Knight's Bloom

by R2s Muse

Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just borrowing and enjoying putting words into their mouths.

A/N: Lovely cover image by Inveleth. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: Old Friends

Varric leaned back in his chair as he finished his tale of the Champion of Kirkwall's rise to power. After hours of interrogation by the Seeker of Truth, he had come to his spellbinding finish, wherein the former refugee had saved the city from a mad despot and had taken the seat of Viscountess of Kirkwall.

"So that's it. That's the whole story."

The Seeker considered his words thoughtfully. "Then Meredith turned on the Champion. She was to blame," she finally concluded. She still sounded astonished, as yet again Varric's tale had refuted many of the stories she'd heard.

"Or that damned idol was. Or Anders. Take your pick," the dwarf replied.

"Even so, if the Champion had not been there . . ."

"Then, I suppose, Meredith would be ruling the city still."

"But the Champion is not in Kirkwall any longer," she pressed, still searching for a clue as to the hero's whereabouts in the three years since Meredith's death.

"So I hear!" he said innocently. "Isn't it strange how quickly fortunes can change."

ooXXoo

"Viscountess?"

It took Marian Hawke a moment to recall that Seneschal Bran was addressing her. Again. She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to the title, let alone the responsibility of restoring order to Kirkwall following the tragic events at the Gallows two months ago.

Has it been two months already?

It was still so hard to believe that her friend Anders had brought the city to the brink of an all-out war between the mages and their Templar protectors with his "no compromise" solution of destroying the Chantry—and the Grand Cleric with it. As usual, it had been left to her, as Champion of Kirkwall, to find the compromise solution anyway. She had worked with the Templars to restore order to the city while resisting Knight-Commander Meredith's call for the Right of Annulment and saving some of the Circle mages.

Former Knight-Commander Meredith, she reminded herself.

Meredith's charred and twisted remains seemed permanently fused to the flagstones of the Gallows Courtyard, almost like a warning about the Templar commander's extreme view of mages. And the dangers of magic, which ultimately had driven her mad.

We have to find a more peaceful way for Kirkwall.

A subtle cough drew Hawke from her thoughts and reminded her that Bran was still there.

"Ahem, Viscountess? The Knight-Commander is here to see you."

Oh right. "Send him in, please, Bran."

Bran returned in short order, announcing in his most obsequious voice, "Knight-Commander Cullen, Excellency."

The newly promoted Knight-Commander of Kirkwall strode into her office, stopping just in front of her desk. Cullen nodded curtly at her. "Viscountess Hawke. You requested to see me?"

Seeing him up close for the first time since that fateful day at the Gallows, she tried to pinpoint what seemed different about him. He stood at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back while his eyes looked at some distant spot above her head. The warmth she was accustomed to seeing in his eyes when they met seemed to have been replaced by cold duty.

Is that the difference?

With his shiny new commander's armor, Cullen still looked like the model of what a Templar should be: tall, broad shouldered, classically handsome. In fact, almost too perfect. But even that had been true since she'd known him. His curly red-gold hair was still closely shorn. His amber eyes were as keen as ever, even if they seemed to be studiously avoiding eye contact. As she studied him, she noticed some kind of red abrasion at his temple, but, aside from that, he basically looked the same. Whatever that indefinable difference was, it continued to elude her.

"Bran, please leave us."

Seneschal Bran paused for a moment and then quietly bowed himself out the room, shutting the doors.

From behind her massive desk, she watched Cullen for another moment before she smiled warmly. "Thank you for coming, Cullen. Please, sit down." She motioned to the seats facing her desk. When he hesitated, she repeated, "Please?"

With a rattle of plate armor, he complied. Now that he was sitting, she could see a few chinks in this new façade. His eyes darted around uncomfortably and for a moment he seemed unsure where to rest his hands, until finally he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

"You're looking well, Cullen," she began brightly, purposefully using his name again instead of his title.

Cullen's eyes narrowed slightly, and his brow wrinkled in confusion. "And, you are as well, Excellency. What would have of me?"

"Cullen, can we please just . . . talk? Like we used to before all this?" She motioned vaguely at her new coat of arms on the wall, but also at the Viscountess office in general. "It has all been happening so quickly, what with my investiture and your promotion. Every communication between us has been through eighteen different intermediaries and has been so . . . formal. Honestly, I just wanted to sit down and see how an old friend is doing in these difficult times."

She smiled again timidly, watching to see if he recalled this echo of an old conversation. He sighed and smiled ruefully as the warmth started to resurface in his eyes.

"You're right, Hawke, it has been some time. Rebuilding has taken an astonishing amount of my attention. It almost seems like another lifetime when you used to come visit me at the Gallows, trying to cover up some mad scheme or other you'd gotten involved in."

"Cover up? I was never covering up anything. My life was an open book." Her grin belied her innocent tone. "Well, except for, perhaps, some of those apostate mages I worked with. And, initially, the fact that I'm an apostate. And, that nasty business with Ser Alrik. But, you know, he was a really bad guy, and you Templars should have taken care of him on your own."

Cullen laughed, raising his hands as if in mock surrender and finally letting go of any formality. "You really are a piece of work, Hawke. Maker knows I should have taken you to task for any number of infractions over the years.

"But, your service to the Order was also commendable, which of course is why I supported your investiture as Viscountess." His eyes slid away from hers for a moment at this. "You're what Kirkwall needs right now."

"Well, I could say the same about you, Knight-Commander. Congratulations on the promotion. I like the new armor; it suits you." She smiled and then raised an eyebrow. "But . . . where's Meredith's fancy circlet?"

He rubbed at the abrasion on his temple in chagrin. "Well, I tried to wear it, for the men. But, honestly, it chafed."

She burst out laughing as he smiled sheepishly. He continued, "It's not regulation anyway. I think Meredith just wore it to symbolize her power over the city, as a parallel to the Viscount's circlet—which I notice you are not wearing either."

She grimaced. "There's only so much of this office I can take at once. The circlet is a part of the job I also consider optional, much to Bran's disapproval. Plus, it gives me a headache."

They shared another laugh, breaking through the awkwardness at last. He watched her for a moment, seeming to really look at her for the first time.

Relieved that they were finally reconnecting, she found herself blurting, "You know, I'm really glad we're having this talk." She bit her lip and wondered if she was sharing too much. "In a way, you're the only one who can really relate to my new . . . situation. I don't know if you feel the same, but I'm finding that all these new responsibilities, with the whole city looking to us to set things back to rights, is a bit overwhelming."

She saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes which encouraged her. "How is it that you seem to deal with it with such aplomb?" she asked.

He shrugged off the compliment, coloring a little. "Well, I don't know that I'd call it aplomb. I'd probably just call it . . . necessity. It is quite a bit to handle, but . . . honestly, Hawke, I don't see anyone better to do either of our jobs. So I think we're stuck."

He smiled at her warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners and rendering her momentarily speechless. Wait . . . was he always this handsome?

With eyes twinkling, he went on. "Anyway, aren't your companions still around Kirkwall? I thought I'd heard that the Hanged Man has a packed house every night, as your dwarf friend Varric retells the heroic tale of how the Champion of Kirkwall defeated a demon-possessed Meredith. In single combat. Using only a spoon and her sparkling wit?"

She laughed at the apt description of her friend. "Yes, Varric has been playing fast and loose with the truth, as usual, discounting the legion of people who helped that day. Including our dashing new Knight-Commander." She bit her tongue, hoping she wasn't getting too familiar.

She hurried on. "Unfortunately, I rarely see him these days, or any of my old companions, for that matter. Not a lot of time for adventuring when there are disgruntled bureaucrats to appease. Plus a number of my friends are . . . gone . . . now." She heard her voice catch, the sudden resurgence of grief catching her by surprise.

Unexpectedly, Cullen understood. "I'm sorry, Hawke, about your friend, Anders. You have my sincere condolences. But, there was nothing else you could have done. Not only did he deserve to be punished for his crime, I understand that he asked you to do it. You need have no shame for your actions. It was justice."

She laughed bitterly at the unintentional irony of his words. "Erm, thank you, but I think I'd really rather not talk about him, if you don't mind. It has been hard enough dealing with the daily reminders from the Chantry clean up."

She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure, but couldn't avoid seeing in her mind the gaping crater that now scarred upper Hightown. The explosion had been so energetic that few buildings in the vicinity had escaped some kind of damage.

"How is the clean up coming along?" he asked softly.

"As well as can be expected. Most of the rubble has been removed, so the engineers have a better sense of what they have to work with. The few remaining clergy are mostly settled in to the estate we commandeered as a temporary place of worship. But, it's all going to take time. Then, just wait until the Divine's official inquest arrives in a month or two." She snorted.

"Ah, yes. More questions about what happened that day. . ." He trailed off pensively.

"On a more positive note." She bit her lip apprehensively but made herself continue. "I also wanted to thank you for your support that day. I must admit, I was rather surprised when you stood up for me against Meredith when she ordered everyone to, um, kill me. Since I rather enjoy being alive, I wanted to make sure you knew that I appreciated that." She laughed awkwardly and then resumed worrying her lower lip.

"Yes, well, it was just the right thing to do," he said brusquely, looking away again.

He stared at the wall and then gave a bone weary sigh. When he continued it was almost like he was speaking to himself. "That's the only way I can plot a new course for myself, is to do what I think is right. I said I would never again question the purpose of the Order, and I do not. I know in my heart that its purpose is to protect both the people as well as the mages. The new Circle, and any Templar who intends to remain in Kirkwall, will understand that." The steel in his tone was unyielding and strangely, made her shiver.

He turned back to her with a stubborn set to his jaw, almost as if expecting her to disagree with him. Instead, when she looked in his eyes she finally saw it. That indefinable difference.

Cullen's eyes had always had a bit of a haunted look to them, presumably from his terrible experiences when the Ferelden Circle fell to blood magic and abominations. One could always see, deep in his eyes, traces of the horrors he had survived; torture enough to break most men. While those shadows would never fully be lifted, now there was a kind of serene confidence shining from his eyes. Like somehow he had gained a certainty of purpose she had not seen in him before.

And it looks really good on him.

"I see," she mused aloud, trying to break out of her brief reverie. "Well, you know, what a coincidence! My other nefarious purpose in inviting you here today was to talk about just that."

He gave her a puzzled look. "Go on."

"I know we've talked about our different philosophies of the mages' Circle for years now. I was thinking that our views are now not so dissimilar and that we might actually have an opportunity here to make a new start. It sounds like you've been thinking the same thing. So, what I want to know is: how can I help?"

ooXXoo

When Cullen left Viscount's Keep, he was startled to find that the sun had already set. He hadn't realized that he had talked with Hawke for so long. Her ideas for re-establishing trust within the Circle mirrored his own, and he hoped, with her support, he might succeed. What a different world Kirkwall could be if the Templars and the Viscount's office actually worked together. He was excited for what this new future might hold.

Their interview had only confirmed the good opinion he'd long held of Hawke. Since her days as a refugee, she had worked tirelessly to help the people of Kirkwall. From what he had heard more recently, her activities since Meredith's demise had been no less impressive. In contrast to the hands-off approach of her predecessor, Viscount Dumar, she had been knee-deep in the city's problems even before it was her official job. Working with the Captain of the Guard, the Champion of Kirkwall had quickly put a stop to the rioting and looting. It hadn't been long before the people, from Lowtown to Hightown, were all calling for her to step into the Viscount's long vacant seat.

After the short investiture ceremony, he had seen her regularly, but distantly. This had been their first private conversation.

He could now admit to himself that he had actually been avoiding a private interview, dreading a discussion of those events at the Gallows. Despite what he had said about knowing it was right to support Hawke against Meredith, he was still uncertain about his true motives that day.

One thing had become apparent. The experience had crystalized his thinking about the Order, finally putting to rest doubts that had plagued him since his days in Ferelden. Confronting directly Meredith's concept of the Order had unexpectedly made his own views clear—views that were fundamentally different from hers.

He remembered Meredith's response to the mages who had surrendered that day. She had insisted that the risk of them being blood mages was too great, no matter their true intentions.

"And if they hope to escape by playing innocent?" Meredith sneered. "Will you accept that responsibility, Cullen?"

"Yes," he countered, feeling the weight of that responsibility keenly. "I believe that's what being a Templar is about."

"And I say we are here to protect the people. We must be judges, jailers and even executioners."

Cullen sighed. That was when he had first defied Meredith, telling his troops to listen to the Champion's call for clemency instead of Meredith's call for the mages' deaths. He had been acting his own conscience, but the alacrity with which he had taken Hawke's side had worried him. Still worried him.

Soon after, Meredith had turned on Hawke, proclaiming that the Champion must now share the mages' fate. Cullen's response had been instantaneous, standing up for Hawke and relieving Meredith of her command.

He realized that he felt guilty about it because his path in that moment had become so clear. He had felt no indecision about turning on Meredith. Of course, Meredith had soon after lost her final grip on reality, turning on all of them. Nevertheless, he wondered: had he been intent on protecting the city or Hawke herself?

Lost in these recollections, he had not noticed the highwaymen closing in until they were practically upon him.

Cursing himself for his inattention, he drew his sword and shield and sized up their numbers as they slipped out of the many shadows dotting the Hightown square. The brigands were well armed and seemed intent on his death. The fight would be desperate, but he might still prevail.

As the group rushed him with weapons drawn, he invoked his Templar talents, stunning many of his attackers with a blast of spirit energy. While they reeled away, he methodically dispatched them one by one, using both his sword and shield as weapons.

He felt something trickle down his cheek and wondered if it was sweat or blood as he waited for the next wave to close on him. He didn't have to wait long as soon their number doubled, and then tripled.

Gap-toothed ruffians grinned at him as they inched closer, feinting at his sword hand. He prepared to rush those in front of him when suddenly he heard the thunderous crack of dozens of lightning strikes raining down across the square.

Without stopping to question serendipity, he used the distraction to his advantage and cut a swath through the highwaymen even as some dropped sizzling to the flagstones. Time seemed to stand still as his focus narrowed to only his immediate assailants, trying to make every strike count. Block and thrust. Dodge and counterattack. Parry and bash. Only distantly was he aware of other combat spells flying at the edge of his sight.

Before long, the courtyard had fallen silent. Cullen warily surveyed the carnage, trying to assess from where the timely spellcasting had come and whether that presented yet another threat. Then, he saw Hawke striding toward him down the steps that led from the Keep.

Her eyes also sharp and wary, she gave him a crooked smile. "Even Hightown can get a bit rough after dark."

He met her smile with a weary one of his own, finally letting down his guard, when his body shuddered and pain exploded from his shoulder.

He looked down to see the head of an arrow protruding from the armor over his collarbone. He turned in time to see the archer, who had been hidden behind a column, receive a bolt of lightning to the chest followed closely by a massive stone projectile that knocked him off his feet. The archer was dead before he hit the pavement.

"Cullen!" Hawke ran up and stopped in front of him. "Sorry. We missed that one. How are you doing?"

"I've been better," he said, grimacing in pain. He fingered the wound, feeling that the arrowhead protruded only partway from his shoulder. He was also bleeding profusely. "I need to get back to the Gallows to get this tended. I . . . thank you for your assistance, Hawke. I think I should be in much more dire straits if you had not happened along." His voice sounded much stronger than he expected, almost like he wasn't about to vomit from the waves of pain radiating from the wound.

"It was my pleasure. And incidentally, I happened along because you're right in front of my house. Why don't you come inside and let me take care of that for you."

"No, really, I'll be fine, if I just . . . sit for a moment." Abruptly his legs gave out and he felt shock starting to settle in.

"You're losing a little too much blood there, my friend. Come on, let's get you in." She grabbed his uninjured arm, drew it across her shoulders and leveraged him up. "You Templars and your, unf, heavy armor," she grunted.

Slowly, they walked toward the Hawke estate, with him leaning on her for balance. Hawke led them inside and into what seemed to be a study. With the sweep of her arm, she cleared one of the tables and gently lowered him down on to it.

"Well, you've definitely ruined your fancy new armor," she said distractedly as she examined where the arrow had pierced through his breastplate.

A dwarf quietly followed them into the room. He seemed to take the scene in stride. "Mistress, is there anything I can get for you or the gentleman? Hot water? Bandages?"

"Ah, Bodahn, yes, both would be very helpful. Thank you."

The dwarf left to do his mistress's bidding.

"I need to get that arrow out before any healing magic will work. I'm afraid I'll have to push it all the way through. Um, this is going to hurt."

Cullen gave her a tight smile. "Thank you for the warning."

She chuckled and then positioned herself behind his wounded shoulder. "Okay, on the count of three. One . . ." And with that, she immediately pushed the arrow through without warning.

Stars shot before his eyes as the nausea rose again. While his body reeled from this, she quickly broke off the arrow head and then pulled the rest of the arrow out of his shoulder from behind.

"Now I've got to get this armor off to see the extent of the damage. Don't move."

She nimbly began to remove his breastplate and adjoining pieces, easily finding every strap and buckle without needing to ask. He willed himself to sit still by wondering how a mage knew so much about plate armor. As the noisy pieces clattered systematically to the floor, the dwarf quietly returned with the supplies.

"Just in time, Bodahn. My thanks."

Hawke had finished with the armor and was ripping his tunic away from the wound. Cullen watched her in bemusement as she clinically mopped away the blood and peered at his now bare shoulder. She followed her examination with her hands, probing and pushing while he winced.

She smiled at him again. "Well, you're lucky. The arrow seems to have broken your collarbone, but not pierced any vital organs or arteries. May I use magic to heal it?"

She seemed anxious about this point, so he nodded quickly.

"Okay, give me just a moment." A look of concentration came over her face and he felt the warmth of her magic suffuse his shoulder. The pain subsided as quickly as it had begun, and she was already cleaning off the remaining blood from his now unbroken skin.

He looked up at Hawke as she worked, searching for something to say. "I'm not sure who taught you how to count, but I believe your numbers need some work."

Her laughter rang out. "Indeed. Well, I find it's best if you don't know painful things like that are coming. It's over faster, leaving you more time to be brave. Anyway, looks like you're good as new. Although shame about your armor. And your tunic."

That brought his attention back to the fact that he was mostly undressed, causing his damnable fair skin to redden in embarrassment.

"Yes, that should make for an interesting trip back to the Gallows. Alone and half-naked." He sighed at his lack of foresight in leaving his guard behind today.

Echoing his unspoken thought, she asked, "Shouldn't the high and mighty Knight-Commander of Kirkwall have a retinue escorting him?"

Feeling a bit defensive, he responded in kind. "I could ask you the same thing. What is the Viscountess of Kirkwall doing walking home alone, after dark. In fact, now that I think of it, what are you doing here at all? Shouldn't you be living at the Keep now?"

"Oh, that's not really home. I have . . . so much history here, I can't give it up." A shadow fell briefly across her face but was as quickly gone. "But, you're probably right. I should start using my guards more. I'm so used to having friends to watch my back, I . . . forget." She trailed off, suddenly sounding sad and alone.

"I suppose it is hard for us both to change our habits. But this should be a lesson to us!" He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Especially since I was told that, er, even Hightown can get a bit rough after dark." He ended with a wink, which succeeded in making her laugh at the echo of her earlier words.

"You know, I'm not sure your breastplate will fit quite properly now, but I'm sure I could find you a tunic at least."

Just then, Bodahn returned to clear away the mess.

"Bodahn, would you be so kind as to dig out one of Master Carver's tunics?" Hawke asked. "I think the Knight-Commander is in need."

Who is Carver? He had not heard that Hawke had married. Not that it's any of your business, he told himself.

"It seems I am in your debt again, Hawke. Thank you for the, uh, unsanctioned use of magic on my behalf. If we are to forge a better relationship between Templars and mages in Kirkwall, this seems like a good start."

She laughed again. "I do hope so, Ser Knight. Although, this is all my fault, really. If I hadn't kept you at the Keep for so long, you would have been home before nightfall."

"No, no, you were right; it is my own fault for deciding against bringing my guard with me. But, you did give me some food for thought today. I must admit, my mind was so much occupied that they almost took me unawares."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I think my brush with mortality has me at a bit of a disadvantage right now, but I would really like to talk with you more about your ideas about the Circle. Perhaps we could find a time. During the day, in my office, when I'm, um, more properly dressed."

Bodahn returned then, holding a careworn linen tunic that he proffered to Cullen. "Messere."

"Thank you." He slipped the tunic on. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly, which was unusual for him given his height and broad shoulders.

"Ah, I thought that would work." Hawke grinned, sounding pleased. "Carver was about your build. I'm glad it can be put to good use."

Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Who is Carver?"

"Oh, he's my brother. My, um, dead brother. I hope that doesn't bother you. I could never seem to discard his things, even after all this time. My house is starting to turn into a museum." She said the last with a rather bitter laugh, eyes drifting away.

Despite the morbid turn of Hawke's comment, her words strangely cheered him. "Well, I thank you for its use. It will no doubt protect me quite well." He gave her a quick bow. "And, I think I should be on my way so I trouble you no further."

"Oh, it's been no trouble, Cullen. You are welcome to bleed at my house any time," she joked as they walked to the door of the estate.

He stopped in the doorway. "I will try to avoid that in the future. If you don't mind, however, may I send someone for the armor tomorrow?"

"Of course. Or I could have it delivered to the Gallows."

"No, no, it's no problem for me to retrieve it," he insisted smoothly, wondering at his motives for securing an invitation to return. Then, before he realized what he was doing, he took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "My lady, thank you and farewell."

He looked into her startled eyes and then turned and left.