“You spoke to that man about your son...easier, now,” Cassandra said as they traveled away from the Graves.
“Did I?” Arethin hummed to herself. “I suppose.” the thought of Elladen stung...less, now. The wound was less raw. She shivered. “His name was Elladen,” she said suddenly, realizing she had never told Cassandra anything about him. “Elladen Kelkim Lavellan. Kelkim was Deshanna's—my Keeper's--grandfather's name.”
Cassandra nodded. “Why was he named after Deshanna's grandfather?” she asked. “Not yours?”
She shrugged. “We already have a Honati and a Lanwen,” she said. “And two Dynmosis already. We were running out of fathers and grandfathers to name him after,” she laughed. “He was a mage, like me. He wasn't old enough to figure out what he wanted to do with it, yet, though.”
“Did he look like you?”
Arethin considered that. “Maybe he was lighter,” she said. “His sire was pale, like you. At least, I'm pretty sure he was.” she fingered the bridge of her nose. “He got my nose,” she said. “And it was plenty big without having been broken.”
“I like your nose,” Cassandra protested. “There is nothing wrong with a large nose.”
Arethin chuckled. “I suppose not.” in spite of herself, she flushed at the compliment.
When they returned to Skyhold, there was a message for Cassandra.
“Do you remember the group of Templars, who came to Haven?” Cassandra asked, frowning down at the letter she had recieved.
Arethin's face darkened. “I do,” she said. “What about them?”
Cassandra sighed, and held out the missive she had gotten. “They have requested to re-join the Chantry.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
She shook her head. “I do not know. They are housed in Caer Oswin, and I...I am uncertain what to do. Perhaps the remnants of the Seekers are with them as well. And—we do not have a Divine. I do not know what organization they would be joining, or who they would we swearing their loyalty to.”
Arethin looked at her. “Do you wish to speak to them?"
Cassandra shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I am simply...unsure what I would do with them.”
“Charge them with crimes?”
“Arethin...”
“Or don't, it isn't my business.” Arethin folded her arms. “Is it?”
“I—perhaps some are worth saving, like Ser Barris, or Serah Evangeline.” Cassandra looked up at her, in her eyes a painful hope.
Arethin's chest constricted. “They shall not come here,” she said. “I won't allow it.”
“I know.” Cassandra rubbed her forehead. “I will go,” she said. “I must tie off this bleeding stump, if nothing else.”
Arethin smiled, though her smile held little humor. “A good metaphor. Do you want me to come with you?”
“I doubt you would want to see them.”
“What if they're hostile, like the red ones?” Arethin's stomach clenched. “What if it's a trap, and they hurt you?”
“Then it would be even more dangerous for a mage to come. No, I will not go alone, and I would not ask you to confront them, my love. You do not need to.”
Arethin smiled, and touched Cassandra's cheek. “Good luck,” she said. “You will sorely need it. Come back swiftly.”
“I will do my best,” Cassandra said, covering Arethin's hand with her own.
Caer Oswin was a small keep, occupied by one pious and quiet noble. A servant greeted Cassandra at the door.
“I am here to see the Templars,” Cassandra said.
“Of course.”
She met Commander Cullen in the great hall. The great hall was not nearly so grand as the halls she had been in previously, small and dark, the air smoky and almost gray with haze.
“Seeker Pentaghast,” Cullen said with a half-smile. He looked as ill as he had in Haven, the distinctive illness of lyrium withdrawal. Greasy skin and shaking hands, all compounded by viciously bloodshot eyes.
“Commander Cullen,” she said.
“I'm glad you accepted my invitation.”
“I have only come to speak,” she said.
He sighed, eyes cast down. A tremor ran through him. “The Alliance will not take us.”
“I am afraid not.”
“I was worried about this.” He clenched his jaw. “Why not?” he asked. “You know what we are capable of--”
“You must understand that to accept Templars into the Alliance would be to split it in two,” Cassandra said. “Lady Lavellan would never accept it, to say nothing of any of the others who are not with the Chantry--” she shook her head. “The Dalish and dwarven powers would reject you entirely.”
“And if you were to accept us back into the Chantry...?” he glanced up at her, a spark of slight hope in his eyes.
“Then Lady Lavellan would be...displeased. It would seriously damage the Alliance, and we cannot afford damage at this time.” she drummed her fingers on the table. “If Lady Lavellan did not take issue, then another of our alliances would.”
The Alliance was still fragile, like a newly grown flower. The first wrong move could crush it. She felt woefully out of her element, and could not clearly see what needed to be done.
Her world was a balancing act, and she was not used to it.
“Why?” Cullen asked. “Why would the Templars be so hated?”
Cassandra looked at him.
“Yes—I understand the contention between the Circle mages and the Templars,” Cullen sighed. “I have...come to realize more about how the mages felt.”
Cassandra nodded. “I know. It is a strange thing to be a witness to such horrors for so long, but never truly realize them.”
He blinked at her. “But everyone else? Ferelden, the dwarves--?”
“Many of the Alliance are mages, Circle and not,” Cassandra explained. “It would feel an aggressive move.”
“Protection is aggressive?” Cullen shook his head. “Seeker, we are no longer under Lambert's rule. We are here to help.”
“The mages, the Dalish and the rebel mages in particular, will never see it that way,” she said.
“But—Seeker Pentaghast, surely we can assist in some way,” Cullen insisted.
“Perhaps,” Cassandra said. “But even those within the Chantry remember that it was the Templars who betrayed us, who, with the Lord Seeker, conspired to put their own Divine on the Sunburst Throne.” she leaned forward. “And you did not stop him. Even in Kirkwall, you aided Meredith, and did not stop her, either.”
“Meredith was—Kirkwall was a disaster,” Cullen said. “Even if I were to leave her, where would I go? You and your allies were not exactly forthcoming.”
Cassandra nodded, her eyes downcast. “I know. Even now, Kirkwall hostile to anyone and everyone. We would have very likely not risked a Kirkwall Templar coming to us. That was unfair, I will grant you that.”
“Exactly,” Cullen nodded. “And with the siege of Val Royeaux—I left Lambert, took any loyal Templars I could find, and we left.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But you must understand that this looks...troubling. You did not leave when Meredith and Elthina took Kirkwall, did not report their law-breaking to the Divine, or any of her allies. You did not even leave the Templars until the Lord Seeker broke down the gates of Val Royeaux. Regardless of what is fair, there are many in the Alliance who will not be sympathetic to that.”
Cullen winced at her quick summation.
She sighed. “And even so, I fear the mages will never accept you.”
“Not even the loyal mages? Surely Madame de Fer and those allied to the Inquisition would be pleased to see us.”
“Perhaps,” Cassandra admitted, although privately she was not certain what Vivienne would think. The woman had defended Val Royeaux from incursion, and would doubtless not appreciate hearing of Cullen's actions. Her high standards extended to everyone, mages and Templars alike. “But not the Grand Enchanter, and not the Dalish, and thus not the dwarves. The loyal mages and the Chantry would be outnumbered.”
He shook his head. “The Dalish and the rebels are dangerous,” he said. “They both use magic too freely.”
“That is possible," Cassandra cut him off. “But if the Dalish wish to represent themselves with mages, that is--” she blinked as she next spoke. “It can no longer be any concern of ours. The Dalish and other elves have made their grievances with the Chantry very clear.”
“What do you mean?” Cullen asked, raising his eyebrows.
“We hunted their children, Commander,” Cassandra said. In a flash, she remembered Arethin's utter rage upon seeing the Templars, the way Vivienne had said that the story of Arethin's son was only one of many. “Lady Lavellan, and many others of her people, have personal reasons for not wishing our interference. And since they have been returned the lands of the Dales, they are their own country once again.”
Cullen shook his head. “Very well. I suppose it does make sense not to repeat the mistakes of the past. But what of the other mages?”
Cassandra grimaced. “They all have their own reasons for despising Templars. Even Madame de Fer has spoken of things—things that should never have been done. You would not be trusted, not unless you were no longer Templars.”
“And what of the dangers of magic? What about abominations?” Cullen demanded. “Surely abominations are an inevitability.”
“There...have been no possessions,” she said, only just realizing it herself. “None.”
Cullen snorted. “They are hiding them--”
“Hiding possessions. From a Seeker.” Cassandra stared at him, and he quailed.
“I meant no disrespect, of course...mages lie, Seeker, you know that as well as anyone.”
“As do Templars.” she steepled her fingers. “Commander. I am trying to decide what to do. You disparage the Chantry's allies, something that does not endear me to you. It was your people who tried to kill Justinia, or allowed Lambert to do so.”
“I did not,” Cullen said, outraged.
“Ser Barris, our commander, was a Templar, and he refused to go along with Lambert's orders. You and your people have not.”
“You need us,” Cullen insisted. “Even if there have been no problems, there will be some in the future.”
“We have managed so far,” Cassandra said. “If there is to be a Templar Order, it must be very different. I do not know that you are the change that is needed.”
Cullen shook his head. “I have heard many of the complaints of mages,” he said. “It does not matter—the rulings were harsh, but they kept people safe. Even Knight-Commander Meredith, for all her madness, understood that.”
Cassandra stared at him, appalled.
“That woman broke laws,” she snapped. “Chantry laws. She and Elthina made mages Tranquil, killed them, with no provocation—and Kirkwall was full of blood mages and abominations. I will not hear such a woman spoken of as if she did anything but cause grief to the Chantry and the people.”
Cullen raised his hands. “Yes, changes must be made, of course,” he said. “We cannot have a repeat of the rebellion. But magic is too dangerous to simply—let mages do as they will! Is the Breach not an example of that very thing?”
“And it was magic that closed the Breach,” Cassandra snapped. “Seekers and Templars only suppress magic—we cannot affect the Veil. Only a mage can.”
“Even so—the problems we are having are all the result of magic,” Cullen insisted.
“And ignore the horrors that the Chantry did in the name of protection?” Cassandra demanded. “The Chantry hurt people, we tore apart the world—have you listened to what a mage has to say about the Circle? It was the previous Lady Seeker who drove the Wardens out of Ferelden—she blackmailed King Alistair to do it! Half of what has happened is our own doing.”
“Seeker Cassandra, we have regrets, of course,” Cullen said. “But the sorrow of a mage is nothing when weighed against the sorrow magic can cause. I have seen it myself—mages are protected, sheltered, educated, and all we ask is that they not harm others, but they cannot abide even that.”
Rage rose in Cassandra's throat. “In my time in the Inquisition, I have met people whose children were killed by Templars,” she snapped. “Their children, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands—killed, or made Tranquil, or taken away and never allowed to see their families again.” there was a lump in her throat, but her voice was steady as she continued. “Madame de Fer told me of families torn apart. Husbands and wives separated. Young people cut down for failing their Harrowing—people made Tranquil for a mistake. A dangerous mistake, but no less tragic. Grand Enchanter Fiona speaks of—abuses of power. Tranquilities and deaths for imagined offenses. Of always being watched, of the feeling of not a sanctuary, but a prison.”
Cullen's face sank with each word, but Cassandra plowed on.
“Cole—a—former member of the White Spire—speaks of more death, more pointless misery,” she said. “Tragedy and horror. All of this, so we could be safe. And then we lied about it, over and over and over again. We refused to speak of these things, as if they did not exist.”
She looked at him, her expression pleading.
Please. Let them be lying. Let them all be wrong.
It would be so much easier. We are here to make the world safe. This is the will of the Maker.
A golden purpose, and a clear, shining bright line.
“They--” he stammered. “Well—mages exaggerate,” he said. “They are...we have all done things we regret,”
He looked at anything but her, and his expression was of a man walking to the gallows. He hunched over, the guilt so thick she could almost taste it.
She was unmoved. She had to be unmoved. “I want you to give me an answer, Commander. How can you hear of these things, and still be convinced that the way we have been acting should not be changed?”
“We do what we must for the sake of the people,” Cullen said. “These laws keep them safe, in spite of themselves. And mages cannot be treated like--” he caught himself.
“Like what?”
“Mages cannot be treated like people.”
She got to her feet. She could taste Arethin's kiss on her lips, the way she laughed, the way she danced.
Cassandra looked down at Cullen.
Her stomach twisted in disgust.
This was what she had so vaunted as protectors?
She had always known Templars in her mind. Shining guardians, unspoiled, incorruptible—true Templars and true Seekers were nothing like their pale imitations. They wore the Chant like armor, the light of the Maker on earth.
If their words were not divine, they were the second closest thing.
On her lips was Arethin's kiss.
She shook her head, her heart broken.
“Get out of my sight,” she said. Cullen looked up, opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Take yourself and your Templars from Ferelden—go—anywhere. Never return. If we are to be protected by magic, it will not be at your hands.”
“Seeker--”
“Go,” she snarled.
“But--”
“Do not make me repeat myself, Commander.”
Cullen scurried out of the room, and the burning in Cassandra's throat got worse.
She'd known. She had known what she was in for. It was just...hard.
She returned to Skyhold, and immediately sought out Arethin.
“Arethin?” Cassandra called, coming up the steps to Arethin's loft.
“Are you back already?”
“Evidently.”
Arethin laughed. “Well—come upstairs!”
Cassandra walked up the stairs, her feet leaden. Arethin turned to see her with a smile, but that fell as soon as she caught sigh of Cassandra's face. “What's wrong?” she asked.
Cassandra shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said.
“What for?”
“The Templars,” Cassandra leaned on the bannister, squeezed her eyes shut.
“What happened?” Arethin's tone was cautious, and Cassandra felt a dam in her break. She began to weep, silently.
“I'm sorry,” she said again.
“Oh, Mythal's ass,” Arethin muttered and went to Cassandra's side. “What's wrong?”
“I believed you, but I—I didn't think--” she wrapped Arethin up in her arms. “I'm sorry. How can I be so wrong? Every choice I make—why is it wrong?”
Arethin stroked Cassandra's hair. “I don't know,” she said.
“That—idiot man--” she choked. “Cullen.”
“What about him?”
“He could give me no answer. Not for any of it. He gave the same—he spouted off about mages being dangerous, and he—but he could give me nothing. Nothing. He said they all had 'regrets!' As if—as if that means anything when he is doing nothing but—but hiding at Caer Oswin--”
“Listen to me,” Arethin said, pulling away and looking Cassandra in the face. “You're trying to change. That's good. You aren't like him.”
“But—but I believed--”
“We all believe things that are wrong. And you did hurt people. But you're trying to stop, you're trying to fix it. That's what matters.”
Cassandra let out a sob. “He was such a little man,” she said. “Pathetic. How did that happen? How did the Chantry become this?”
“My people would tell you that the Chantry has been like this for a long, long time,” Arethin said. “But we couldn't tell you why.” she sighed. “I don't know. You must ask someone else for an answer.”
“It will be different,” Cassandra said. “Something worthy. Something that it was supposed to be.”
“Maybe,” Arethin said. “Maybe.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“I am.”
Cassandra pressed her face to Arethin's shoulder. “I don't want to be here,” she said. “The world is coming apart. I did not want this.”
“What do you want?”
“Once, I wanted to create order,” she said. “I thought it was so simple. Stop Elthina Stop the Circles uprising. Stop Orlais fighting with itself. Not easy, but simple. And then the Breach, and you...” she pulled away, bloodshot eyes meeting Arethin's. “And now nothing is simple anymore. I want...”
Arethin looked at her, waiting.
“I want the Chantry to be what I dreamed of when I was young,” Cassandra confessed. “Can you imagine? A golden place, full of light and song, something to unite the world. A grand guardian. But I am here, and I have no more dreams.”
“I've heard that the dawn will come,” Arethin said softly. “In my dreams. Someone whispered it to me once.”
“What?”
“Didn't you know? You don't have to listen to demons, but the words people speak in dreams can sometimes tell you things. And I know something better is coming. We will remake the world, Cassandra. We will make it better.”
“Can we?” Cassandra looked away. “I do not know anymore.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes it's better just to hope.” she leaned over and pressed her lips to Cassandra's. When they parted, she said “Come on. Enough of these thoughts. Sometimes it's no use dwelling.”