Caged Together

Chapter 4

The morning was cool and crisp when she awoke, the golden-yellow sun shining in through the barred windows of the mages' quarters. (Leliana had awoken her sometime late last night to drag her upstairs to a proper bed.) When she stirred, Dog's stub of a tail could be heard thumping against the stone and he gave a small whine to let her know that he was still there at her bedside (and no doubt waiting for breakfast) and ready to face the day.

Finally, after much encouragement and hand-licking from Dog, and many tired grumbles and half-hearted, playful "go away" shoves from herself, Solana had managed to drag herself out of her warm blankets, run a comb through her hair, and pull on her mage robes before heading down the now growth-free staircase in search of food.

She was greeted at the landing by a nervous –looking new sandy blonde Templar recruit whom she did not know the name of. All the same, she returned his stiff nod with one of her own (though hers was not nearly as panicky), while Dog chose to ignore him altogether, and continued on her way to the Great Hall.

"Oh, Solana," Leliana was seated at the otherwise empty table, fully dressed in a brightly-colored garment that Amell could only assume came from her homeland. "Good, you're up. I was just about to come and wake you. It's not good to sleep so late, you know."

"Thanks, but I think Dog beat you to it," she said smiling. "What's for breakfast? We're hungry."

- o -

Leliana had already eaten, but she had gladly stayed to keep Amell company, for which the Warden was very grateful for. As much as she adored and valued her Mabari, he wasn't great for conversation.

Just as she was finishing up her bowl of porridge, she felt Leliana's eyes on her and turned to see a small, almost devious smile on her friend's face.

"Solana," the bard began casually, "You must have been here for a few days now, yes? Have you gone outside at all? You must be sick of staying so cooped up after so much time on the road. How would you like to go outside for a while and get a bit of… exercise?" Dog's ears perked up at the word "outside" and he barked excitedly. "And you can come too, of course."

x X x

Tired, blood-shot eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the bunk above their owner as Cullen listened deafly to the gentle snores and early-morning stirring of his fellow Templars.

It had become routine now, Cullen's self-appointed night watch duty; he was always the last to return to the barracks and the first to rise. And though it was true that the lack of sleep was taking its toll on Cullen—both physically and mentally—it was, in his opinion, much better than the alternative.

He was used to, by now, lying awake in the barracks, his sleep-deprived mind flashing images of Uldred's reign and his time in the blood mages' prison before him. He was used to, by now, falling into a fitful, nervous sleep, only to b e awakened by screams that only he could hear or nightmares only he could see. He was used to, even, lying awake in the dead of night, shaking and pale, the still-fresh memories of her and her companions bursting their way into the Templar Quarters, their clothes bloody, their breathing heavy, and their faces determined as they fought their way up towards the Harrowing Chamber. He was used to it, even if he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

Last night, however, had been different. True, he had still lay awake, surrounded by a chorus of his fellow Templars' snores, and true, images had formed in his mind's eye, showing him scenarios that, if given control of his brain, Cullen would have never allowed in the first place; but this time, it was different. For the images that formed in the Templar's mind had been clam, peaceful ones. Nostalgic, almost. Memories and long-forgotten, innocent fantasies of a certain little mage apprentice who still managed to smile in greeting behind her mammoth stack of books.

Heaving a tired sigh, Cullen swung his legs over the side of his bunk and sat up. There was no use in lying here, becoming more and more lost in thoughts. There were towers to clean and mages to guard and hallways to patrol and just… Maker, anything but this. And so, quickly and as silently as he could, Cullen rose from another night of restless sleep, grabbed and donned his armor and weaponry, and left the barracks, before the sun had even peaked over the horizon.

- o -

He had gone through the day so far in a kind of daze: speaking only when spoken to and his feet carrying him around out of pure habit. He had skipped breakfast (or rather, completely forgotten about it) and instead headed for his usual post at the Library doors, busying himself with straightening up the room around the stack of books that the Warden had been sorting last night.

It was nearly mid day now, and the rest of the Tower had long since awoken. Many Templars had offered to relieve him of duty (though he had declined each one), and many mages had scurried by him, throwing him strange looks that, if he cared to, he could probably identify as something of bewilderment and caution.

It was the combination of the light-headedness and foreign pangs of hunger in his stomach that served to finally snap Cullen out of his self-induced trance. Startled, Cullen looked down to find a large red, leather-bound tome in his hand which he had apparently been attempting to fit back into an already full shelf for the past five minutes. Disgusted and a little embarrassed, he slammed the book into a lower shelf with much more force that necessary.

It was only after he had straightened up that two realizations hit him: one being that he should probably try and force some food into himself to avoid passing out, and two, that he had been in the Library all day without a single glace of a certain Mage-Warden. And just as he was entertaining the idea of finding someone else to "guard" the Library for a while in order to go find some nourishment, one of the newest recruits, Raleigh, (brought in after the attack on the Tower) came rushing by the library doors, heavy metal footsteps reverberating off the tower walls, a panicked look on their owner's face.

All thought of food was wiped from Cullen's mind.

He followed Raleigh at a distance, but caught snatches of the man's panicked mutterings and words like, "Stupid magic" and, "That mage," and "Just because she's a Grey Warden…."

Cullen doubled his pace.

They arrived at the door to Greagoir's office, Cullen still hanging back good twenty or so feet as Raleigh came to an abrupt halt and knocked once on the Knight-Commander's door. It was only a pretense, however, as t recruit burst through the door not a second later without even waiting for an answer.

The annoyed voice of the Knight-Commander reached Cullen's ears. "Yes?"

"S-Ser," Raleigh's voice came in a gasp for breath and Cullen had the distinct mental image of Greagoir raising an eyebrow. "S-Ser, it's her, it's the Warden, she's—"

But whatever it was that she was doing, Raleigh didn't get to say, because at that moment a loud crack like thunder, a bright, blue-white flash that illuminated Greagoir's office, a shout in an Orlesian-accented voice, followed by several excited barks reached Cullen's senses. He couldn't restrain himself; Cullen came running into the office, skidding to a halt beside a frightened-looking Raleigh and an almost bored-looking Greagoir, both of whom had gotten up to look outside the window.

It was certainly a sight, what greeted Cullen. There was the Mabari who was happily jumping around his master's feet, barking excitedly and jumping around with his tongue dangling out of his mouth. There was the Orlesian girl, dressed in a simple leather curtaisse, who had her bow in her hands and was shooting arrow after arrow across the rocky beach at a couple of make-shift targets stationed there. There was Wynne ('Wynne?' Cullen did a double-take), who was seated on one of the less jagged boulders and drinking something out of a teacup, surveying the scene in front of her and looking mildly amused by it all. And then there was the Warden, her body surrounded by a faint glow as she shot a series of Primal spells at the shower of arrows that her friend was releasing.

First she would cast Ice; and the substance would appear out of nowhere to encase an arrow and cause it to fall, hindered, to the sand. Then, she would cast Lightning; and the bolt would emerge from her palm to strike through the arrows and cause them to crackle and split and join their frozen brothers on the ground below.

And , as Cullen watched, he realized that the two seemed to be making a game of it. The bard would fire her projectiles in different manners—sometimes in arcs, sometimes in straight and steady lines; sometimes one at a time, sometimes bunched together—trying to get them to connect with the targets before Solana (No, Cullen corrected himself mentally, The mage.) could shoot them down.

By the looks of things, they had been at it for a decent while. Arrows littered the beach, either shriveled and fried or coated in about an inch of ice. The ones that had managed to avoid the spells were sticking, straight and proud, out of the targets. Only two un-magicked, un-sunk arrows stuck out of the sand, just inches away from their intended mark. Many yards away stood the two women and the dog. Both the mage's and the bard's faces were glowing in the sun, sweaty but pleased.

It occurred to Cullen that, although they were a fair distance away, Greagoir must have seen them going at this, no matter how deep in paperwork he was buried. The flashes of light from the Warden's magic and the sound of the barking hound at her side were not very hard to miss. He turned to ask Greagoir why, as Knight-Commander of the Ferelden Tower, he had not done anything about this sooner when, to his surprise, Cullen realized that, like Wynne, the man was wearing a mildly amused expression on his face (albeit his looked much more tired).

"Um, S-Ser?" Raleigh's voice sounded to Cullen's right. Cullen turned to see a nervous but determined look on the man's face. He, like Cullen, must have been hoping that their Commander would actually do something about the havoc that was going on below them, instead of just standing at the window, watching the scene play out in front of him.

Greagoir turned around to face the other man. "Wynne is down there," he said slowly, "I believe she'll be able to keep an eye on things… Still," he glanced at the nervous-looking Templar, then at Cullen, who was determined not to let any emotion show on his face. "I don't want her setting any examples." He sighed, "Tell them to at least quiet things down a bit… And not to damage the Tower."

"O-oh." Clearly, whatever the Raleigh had hoped the 'something' was that Greagoir might do, this was not it. "Me? I… uh…"

Greagoir shot the man a look. "Take Cullen with you, then," he snapped. "You both look like you could use some fresh air. I apologize, but," he nodded once towards a stack of un-sorted, un-signed documents on his desk, "I'm afraid I need to take care of these. Don't worry," he added, seeing the grim look on Raleigh's face, "If things really do get out of hand," he gave wry smile, motioning towards his office window, "I'll be able to see."

"I, uh—right. Yes, Ser. Sorry," Raleigh straightened up and gave a quick salute before turning on his heel and heading out, Cullen copying his actions. Behind him, Cullen could hear Greagoir muttering to himself as he seated himself back at his desk, "So much for Templars don't fear mages…."

They walked in hurried silence, through the stone hallway, down the many steps of the continual staircase, and out onto the Tower's beach, Cullen all the while trying to ignore the images of her smiling face that had resumed tugging at the corners of his mind. So engrossed was he in attempting to block her out, in fact that he walked straight past Raleigh as the other Templar came to a stop several feet away from her, her friend, and a very angry-looking, growling Mabari.

X x X

Even with the excited shouts and the flying arrows and the constant spells and the crash of the lake water against the rocks, Dog smelled them before they were even in view.

And he stopped jumping and he turned, ears perked.

Two men with swords, wearing that armor that always seemed to make his human cringe. And one of those men was him— the man who had tried to kill his human—who would have killed his human, had Dog not been there to protect her (his human was very lucky to have him around).

And Dog was crouched— no longer happy and barking and wagging his tail, but bristling and snarling and looking very fierce, completely ready to resume his duties and protect his human and be a Good Dog.

And, seeing his actions, his human stopped casting and laughing was now turned to face the same direction as Dog. And her ears were also perked.

Good, Dog thought. It's easier to protect you when you protect you, too.

Not that minded, really. It just made him feel better.

And, seeing his human's actions, Leliana also turned. And so did Wynne.

Very good. The more people protecting my human, the better.

And, when the two men with swords and the armor-that-makes-his-human-cringe came around into view, Dog let out a vicious snarl. 'If you lay even half a paw on her, I'll make it so that even my chew-toys feel sorry for you'

The man stopped.

Dog was pleased. You're not as stupid as you look.

But Dog was not pleased about the fact that the fact that the other man had not stopped. And though he was watching the Mabari with a careful eye, he was still walking towards Dog. And towards Dog's human.

And His Human was also not pleased. In fact, she seemed down-right nervous. Dog could tell because he could feel her tense up beside him and heard her shift in place and knew that her eyes were looking from one man to the other and trying to ignore the armor that made her cringe as she did her best to pretend that she wasn't nervous. And maybe her pretending was working on them, but it wasn't working on Dog. `Because Dog knew better.

X x X

It took a moment for Cullen's brain to register that he alone was now headed toward the Warden and her friend and was about half way between she and Raleigh before his brain managed to send the signal down to his legs to get him to stop walking.

For a brief moment he realized that all eyes were on him—from Raleigh's nervous glances, the red-head's carefully measured looks of disinterest, Wynne's passive looks of polite curiosity, the hound's snarling stares, and her unreadable expression. Then, the tension was broken as the Orlesian woman stepped subtly but protectively in front of Amell and addressed the men with a cautious courtesy. "May we help you?"

As Cullen opened his mouth to answer, the thought of how ridiculous the bard's protective nature was occurred to him. Was the woman she had so discreetly shielded from the two Templars the very same who all of Ferelden was talking about? Who had felled blood mages and demons and darkspawn and the blighted Arch Demon and come out all the better? Then again, if he were in this woman's shoes, he probably would have done the same thing… had he not been the very thing that the Warden was being guarded from.

"Ser Templar?" The mage-Warden had stepped forward to stand beside her Orlesian friend. She had sheathed her staff, though the Mabari who stood guard in front of her, having received no orders to heel from its master, was still growling, fangs bared.

It took a moment for Cullen to realize she was addressing him; "Ser Templar" was not something he was used to being called, especially not by her. And for a jolting moment he thought that he might have done something wrong—was she mad at him?—to be addressed in such a formal manner by a girl who usually greeted him by name until he realized that, no, he had done nothing wrong. There was nothing for her to be mad about. (And even if she was, why would it matter? He was a Templar and she was a mage and anger and ill will were common feelings that ran between these two groups.) It was a simple matter of she being a mage and the Hero of Ferelden and him being a Templar stationed at the Circle Tower and that Raleigh was mere feet behind him, listening intently and unsure what to do and that Wynne was a mere feet behind her, still watching the confrontation was a mild curiosity.

So, he did one natural thing to do in this situation. He responded.

"Warden." And beside him, he thought he sensed Raleigh wince and could have sworn that a small, microscopic curl had formed on Wynne's lips, but he couldn't be sure because he was too busy trying not to break eye-contact with her, and even if he looked, it would probably be gone by now.

"Is there something you need?" Her tone was courteous, but brief. He could see her eyes pass over to Raleigh and she arched a single brow. "If I recall it's not often that Templars leave their posts. Even more so now with the, ah…. strained numbers." Something flashed in her eyes, but it was gone before Cullen could identify exactly what that something was. "Is something the matter?"

"No," Cullen's voice sounded foreign to him, distant. Next to him, Ser Raleigh gave a cough so quiet that only Cullen could hear. "Nothing life-threatening, at least. The Knight-Commander simply feels that your ah…. actions are rather disputable. He requests that you," He glanced around at all three women, "discontinue them. Or," he added as an afterthought, "If you really feel the need to, er…. let lose" a twitch of a smile appeared on the mage's face, "to not make such a, ah… show of it."

Cullen finished his last sentence in a kind of awkward fall, the traces of heat in the pit of his stomach he had not felt since before the Blight resurfacing.

"I see," Amell was surveying the two Templars now with an impassive look, though Cullen got the distinct feeling that she was fighting to keep a straight face. The heat in his stomach doubled and twisted, threatening to make its way up past his neck. "Well, you can tell the Knight-Commander that he needn't worry," she glanced over at her companion (whose expression was equally devoid of any hints as to what either of them might be thinking), and finally lay a hand on the collar of her Mabari who, however reluctantly, let his growls die out. "I wouldn't want to upset the Commander. We'll stop—really, you only needed to ask. Although," a flash of a smirk flitted across her face, "Next time, only one of you needs to leave your post to do it."