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Mia,
I am sorry for not writing to you sooner, things have been hectic here. Yes, I am still alive and whole.
Whatever you have heard of Kirkwall's rebellion, the truth is far worse; I would spare you that. What remains of Kirkwall's templars have been under my command for the past few years. We have done what we could to assist with the city's recovery—to restore some semblance of order—but my time here is done.
Seeker Pentaghast has approached me. She wishes to stop the war between mages and templars. She has been recruiting men and women to the cause and wishes me to oversee the group's military concerns. If the Conclave goes well, then we will not be needed. If not, we stand ready.
I have decided to take Seeker Pentaghast's offer. The Circles have fallen. I can give no more to the Templar Order, nor it to me. The Maker has shown me a new path; I must take it.
I will be here in Kirkwall for a little over a month longer to ensure that things don’t completely fall apart once I am gone. We will be traveling by ship to Jader, then we will be heading for the village of Haven. The Conclave is being held at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Please remain home, travel is unsafe at this time.
Cullen
-
He knew he should have written to them sooner, if only to tell Mia that he was actually alive after Kirkwall had fallen into absolute chaos. So that she and their younger siblings would know that he wasn’t dead. Again. But he’d hardly found a moment of peace long enough to focus and find the right words to put to paper without falling into a spiral of picking himself apart over all of the mistakes he’d made that led to yet another Circle falling to abominations.
But after he’d been offered the chance to leave by Cassandra, felt that odd, unfamiliar glimmer of hope that perhaps he could try to fix the mess that he’d more than helped cause, suddenly it was easier to find the words. Perhaps there was something there that was worth seeing of him now, some modicum of positivity that he could share with his siblings that wasn’t completely entrenched in self-loathing and guilt and anger. He could only hope that something good would come of this choice.
Maker, he wasn’t even sure what hope was, but something seemed to finally feel right.
His final month in Kirkwall was a blur, but he’d managed just as before. Between working with Guard-Captain Aveline (carefully, he knew that she was not fond of him) and the remaining templars to ensure the safety of what loyalist mages were still in the Gallows, he was busy.
The hardest task was simply making sure people weren’t going to kill each other once they were gone, though he knew there were no guarantees of that.
Even after over two years, the city was rife with unrest. At that point, those templars that remained had similar views as he at least, because the hardest task was not to watch over the mages themselves nor to keep them in the Gallows, but purely to keep others out. Too many in the city still wanted to see the Circle burn, especially now that they’d been disbanded.
Promotions and assignments were given and agreed upon, agreements and deals made. Many of the templars and guards wanted to follow Seeker Pentaghast as well, but they couldn’t leave the city unmanaged and unprotected, so it was through much deliberation that the select few that would leave with him were chosen.
The tentative camaraderie he’d built with Knight-Captain Rylen was a token grace that he’d never expected to have, after he and his men had traveled down from Starkhaven to aid in recovery so many months ago. For all his brash and blunt demeanor, the man was intuitive and cunning, and they both recognized the flawed system for what it was.
When he’d agreed in an instant to follow Cullen to join the Inquisition, it was another breath of relief and hope. He hadn’t realized he’d actually made a friend and ally in the man. They shared drinks on their last night at the Hanged Man, reminiscing over the past year since Rylen had arrived with his aid, and spoke of hope for the future.
Rylen was the second - and only other - person that he’d told of his other decision.
“This shit’s been kicked into the long grass for long enough. It’s a broken system all ‘round. Mages and templars both get fucked between the frying pan and the fire and blamin’ each other for it. If you’re wanting to try to change things, then with or without the Inquisition, you’ve got my support. You’re a good man to follow.” He'd said at the time, raising his ale in a toast.
It was then that Cullen grew familiar with what hope felt like.
The boat ride across the Waking Sea almost shattered that hope. He hadn’t forgotten the ordeal before, he hadn’t forgotten the feeling of the cabin walls closing in, the sensation that he couldn’t breathe. The fact that it always seemed to give everything an eerily violet sheen when he woke in the grips of panic, twisting the smell of salt and water into iron and blood.
He was glad that Sister Leliana seemed to avoid him just as much as he avoided her during the first days of that trip. He knew she was there, they’d met all of twice thus far since she and Cassandra had gone to Kirkwall; the first time in passing during one of the initial meetings with the Seeker, and the second when he officially accepted the position that was offered him.
With the nightmares rearing their ugly heads as the first days of his body reacting to no longer having a constant stream of Lyrium, he could only imagine how much worse it would have been to see a face that occasionally made guest-star appearances in that hell face-to-face, in person. He couldn’t imagine it would’ve been pleasant.
It was odd that Varric of all people had managed to help him pull through that mess.
It’d taken only one horrifying night in his cabin below decks to realize that it would be an impossible challenge, and so he’d opted to stay above deck. He kept out of the way of the crew for the most part, or tried to at least, finding a place near the stern of the ship that tended to get less traffic. Most of the people on the ship gave him a respectful enough berth, he was just a poor sap who did poorly with sea travel to them. He let them think that. It was better than them thinking he was a madman for no longer taking Lyrium willingly; no templar ever willingly stops taking it.
At first, Varric’s presence had unnerved him. He knew that the dwarf had been a close friend to the Champion, Cullen had seen them together plenty enough whenever he and Hawke had run into each other in the city. He’d been there when Bethany had been taken to the Circle, had been there when Hawke had confronted him over the state of the Gallows, over Meredith’s treatment of the mages in their care, over the ‘Tranquil Solution’. Just another reminder of his shameful acts inspired by his fears, fears that Meredith had fostered and nurtured in him until he almost couldn’t even find himself again.
He wasn’t sure how the dwarf could even look him in the eye without trying to throw a punch at him, himself. Or a crossbow bolt. But Varric had just amicably chattered away whenever he wandered by, distracting him from the lurching of the boat that made his stomach turn and the shaking weakness that he felt to his very bones. A distraction from the pounding in his head that felt like his spine was trying to rip its way out of him starting at the nape of his neck and needles behind his eyes.
“Aveline’s gonna have her hands full for a while, but at least you picked up some of the mess before you left.” Varric mused at one point, looking up at him.
Cullen had merely grunted a little, his own gaze still locked on the endless expanse of blue. Watching as water filled in the path that the ship cut through the water behind them. At least above decks it was almost soothing - you couldn’t get much more wide open than out in the middle of the sea.
“You really ready to leave Kirkwall behind?”
“A bit too late for questioning that, isn’t it?” He asked dryly then, gesturing with a shaking hand in the general direction of where Kirkwall would be. At that point, there was nothing but a flat expanse of blue horizon.
The dwarf laughed, “Well you keep staring, can’t help wondering if you’ve got second thoughts. Are you ready to leave?”
“...All of it.”
“Ferelden might not be any better.”
“I was there during the Blight and the Circle…” He could feel the tightness from the scar on his lip pulling taught from the grim smirk as he leaned against the handrail to steady himself, raw and rueful. He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture and muttered sardonically, “...It can’t be worse.”
The dwarf’s laugh was gravely and mirthful, apparently positively tickled over the quip. “You know you shouldn’t drink the seawater, Curly, you don’t need any more salt.”
The small chuckle that escaped him had probably been the first in weeks. Months. A year? He couldn’t even remember anymore. It felt good. Even if he did self-consciously comb his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame his terribly mussed curls.
What he’d least expected, however, was to find a crate awaiting them with his name on it from South Reach once they’d reached Haven to rejoin the rest of the gathered peoples of the Inquisition. Their arrival wasn’t unexpected, of course, but there were few who knew that he specifically would be there.
The Inquisition itself was still small at that point. Lady Josephine was pleasant enough, despite seeming like she was from another planet entirely, not just a country. He’d already started preparing himself for working alongside Leliana, which he found easier than he expected; probably in part due to the fact that she was always conveniently not in his direct view more often than not. They had only a few dozen soldiers and templars at that point, largely those among Divine Justinia’s inner circles and directly loyal to her.
There were more trickling in with each day, but aside from maintaining the peace between the mages and templars that were arriving to attend the delegation itself, things were surprisingly calm.
It was calm enough that when he’d found a little time to spend freely for himself, the first thing he’d done was head to his tent to finally open the crate that had been sitting and waiting for him.
The mass of ruddy furs and red cloth embroidered with gold was the first thing he found, his eyes widening a little in surprise and confusion. He recognized the threadwork, but it was like nothing he’d seen. The furs were like a lion’s mane, thick and warm, the sort of fur that one might find on a Ferelden nobleman’s shoulders, not on some farm boy turned broken soldier.
As he pulled it from the crate slowly, he found it caught on something. Another weight in the box. Carefully draping it over the side he went digging again, unwrapping the parts of the coat from the other object in the chest only to discover a pair of eyes and a set of fangs facing him, an elaborate lion’s head shaped out of metal, with a headdress of the same lush fur that was on the coat.
“What…?” There was no one there to hear him, but he couldn’t help but voice his confusion over the objects. It wasn’t until he lifted it the rest of the way out of the box that the neatly folded letter fell from inside the helmet to land on the red cloth.
Hesitantly, he picked it up, breaking the seal. The writing was his elder sister’s, he recognized that much, but he’d already assumed that much. Unfolding the paper he read the letter in silence, his eyes slowly widening at the realizations that sank in from Mia’s words.
He read it again. Then a third time, or tried to. At that point the words were growing blurry even after he’d rubbed at his eyes. It wasn’t the fault of the needles behind them this time though, as he finally let the letter fall from shaking fingers to flutter to the floor as his attention turned back to the gifts.
He ran his hands over the carefully crafted metal of the lion helm, following the shape of the muzzle, down to the chin guard and over the fangs that acted as part of the visor. Stroking through the thick fur.
For the first time since he couldn’t even remember, he wept, and he didn’t feel ashamed of the tears.
-
Cullen,
We are safe, South Reach is fairly quiet still, the fighting hasn’t come near us yet. None of us are traveling any time soon, I promise you, so long as you keep in touch so we know that you’re alright. That’s twice now that we had to worry about whether you were dead or alive and drag the admission of your continued existence out of you.
I feel there is a lot more than just what you’ve said about leaving the templar order, but I won’t pry. I hope that you’ll be able to tell me one day. Whenever you are ready, I’ll be here for you.
I wanted to write to you sooner, but I felt it best to not distract you from the duties you mentioned with helping Kirkwall, so we sent this package to Haven to wait for your arrival there. Hopefully it remained safe until you got there.
You are going on an entirely new path in life, and as a commander at that! I am proud of you. We are proud of you. Since you will need a new look for your new position, we felt like a gift was in order because somehow I doubt you would ever think to do anything for yourself.
So we made this. The package is a gift. From all of us. Branson has gotten quite good at blacksmithing though he had some help from the master smith here he works under with the finer details. He still remembers when mother used to call you her lion, with how you were always so adamant on wanting to protect us all the time. Her brave little lion. Rosalie and I made the surcoat and mantle to match it. We found the cloth at the chantry, we might have gutted some old templar tabards for it. It seemed fitting.
A tribute to your past and a new uniform for a new path in life. Everything that shaped you and made you, you. It’s unique, just like the Inquisition's commander. You! You have the strength to follow your ideals, and you need something to show the world just how powerful you are. Don’t throw away this opportunity. I hope it serves you well and keeps you safe.
I love you, Cullen. We all love you and are praying for your continued safety. Let them hear how big your roar is now.
Love,
Mia