt skin blackened further¡ªthen split open, expelling thick, foul-smelling pus and dark, tar-like liquid. The sound of it was wet, sickening, and the young woman nearly gagged at the smell. But then, beneath it all, new skin knitted together. Pink and raw, marred with uneven scars, but whole.


    Anders¡¯ breathing turned ragged, his hands shaking under the weight of the spell¡¯s immense strain. Sweat gathered on his brow, glistening as it dripped down his temples. His body wavered, unsteady and faltering, until his eyes rolled back, and he began to collapse backward.


    But before he could hit the ground, Hawke caught him with one hand, hauling the unconscious mage up like he weighed nothing. Anne blinked in astonishment as Garrett draped the healer over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "Every damn time," he muttered, shaking his head.  Then his dark eyes lifted, locking onto Cullen with something sharp, something dangerous. "And listen close, Knight-Asshole, if you break this deal, if I so much as hear that you¡ª"


    "I swear I won¡¯t." Cullen¡¯s voice was steady, unyielding. He met Hawke¡¯s gaze without flinching, his expression grim but resolute.


    Garrett smirked, a lazy, knowing thing, as though he had already decided what he would do if the Knight-Captain ever dared to betray him. "Good."


    Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, the elf falling into step beside him.


    Anne¡¯s eyes lingered on their retreating forms for a moment longer, still stunned by the whirlwind of events. But soon, her gaze drifted back to Tamlin.


    He lay still on the ground, but the difference was startling, his features far more whole than they had been mere minutes ago. His breathing was deeper, more even, the strained, shallow gasps replaced by the sound of air moving smoothly through his chest.


    A wave of relief flooded the young woman, and she let out a breath she hadn''t realized she was holding. Tamlin would live. For now, the worst seemed to be over.


    But the moment of calm was fleeting. As she glanced back to where Anders had stood, something gnawed at her gut, a sense of unease that refused to dissipate. The way his eyes had flared, that unnatural blue that had pulsed just beneath the surface¡ªit wasn¡¯t just magic. It felt like something more, something eerily familiar... She didn¡¯t know what.


    But she would find out.