Chapter Text
“Welcome to Kirkwall.” The toothless sailor smiled mockingly at him as Cullen stumbled off the ship, glad to finally be on dry land after a long, unpleasant crossing. He’d spent much of the voyage from Ferelden to Kirkwall clinging to the side of the vessel, emptying the contents of his stomach into the inky black ocean.
“The Gallows is just up there.” The sailor pointed to a stone staircase, barely visible behind the crowds of people milling about the docks. The stream of refugees from Ferelden had finally started to slow with the end of the Blight, but the docks were still full of families trying to secure access to the city. “Some of these people have been here for weeks; you should consider yourself lucky you’ve got somewhere to go already.” The sailor regarded Cullen, who didn’t respond. He wanted to feel lucky.
The decision to ship him off to the Free Marches had been made without any input from Cullen himself, but Knight-Commander Greagoir had insisted it was for the best. Cullen couldn’t stay at Kinloch Hold, and apparently was not yet fit for the duties of a Chantry-based Templar in some little village. He needed a Circle, and the closest had been across the sea. He’d been glad of it; a chance to get away from Ferelden could only be a good thing, though now after a week at sea he wasn’t so sure. He should have at least visited his family before he left...
“Thank you.” Cullen gave a curt nod, pushing down any unwanted thoughts and heading through the crowds towards the Gallows. He had no belongings, only the clothes on his back and the single coin in his pocket. The Order would provide everything else on his arrival he’d been told, as it always did. He wouldn’t need anything else. Just the armour, the sword and shield, some simple clothes, and the lyrium. It was the same everywhere.
“Ser Cullen?” An older Templar approached him, and Cullen immediately straightened up, hoping his hair wasn’t too unruly. “I am Ser Emeric, I was sent to bring you to Knight-Commander Meredith, she’s expecting you.” Emeric had a kind face, and he smiled warmly at him. “You’re a bit younger than I thought you’d be, they don’t usually ship the younger ones overseas! Don’t worry about the stench, you’ll get used to it. We all do.”
Cullen let Emeric talk, more interested in taking in the sight of the Gallows as they walked into the courtyard. He’d never seen anything like it before, every building was towering, white stone and gold statues of twisted, starving figures. It was intimidating, and Cullen felt every inch the country boy he was.
Emeric led him through wrought iron gates, into a corridor of two offices. The door to one was ajar, and Cullen could see a tall elf in the telltale mage robes of his station sat at the desk there. First Enchanter Orsino, Cullen assumed. He’d heard Irving mention him before.
“The Knight-Commander is in here. I’ll be waiting to give you the tour and show you to your quarters when you’re done, you must be exhausted.” Emeric gave him another encouraging smile that Cullen tried to return.
“Thank you.” He replied, suddenly aware that it was the first thing he’d said to the man. Then he turned to the door and knocked twice, trying not to be too nervous.
“Enter.” The voice behind the door called out, and Cullen did so.
Knight-Commander Meredith was an imposing woman, sat behind her desk in full armour, shining silver in the afternoon light. She looked every inch the Holy Warrior, and Cullen was suddenly aware of his rumpled tunic, messy hair, and the ever-present dark circles under his eyes. He shifted a little under her piercing gaze. Her eyes were disarmingly blue.
“Ah, Ser Cullen. I’m glad you are finally here. I trust the voyage wasn’t too taxing?” She didn’t smile, but her words seemed warm as she gestured for him to sit in the chair opposite.
“No, Knight-Commander. It was fine.” Cullen perched on the edge of the chair, trying not to fidget.
Meredith’s gaze had dropped to a letter in front of her. Cullen could just about recognise Greagoir’s hand writing. “Knight-Commander Greagoir informed me of what happened at Kinloch Hold. I understand it was... trying for you.”
Cullen bit his lip, keeping his breathing steady. “Yes. Knight-Commander. It was... difficult.” Difficult. Watching his friends be killed would definitely be considered difficult. Being kept locked in a prison for days, weeks, with barely any food or water, with no lyrium, that was difficult. Knowing that mages who could be possessed were still free, that was difficult...
“Faith is made to be tested.” Meredith’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Cullen looked up at her. She was studying him carefully, but her expression was softer. “Here you have a chance to put the past behind you, but also put what you have learned from it into practice. We have a sacred duty to uphold, and you are a part of that Ser Cullen.”
Cullen nodded. He wanted to serve, he’d all but begged Greagoir to be allowed to stay in the Order after the uprising at Kinloch, when there had been whisperings that he’d lost his mind. He hadn’t lost his mind, he’d gained wisdom. And it seemed Knight-Commander Meredith would agree. It made him feel... better. Like someone understood finally. “Yes Knight-Commander.”
Meredith made a noise of approval at his agreement. “I believe you will fit in well here Ser Cullen. The Gallows is perhaps a little stricter than some Circles, but it keeps the mages safe. That is our duty. That is what it means to be a Templar. I trust you will keep that close in the days to come.”
“Yes Knight-Commander, I just want to serve, and protect people from the dangers of magic.” He said earnestly, finally meeting her eyes.
She smiled.
“And you will. I’m sure of it. But for now you have come a long way, and could no doubt use some rest. I have taken note of your circumstances and have put you with one of our older Templars, he should be... calming.” There was an uncomfortable emphasis on that word.
Cullen tried not to frown at that. He wanted to ask why the Knight-Commander felt she needed to room him with someone ‘calming’, but he had a feeling the letter in front of her held the answer to that. Knight-Commander Greagoir worried too much.
“Welcome to Kirkwall Ser Cullen, and to the Gallows.” Meredith smiled again, and Cullen was dismissed.
*
Emeric had given Cullen a tour of the Gallows, and Cullen had tried to be alert and interested. In reality he was exhausted, and more than a little overwhelmed by it all. He’d almost shed a tear of relief when he was finally shown to his room, and then to the barracks’ bathhouse. All he wanted to do was wash the dirt and grime and sweat from his trip away, then sleep without being rocked by the sea for the first time in days.
As he’d predicted he’d been left clothes, all just about his size, and his new armour was already on one of the two stands in the small room. The uniform was slightly different to Ferelden, and he looked it over curiously as he’d dried off after the much-needed bath. Emeric had finally left him be, with a promise to show him the rest of the city tomorrow, and he was grateful for the sudden quiet.
He sat on his new bed, peering out of the small window that overlooked the courtyard. There were people milling about, mages and Templars both, even a couple of civilian merchants packing up their wares as the sun began to dip behind the buildings. He wondered idly how he would describe this place to Mia; it wasn’t like any city he’d ever seen before. Even the temperature reminded him of just how far he was from home. Ferelden was never this warm.
A noise at the door snapped Cullen out of his thoughts, and he looked up with wide eyes at the sudden disturbance. He calmed as he saw familiar armour on an unfamiliar person. Person, his mind noted, not demon. As his more logical brain took over he assumed this was his roommate. Older than him, as Meredith had told him he would be. The man was tall, broad, long brown hair framing an angular face.
“I’m Samson. Heard they were sticking me with our new token Ferelden, didn’t think you’d be so young though.” The Marcher accent was strong, though which city state specifically Cullen had no idea. Samson didn’t look particularly impressed and Cullen found himself bristling defensively almost immediately. He chose not to respond, opting to stare out of the small window and down into the courtyard instead.
“Heard things went to shit at Kinloch, that’s a damn shame, Knight-Commander Guylian always spoke well of the Ferelden Circle.” Samson attempted to make conversation, but Cullen simply turned a little to make it clear he was not interested in talking. Especially about Kinloch Hold. It had been difficult enough with Knight-Commander Meredith. Now he was even more exhausted and off-guard. He could feel his heart beating faster just thinking about it.
Samson knew nothing of this of course, and rolled his eyes as he took the hint and turned towards his bed to begin stripping off his uniform. “Suit yourself. Though it never does much good to be the mysterious type around here, just makes for lonely mealtimes.”
Cullen continued to stare out of the window, watching as a Templar nudged his friend and stuck out his foot, sending a young apprentice mage sprawling onto the concrete, the basket of herbs he’d been carrying flying everywhere. They were laughing as the man scurried to pick them up, face red with humiliation. Not long ago Cullen would have been disgusted, angered even, by the sight. Now he just felt cold indifference.
His eyes moved from the window to glance at the back of his new roommate. Samson seemed to have given up on making conversation with him, instead focussing on taking off his heavy plate armour and letting it fall onto the mattress of his cot. Cullen continued to watch as Samson pulled off his grubby undershirt too, leaving him only in a pair of breeches. He was muscular, broad-shouldered with dark hair that trailed across his chest and down. Cullen quickly averted his eyes as Samson noticed him looking.
“If you’re going to check me out you could at least say hello first.” Samson drawled, a smirk on his face that grew wider as Cullen’s cheeks went pink and he stared pointedly at the wall.
“I’m not...” Cullen began, trying not to get too flustered. Of course he’d embarrass himself within minutes of meeting his new roommate.
“Ah! You do have a voice after all!” Samson grinned victoriously. “I wondered what it would take to make you say something.” The laughter was deep and rumbling and bounced off the walls as Samson hefted his armour onto the stand by his bed.
Cullen blinked in surprise, then glared in an unspoken accusation. Suddenly Cullen missed Carroll, slow, simple Carroll. Samson was a little too clever for him and Cullen had a horrible feeling he was going to spend a lot of time tripping over his words around this man.
He hadn’t even been looking at Samson like that. Not at all.
“You must be tired after your trip. You should sleep.” Samson said, ignoring Cullen’s reproachful stare. “You’ve got drills in the morning. With me. And I don’t go easy on anyone, not even the newbies.” He smiled again. He smiled a lot, Cullen noticed. “You’d better not be a snorer.”
*
Cullen wasn’t a snorer, but that didn’t mean that Samson was in for a quiet night.
His body twitched as an unfamiliar sound pulled him from his sleep. The nights were unbearably hot at this time of year and Samson’s usually deep sleeps had become thin and restless. For a moment he lay there, sheets kicked off and chest bare, trying to figure out what had pulled him from his rest.
He didn’t have to wonder long, a whimpering sound from the cot a few feet away revealing the culprit. “Maker’s balls he better not be jerking off...” He muttered to himself. Samson was well versed in bunk sharing etiquette, and most people waited until at least their second night before doing that. He also knew it was bad etiquette to listen in, but it was so quiet in the tiny room he couldn’t help but strain his ears trying to pick up the sounds.
Cullen made another noise from his bed, and Samson frowned a little. That certainly wasn’t the sound of someone trying to get off without anyone hearing. It was a frightened sound, like a whimper. Samson knew he should ignore it; he wasn’t here to play babysitter, but he still found himself shifting, turning over to squint at the body not four feet away from him. “Kid... Cullen. You alright?” There was no answer, and Samson sat up a little to get a proper look at him.
Cullen was huddled up under his thin blanket, his whole body shaking as if he were freezing cold. There was a mumbled stream of “Please, no.” and “leave me be.” from the boy, accompanied by the occasional twitch, as if someone had touched him and he was pulling away. Samson frowned as the pleading grew louder, the twitching more violent, and was about to lean over to shake Cullen into consciousness when the blond suddenly jerked awake, eyes wild as he cried out in fear.
There was a long pause, silent save for Cullen’s ragged breaths. Their eyes met in the dark, the silence still deafening. Samson knew he should ask him if he was alright, but he held back. He didn’t know why.
“Don’t.” Cullen finally said, his voice quiet but firm. He kept his eyes cast down, even as he turned over to face the wall, his shoulders tense.
Samson stared at his back for a moment. He should speak to him. Ask him what was wrong. He should, and if he were a better man then he would. But this was the Gallows, and Cullen was not his friend. It had been Meredith’s decision to put this twitchy young Templar in Samson’s room, and the rest of it was none of his business. If Cullen wanted to talk he’d have to use his own damn words.
Samson swallowed down his guilt and lay back down to sleep. Damn the Knight-Commander. Cullen was none of his business.