Archive of Our Own

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Skyhold, Frostback Mountains between Orlais and Ferelden, Dragon 9:41

He should have gone the other way.

“You look like you’ve got your hands full there, Inquisitor. Let me get that door for you.”

In all his days, back in the Free Marches or even during his years at the monastery for training, William Trevelyan had always maintained a fine sense of humor. Puns, witty one-liners, word play of any kind – “It’s knight errant, not knight errand, you arse!” – Will savored and appreciated it all. He’d built a reputation for himself of being quick witted and, when necessary, as vicious with his words as he was with his blade. 

Until tonight.

Maker, but he’d forgotten that the easier route to his destination would bring him right past the dwarf currently sitting at the table in the Great Hall in front of the hearth, an inkwell, quill, and bare pages open before him. Right in front of the door Will needed to get through, and almost as if expecting he would come by. 

It wasn’t that Will didn’t like the man; if anything, he considered Varric a good friend.  However, he was fond of good stories – or any stories, really – and those that didn’t satisfy him, he promptly adjusted for his own retelling. Varric Tethras was the biggest gossip there was to be found at Skyhold, and that was saying something.

Even then, that didn’t bother Will that much. However, tales shared over a drink at the tavern were far different from those edited and shared abroad, and Varric never met a story he didn’t like. Will shuddered at the thought of ending up in a tome as the Champion of Kirkwall had.

Varric was not a malicious man; far from it. Still, there were some stories that Will did not want him to share in any way, shape, or form, and he would go to great lengths to protect them.

Except tonight, it seemed.

It’s too late to turn around and go the other way. Hugging a large pitcher of ale to his chest, two empty tankards dangling from the fingers of one hand – Maker’s breath but they were heavy! – he balanced a chair on his shoulder with the other. At the time he’d started this venture, his only thought had been how to get them from the tavern to his destination. He’d forgotten, of course, about opening the doors in between.

Varric stood next to the hearth, a twinkle in his expectant gaze that assured Will he was taking notes and had questions ready on his tongue for any opening he might find along the way.  

Plastering on his most charming smile, Will sent a silent prayer to the Maker – please, let Dorian be on the other side to help the rest of the way! – Will replied, “If…you wouldn’t mind, Varric. It would be much appreciated.”

The dwarf’s lips twitched just enough for Will to notice, and he gulped. Damn…he must’ve heard the crack in my voice.

“Don’t mind at all. Always ready to lend a helping hand.”  

He was as good as his word, pushing the door open and moving to the side so Will could pass through. But that sparkle didn’t disappear, and as Will awkwardly crab-walked past him taking great care not to hit the dwarf in the process, Varric pounced. “Hot date with Sparkler tonight, Your Inquisitorialness?”

The toe of Will’s boot caught on an edge of the stone floor and he nearly tripped over his own feet.  

Inquisitorialness? That’s a new one.    

He was so startled and desperate to keep the pitcher from falling and shattering at their feet, Will responded out of habit rather than thought. “No, not tonight. Off to visit Cullen for a while.”

There was a moment – a half moment, really – of complete silence. Just long enough for Will to realize his mistake and far too late for him to take back the words.

“Oh ho ho! Trouble in paradise, then?” Leaning closer, the dwarf winked. “Curly finally coming out of that shell of his?”

Tightness spread across Will’s chest and, had he not had his hands full, he would have rubbed at it. Sending a second prayer heavenward contradicting the previous one, he whirled around nearly clocking the dwarf in the face with the legs of his chair as he stammered, “Varric, hush! He might hear you!”

But Will needn’t have worried. As short as Varric was, he simply crouched down slightly, missing it completely. He then grinned impishly up at Will.

Will sighed in relief. Still, was Varric simply teasing him? The dwarf’s sense of humor always made it a challenge to tell. And while Will didn’t mind that, there were times he wished the man would just not get involved. This happened to be one of those times.  

“Why?” he asked. “You like your little jokes, I get that, but why must you do that when Dorian is within hearing distance and you know damned well that he and I are –”

The smugness and sharpness of Varric’s smile softened, less of a dagger point now than a blunt edged training sword. “Sparkler is a big boy, Inquisitor,” the dwarf replied in a surprisingly calm and reasonable tone, “and we’ve gotten to know one another fairly well in our journeys together. Don’t you worry about him.”

But for some reason, the dwarf’s words weren’t as comforting as he probably meant them. Rolling his eyes, Will muttered, “I’m not.” A lie, to be sure, but it was a stance he’d fight to the bitter end. “I’m more worried what Mother Giselle might say next time I run into her.” His last encounter with the Revered Mother had gone rather well, all things considered, but the woman could scold with a look. And even if he and Dorian didn’t take her words to heart most days, Will knew deep down they bothered Dorian as much as himself.

And while Dorian might not care – the mage rather enjoyed being in the limelight at times and had his own stories to counter anything that hit too close to home – and in all honesty, Will didn’t either, Cullen’s current…situation…did not need to be brought to wider attention right now, even if accidentally.  

As if reading his mind, Varric prodded for information in his usual persistent and not so subtle way, pulling Will from his thoughts. “Be honest with me, Inquisitor. What is it with you and Curly? You two act like an old married couple.”

Will snorted as he turned towards the other door. “And how would you know how an old married couple acts, Varric?”

He was just about to kick the second door for assistance from the other side when it opened unexpectedly. Instead of Dorian, though, he was met by the calm and peaceful presence of Solas. Maker, bless you!

Varric chuckled. “You never met my parents.”

“I thought I heard voices,” Solas said by way of greeting as he offered the pair a smile.   Assessing the situation, he pulled the door further open and stepped to the side for Will to pass through. “Please, Inquisitor, allow me to assist.”

Will did so with a smile of thanks.

“Inquisitor, you never answered my question!”

“You are absolutely right, Varric!”   

Solas took that as a request to close the door and it shut with a click.

When Will turned around, he noticed a slightly smug smile on the elf’s lips. “Would you like some help getting that chair upstairs, Inquisitor?”

There was a level of formality always present with Solas, not completely unappreciated by William, but right now it felt more like the beginning of another round of personal questioning. There is no escaping this tonight it seems.  

Shaking his head, Will tipped his chin towards the other doorway. “Have you visited Cullen’s office yet?”  

The elf shook his head, moving with Will towards the room’s other door, the one that led to the rampart connecting the main keep of Skyhold to the defensive tower Cullen had claimed as his own.  

“There is a distinct lack of seating and I absolutely refuse to sit on the floor while we play chess tonight.”

Light and airy laughter wrapped around them as Solas chuckled. “An understandable decision on your part, Inquisitor. I wish you luck.”

They were both greeted by a gust of wind as Solas pulled the door open.

“Thank you,” Will said as he stepped outside.

The door behind him shut quickly. Another gust tugged at Will, slipping beneath his collar and down his back causing him to shiver; he couldn’t really blame the elf. As he started across the bridge leading to Cullen’s office, his hair was blown into his eyes.  

It certainly was a blustery night. He hoped that wasn’t a warning of what the rest of the night held in store.

Will had only himself to rely upon to get inside when he reached Cullen’s office, so he set the chair down to reach for the door. Yet again, the wind swirled up behind him like one of Dorian’s storm spells, the force of it blowing the handle from his hand and banging the door open against the stone wall. Will swore against the cold air tearing at his clothes as he stumbled, just managing to remember to snatch up the chair as he ducked inside.

Still shivering from the cold and more than just a little embarrassed, Will glanced around the room for Cullen, an apology for such a rude arrival waiting on his lips.

But by the time his eyes adjusted to the interior lighting, Will realized two things.  

First, Cullen had installed two braziers in the room – one to each side but far enough away from both paper and doorway so as not to flare up wildly and cause fire.  

Second, Cullen was nowhere to be found.

Moving towards Cullen’s desk, Will set the pitcher and tankards onto the surface while letting the chair slip from his fingers. “Well, shit.” 

The door to his right opened - the man had always had good timing - and his friend walked inside. Will, assuming yet another gust of wind, spun around, startled. Cullen’s familiar warm laugh echoed throughout the room. “You’ve been hanging around Varric too much.”

“Void take you, I have not!” Will groused, combing his hair back from his face with an embarrassed swipe of his hand. Everyone cursed, and “shit” was as common as, well… “Where were you, anyway? I thought you never left your office.”

In that moment, the latch on the door behind Will gave way and the door clattered against the outer tower wall. Will hurriedly secured the door he’d come through, but not before Cullen lifted his hands in front of him to display the chess board and leather pouch lying atop it. “We can’t play chess if we don’t have a board, can we?” Cullen set it upon the desk next to the ale. “Did I startle you?”

“No,” Will replied quickly – too quickly - returning to the desk.

Cullen folded his arms across his chest and peered more closely.  

Will could do nothing to hide from him. As if I ever could.  

“You, my friend, are a horrible liar.”

“Am not.”

The commander’s lips twitched. It was a good sign, given all they’d been through in recent weeks and months, that the former Templar could find his humor so easily.  Hopefully, he was feeling better. “Yes, you are. Remember that time at the Chantry?  We were…what? Eighteen?”

Will groaned. Maker’s sake, not this again! “Something like that, I guess.”

Cullen’s lips spread into a full-fledged grin before he turned to remove the stacks of books from his own chair and pull it over to the desk. “I think that might have been the only time I saw you unsettled so badly.”

Will didn’t mind being the target of Cullen’s humor this evening, but that didn’t mean he had to encourage it. With that in mind, he turned his attention towards filling the tankards with ale. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you won’t meet me at The Herald’s Rest anymore for our weekly game,” he countered by way of changing the subject. “And I know it isn’t because you are over-worked.”

Wounded pride, it seemed, was as dangerous as a blade. He silently cursed himself for retaliating by prodding at his friend’s more recent wounds when there were less sensitive targets he might have picked.

One benefit to having the braziers in here now was that the added light allowed Will to see his friend’s cheeks darken. It had taken three weeks of missing their usual game and William hunting Cullen down to confront him on the issue before his friend finally requested they switch to playing in his office. Templar training had always been very clear on signs of perceived weakness.

“Is this still about that game of Wicked Grace with the others?” Will asked, certain it wasn’t but offering the unspoken apology nonetheless. No, he suspected this had more to do with a different and far more personal issue than losing his shirt - literally! - to Josephine in that game. It had taken a lot for Cullen to stop taking his lyrium, and having to admit it, even to trusted companions like Cassandra or Will, had only added to that stress.

Cullen’s grin faded to a scowl, dark and brooding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he protested while dumping the chess pieces out of the bag and setting up the board.

Pot, kettle, old friend, Will thought, fighting to suppress a smile. Some things never change, I guess.

Taking his seat and letting the topic rest, Will nodded for his friend to go first and get the game started.  

Unfortunately, that did nothing to keep the memories of their shared past from returning with unexpected ferocity...

~

Templar Monastery, Jader, Orlais, Dragon, 9:26

“We’re going to get caught, you know.”

William extended his arm, forcing Cullen to remain behind him as he hissed, “Shh!  Not if you’d be quiet!”  

Shadows were tricky, almost as tricky as abominations or blood mages, if their training was to be believed, but after nearly a decade studying to become a Templar, William was pretty good at judging the layers of darkness and certainly better than most at the monastery. He’d lost count the number of times he had saved both himself and Cullen from discovery because of it.  

And at this late hour, they needed that experience if they were going to get to their destination without getting caught.

His admonition must have worked because Cullen made no other protest.  Will’s lips curved slightly. As serious and focused and dedicated a recruit as Cullen could be, he did have an adventurous side. One that was equal to William’s, his protests and concerns on post-curfew adventures aside.

Cullen also had an abundance of patience. The man was too bloody patient at times, in Will’s opinion. But on a night like tonight that patience had its uses and Cullen certainly made up for the times when Will’s own ran low. 

Peering cautiously around the corner, Will surveyed the area ahead while Cullen waited for a tap on his arm to let him know it was safe to move again. It didn’t take long, and soon both were on the prowl, single file, coming to a stop only when they reached the door that transitioned them from the dormitory into the cloisters.

Again, Will peered around the corner, just far enough to see around the edge to see if the coast was clear. Moonlight was a fickle mistress at best and the shadows here were far trickier open to night skies. 

“Well?”  

Cullen’s voice was the barest hint of a whisper at Will’s ear as his vision settled on the figure standing on the far side of the Cloisters. He waited a breath then retreated slowly back into the darkest shadows, guiding Cullen along with him. “Ser Florian.”

Cullen remained silent, but Will imagined he heard the groan his friend would let out if he could. Of all the Templars on guard duty tonight, it had to be this one.

With a slow, soft exhale, Cullen hissed, “Let’s go back. We should be studying the Chant of Light anyway.”

To be fair, Will had expected this. Still, it wasn’t the first time they had stumbled upon a seemingly insurmountable challenge during a post-curfew adventure, and Will wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Studying the Chant? At half-one in the morning?” Will snorted just loud enough for Cullen to hear. “If anything, we should be abed.”

“That’s the most reasonable thing you’ve said all night. So why aren’t we?”

Will glanced right and left, making certain there were no threats of discovery, before turning his full attention to his best friend. “Because nothing is going to stand between us and a game of chess. It could well be our last one.”

It was true. Though they had arrived at the monastery within a month of each other, Cullen had advanced more quickly in his training than William. Will was still a good six months from taking his vows, but if rumor had it right, Cullen was only a matter of weeks away. And once he took them, he would receive his assignment and then Maker only knew when they would see each other again.

Thankfully, Will looked up as he spoke. If he hadn’t, he would have missed the eyeroll and not heard the almost silent sigh that slipped past his friend’s lips. “Not even Revered Mother Emmelina?”

It was a fight to keep his expression from changing, but Will had fought this particular battle many times before. And when Cullen’s shoulders visibly sagged, he knew he’d won. “Not even her.” A pause. "Do you trust me?"

Cullen only nodded in response, eyes wide in surprise at the question.

"Then follow me."  

Muttering beneath his breath, Cullen shifted his feet until he stood straighter with his shoulders back; his commitment clear even the dimness of their hiding place.  His reluctance remained, but it was now matched by a healthy dose of stubbornness.  “You’re going to get us both expelled from the Order.”

Will allowed his smile to break free. Stubbornness and practicality. What a combination.  “She won’t dare,” Will insisted. When Cullen said nothing, he added, “You are her favorite recruit, after all.”

That sent his friend sputtering – softly – in protest. With one last peek around the corner to find Ser Florian still at his station, Will finally acknowledged they needed to change their plan.    

As Templars went, Ser Florian was one of the stricter members of the Order. Older than Will’s father would have been if he still lived, Ser Florian had been at the Jader monastery since William’s arrival at the age of ten. Tall, broad shouldered, and always armed with a heavy axe when on duty, his hair was nearly as silver as his plate armor, which only made him that much more intimidating. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t a kind man. He could be if he wanted to – five years before, Will had witnessed the man petting a stray hound, after all – but when it came to the Templar recruits, he was a stickler for the rules. Even the Chantry Sisters could be successfully charmed more often than Ser Florian, and unlike the torrid stories that they’d passed around as children had suggested, most Chantry Sisters did not instantly fall for the charms of a handsome young knight. Plus, the man had a reputation not just among the recruits, but with the other Templars he served with for being a hard ass.  

Void take him, Will suspected that even Revered Mother Emmelina was fearful of the man, and they had both been at the monastery for as long as the Maker could remember.

Or so the rumor went.

Turning back towards Cullen and gesturing his friend to backtrack in the direction they had come, Will said, “C’mon, we’ll go the long way and take the night stairs.”

“But that means sneaking through the Chantry!”

“And?”

Blinking owlishly at Will as if he had lost his mind, Cullen didn’t move. In all fairness, Will wasn’t certain that he hadn’t. Still, what was life if not an adventure.  

In the distance, the Chantry bell began chiming the half-hour. That snapped Cullen from his momentary paralysis. “Services are going on!”

Will’s smile returned, spreading slow and steady across his face. He grabbed Cullen by his arm, tugging him in the direction of the night stairs. “Ahhh, but you forget, the Sacristy is down there too.”

“The Sac–” Cullen’s voice cracked and this time, his groan was low but audible. “Great.  We won’t just be expelled for breaking curfew and not studying the Chant but impersonating a member of the Order as well.”  

Laughter, soft and warm, rumbled from Will’s chest. The Chantry wanted them to learn the Chant of Light, didn’t they? Why not practice it in person? “You worry too much. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this for a game of chess,” Cullen muttered.

Reaching the staircase, Will patted Cullen’s shoulder just before he started to descend.  “It’ll be worth it. Trust me.” 

~

Skyhold, Frostback Mountains between Orlais and Ferelden, Dragon 9:41

Reaching across the board, William used his Knight Commander to remove one of Cullen’s Circles. As he sat back, tankard in hand, he lifted it in silent toast while offering his friend a smug smile. “Counter that, why don’t you?”

Cullen leaned forward to view the board. He sat with elbows on the desk, his hands folded together and fingers steepled beneath his chin. Ever since they’d met years before, he’d always been serious and attentive at whatever he was doing, whether that be studying, training, or merely playing a game. It was one of the things that had made him an excellent Templar.

It was, in all likelihood, one of the things that had made it so difficult for his friend to accept the inevitable, however. That sort of dedication often obscured the obvious even when it was right in front of your face.

They had no time limit for each round when they played, and while Cullen took several minutes to fully consider his options, Will allowed his smugness to fade and affection to replace it.  

Maker, he’d missed this over the years. A person with whom he could confide his troubles or simply bounce a new strategy off of. A brother, by choice as well as in-arms.  Someone with whom he had shared experiences. Friendship. It almost, almost, had William wishing he’d made a different choice back then so as not to be sent home from the monastery.

But he had made his choice, and because of it he had been dismissed by the Order before taking his vows. Will had suffered afterward because of it, too, becoming a pariah in his family as well as all their social circles. Finding opportunities to move forward and reforge himself and his reputation had come few and far between over the years that followed, and in the end, his reputation had suffered further. He lost count of how many nights he’d spent in the various taverns around Ostwick, losing himself to drink and wagering as a way to cope and escape.

When confrontation came – and it had just as he’d known it would; to this day, Will had no idea how his brother Maxwell heard about it – Will fought back. The taverns might not be the upper echelons of polite society that his older brother favored, but Will had found some comfort there. Certainly, more than he had at home. He hadn’t fought back physically, but then, he hadn’t just learned how to use the blade while at the monastery.  Words were weapons, too, and Will had honed his well. Too well, according to some.  After nearly coming to physical blows, Maxwell ordered Will to attend the Conclave as representative of the Trevelyan family to show their support for the Chantry. Refusal had not been an option.

Downing half his tankard in one gulp while shoving those particular memories to the side, Will brought his attention back to the chess board just as Cullen used his remaining Circle to capture Will’s First Enchanter. It wasn’t a completely unexpected move – this was chess, after all – but Will had expected Cullen to retaliate by taking a Circle instead. Shocked, Will gasped as he choked on his ale.

Cullen reached for his own tankard as he sat back, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “Is that good enough for you?”

It took a minute or two to stop sputtering and recover himself. Yet, as he did, Will admitted, if only to himself, it did his heart good to see Cullen smiling – truly and fully smiling – for the first time since…well, in a very long while. Certainly, since they’d arrived at Skyhold, and possibly before that.  

Leaning forward, Will eyed the board. “You are far too pleased with yourself after that move,” he replied once he trusted his voice again.

“Come now,” Cullen chided, an obvious twinkle in his eye. “It isn’t like I mated your Knight Vigilant.”

It was the ale – it had to be – but Cullen’s comment triggered a fit of laughter so hard tears streamed down Will’s cheeks. And that was before Cullen understood his own double meaning.

With his cheeks staining pink, Cullen gestured at Will with his half-filled tankard. "You are a menace!”

Will’s heart thumped wildly, that old, familiar feeling of camaraderie wrapping around it, reminding him of what had once been. “Like…like you expected…anything else?” he wheezed in response.  

For a moment, Cullen’s serious demeanor returned, and Will wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. But a heartbeat later and his friend’s smile was back and most of the color – at least, that caused by embarrassment – bled out of his cheeks as contentment replaced it. He refused to look directly at Will – bashfulness, perhaps, but not embarrassment – as he said quietly, “I did, actually. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with you and your antics. I’ve…missed it.”

William started to reach for his Divine, but stopped and rested his head on his hand instead as he smiled across the desk at his friend. “I have, too.”

~

Templar Monastery, Jader, Orlais, Dragon 9:26

Surprisingly, there was no guard standing watch outside the Sacristy when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Not even a Knight Corporal. Perhaps they assumed everyone had sense enough to be abed.

Then again William Trevelyan, knight templar initiate had been accused more than once by Revered Mother Emmelina of not having the good sense the Maker gave a goose, a fact of which Knight Commander Etienne was well aware.  

So that begged the question: where was the guard?

“By the time we get changed,” Cullen hissed as Will opened the door, “and get into the Chantry, services will be over. We would do better to admit our defeat now and head back to bed before we are caught.”

As if on cue, a chorus of voices rose in harmony from the direction of the Chantry as the closing hymn began.

Will cursed silently to himself and pulled Cullen with him inside.  

“What are you doing?” Cullen protested. “They’ll be here in a minute or two!”

The room wasn’t huge by any stretch of the imagination, but it was large enough to house five wardrobes containing the formal wear that Templars wore to the different Chantry services. Will began opening them one after another, coming to a stop when he found one that was mostly full.  

“Have you gone mad?”

Will responded by pushing Cullen towards it. “Get inside and Maker’s breath, keep quiet! Don’t even breathe heavy or they’ll hear you!”

Cullen gulped visibly. “B-but…what if someone opens it?”

“They won’t.” At least, Will was reasonably certain they wouldn’t. “There isn’t space to put anything away in here, there’s barely enough space for you. Now hush!”

Securing the door, Will dashed across the room to hide behind a ceiling to floor length tapestry hanging beside the window. There wasn’t time for anything else, and just as he slipped behind it, the door creaked as it was opened.

Time slowed around Will, and for the first time in all of his adventures, he wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake by not listening to Cullen. His heart thumped loudly in his ears, and it took great effort to keep his breathing slow and normal. Belatedly, he glanced down to notice that the toes of his boots poked out from beneath the tapestry, obvious for anyone to see if they happened to look in his direction.  

And it was impossible to tell if anyone was.

Once in the room, the Templars remained quiet, save for the brush of fabric against wood and the creak of metal and leather armor as they changed. There was very little conversation to be had, not a surprise at this hour of the night. Will had a bad moment when the soft click of one of the wardrobe doors echoed, but no shouts of protest or Cullen stammering for forgiveness reached his ears, only silence.

Logic dictated several minutes must have passed, and Will was fighting the urge to peer around the edge of the tapestry and risk being seen so he could check on the Templars’ progress, but he froze in place when a shrill scream ripped through the night. Breath catching in his throat, Will couldn’t tell if it came from a person or an animal – the monastery was bordered by a wooded area on the east side – or, Maker forbid, something altogether different.

It was clear the Templars weren’t unaffected, either. “Maker’s breath, what was that?” 

Once the silence was broken, a cacophony of voices trampled over each other, positing their opinions.

“Someone’s being attacked!”

“It must be an abomination!”

“It can’t be an abomination, there are no mages here!”

“Enough!” Knight Captain Leland’s voice rent the air around them. “Whatever it is, it came from the direction of the Infirmary. Go! Now!”

The creak of armor and clang of weapons being drawn drowned out the sound of the mad scramble towards the door. However, with the Templars so preoccupied, no one noticed Will peeking around the edge, watching them disappear out the door.

Once he was certain all were gone, Will slipped out of his cover and ran over to the wardrobe yanking the door open. He caught Cullen under one arm as he all but tumbled onto the floor as Cullen asked, “What in the Maker’s name was that?”

Shaking his head – for he was as confused as the other Templars had been – Will made certain Cullen was steady on his feet before he started towards the door.  “Come on, let’s go find out.”

“What?”

The door had slammed closed in the rush, so Will opened it a crack to see if anyone was in the hall before pulling it wide enough for them to slip through. “Knight Captain Leland said it came from the direction of the Infirmary.” That would mean backtracking upstairs and heading back in their original direction but turning right, not left.  “Let’s go!”

As they neared the top of the stairs, the sounds of hushed whispers and scampering feet greeted them. Apparently, everyone in the monastery – including sleeping recruits – had heard the sound and were now heading out to investigate. Will had once heard it said, Curiosity killed the cat, but he was less concerned about getting killed, or even caught for being up past curfew, now that the rest of their recruit brethren were up and about. It seemed they were just as curious about what had happened.

“Did you hear that? What was it?”

“It sounded like the shriek of the damned!”

“How would you know what the shriek of the damned sounded like?”

“Well, maybe it’s an abomination!”

“Or maybe a blood mage got into the monastery?”

That suggestion set half the group off chastising and the rest coming up with even more outrageous theories.

Will elbowed Cullen’s arm as they blended into the group and he whispered, “Mess up your hair and untuck your shirt.” Cullen looked dumbfounded, so Will went ahead and demonstrated. “Camouflage,” he added with a wink.

The furrow in Cullen’s brow smoothed as understanding came and he managed to follow suit just before their group reached the exit out into the Cloisters.

As they turned towards the Infirmary, Will didn’t bother looking for Ser Florian. After that scream – at least, he thought it was a scream – he expected any and all of the Templars who were awake to be investigating. Because whatever that scream had been…it had not been right.

The recruits ahead of Will began to slow as they filed through another doorway leading out to the secondary buildings including the Infirmary. Out here, they were no longer protected from the buildings, and Will caught a gust of cold winter wind in his face.  It wasn’t the wind that made him shiver, but another scream, as cold and cutting as the first, that ripped through the night. And this time, there was no doubt that it was a person.

“Maker and Andraste preserve me! Get away…get away!”

The abject terror in the words as they ripped through the air froze every single recruit in place. There was no doubt about it. It was a person. And whoever it was, they were terrified of something or someone.

Will glanced a quick look over at Cullen as a third scream – as unintelligible as it was blood curdling – filled the night. His friend’s shoulders hunched slightly forward as he closed his eyes, murmuring something so quietly Will couldn’t hear him. The man’s voice rose once more, mostly garbled this time, but there were a few words clear enough to understand. It was no wonder Cullen was praying. Words like abomination, demon, and temptation, were terrifying enough on their own, but to hear them screamed in such a fashion…

Taking a deep breath, Will nudged his shoulder lightly against Cullen’s. He was about to suggest they leave when he noticed Cullen’s expression change to…pity? Frowning, he asked instead, “What is it?”

Yet another shout, though this one barely loud enough to make it outside. In response, the other recruits standing around Will and Cullen collectively lifted their voices, offering ideas and theories to the source and demanding answers from the two guards standing in front of the door.

Cullen who pulled Will off to the side so they could hear each other speak. At the same time, Cullen’s face shifted again. Determination.  

What is going on?

“Come on,” Cullen insisted. “There isn’t anything we can do to help.”

“Nothing we can do?” Will’s frown deepened. Digging his feet in, he refused to budge and pulled free of Cullen as his friend took a couple of steps back towards the dormitory. “About what?”  

Cullen stopped, turning back to face Will, a silent plea in his eyes that he didn’t or couldn’t voice.

Dammit, what is going on? “Cullen…what do you know?”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the double doors to the Infirmary were thrown open. All of the recruits fell silent.  

Cullen returned to Will’s side as Knight Commander Etienne stepped forward.  It was strange seeing the head of the Templars out of his customary armor. As head of the Templars at the monastery, he was always in full regalia, especially when dealing with the recruits. Impression is as important as ability.  

But not at this moment. Instead of full plate, he stood before them dressed in simple robes…as if woken from sleep or, perhaps, pulled from a late night in his office. To his left stood Ser Florian, and to his right, Revered Mother Emmelina.

Whatever was happening, they were putting up a united front, that much was clear. Revered Mother Emmelina was responsible for the Chantry and the monastery combined, as a whole. Knight Commander Etienne was only responsible for the Templars and recruits and deferred to Revered Mother Emmelina when the lines between the two crossed.

Not tonight, it seemed.

“Go back to your beds,” the Knight Commander instructed, his booming voice filling the area. “The situation has been contained. There is nothing to concern yourself with here.”

Voices rose in question, some still half asleep and confused. The recruits were not willing to be pacified so easily.  

Will had his own question to ask, but movement at his side and Cullen quietly repeating, “Come on, let’s head back. I – I don’t think we’ll be playing tonight,” made him think better of it.

As he turned, he noticed more Templars arriving, two to their left, three to their right.  And, while Will hated to admit Cullen was right, he understood that after the Knight Commander’s order and the arrival of reinforcements, it was going to be impossible to get anywhere in the monastery without being discovered. The Templars were clearly on alert now and as such would make it a point to check that each and every recruit made it back to their rooms and to bed, likely before standing watch at the exits until dawn.

Sparing one last look in the direction of the Knight Commander, Will was only slightly startled to find Ser Florian looking back at him intently. He and Will had clashed a time or two over the years, so it wasn’t unexpected.  

“Will?”

As much as it galled him to let go the ‘hunt’ for the night, to let Ser Florian think he had won, Will turned to follow his friend. “Let’s go.”  If they left now, they could avoid an ‘escort.’

As they entered the private room they shared, Will returned to his question from before.  “What was that all about, Cullen?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cullen replied as he slid beneath the covers.  

A soft rustle of fabric accompanied Will as he followed suit in his own bed. “I don’t buy that.” After so many years spent training and studying together, he knew better.  Cullen could deny it all he wanted, but he was holding something back. “You know more about what just happened than you are letting on.”

Voices rose beyond their door. The other recruits were arriving at their rooms. It took a couple of minutes for them to make their way to their chambers, all the while the voices of their Templar escorts ordering them to hurry it up. One of them – Ser Nicola, Will thought – from the far end of the hall bellowed after several minutes, “Lights out!”

A few more half-hearted protests followed, but silence soon took over, the light in the hall dimming.  

The quiet felt almost oppressive until Cullen whispered just loud enough for Will to hear across the room, “It was Ser Alain.”

Ser Alain.

The name was vaguely familiar, though Will struggled to place it. Rolling onto his side to face his friend, he responded, “I don’t –”

“He was on night watch at the front gates back when we first arrived.”

Will thought back to those very early days when the monastery was so new and frightening…to a kind face with a warm and welcoming smile, laughing eyes that were happy to help a misguided child find his way back to his room. A somewhat portly and older man with more grey than dark hair and gentle green eyes, Ser Alain was one of the friendlier Templars Will had encountered in his early days.  

But right now, he couldn’t recall the last time he had seen the man, let alone thought about him. “That was him? Where has he been all this time?”

“Helping in the library archives,” Cullen explained. “They reduced his duties considerably over the past five years.”

It was, in the Order, the closest thing to retirement that a Templar could expect.

It also left Will with more questions than answers.  

“Until a few weeks ago,” Cullen added.

“What happened a few weeks ago?” Will bunched his pillow beneath his head. “And how do you know all of this?”

“Remember when I was having difficulty with Chantry history a few years back? Ser Alain helped me with my studies.”

Will vaguely recalled those days.  

A voice rose beyond their door – at the end of the hall, maybe, loud but too garbled to understand clearly. It had to be a Templar, though. There was no missing the authority in the tone.

“He…I saw him a few weeks ago,” Cullen continued, “and to be honest, when I first saw him, I thought he was someone else.” Cullen grew quiet for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “He called me by a different name. A younger brother, I found out later.  When I was confused and didn’t respond as a brother should, Ser Alain became very distressed. The Sister on duty in the library asked if I would take him to the Infirmary.”

That was an odd response to momentary confusion. “Was he sick?”  

“I went to check on him the next day.” Cullen sighed heavily enough it echoed in their room, earning a few rustles from other boys in response. “He didn’t recall any of what had happened the day before, and he was confused how he got to the Infirmary or why he was even there.”

“Was he sick?” Will asked again.

“No, not…like you are thinking.” There was a reluctance to Cullen’s words now, like each was being weighed and examined before he shared it. “Before I left, I overheard Ser Markus talking with the two Sisters on duty. They…did not know I was there.”

Will held his breath at the foreboding in his friend’s tone.  

“They said…from what they said, it seems to be due to all the years Ser Alain has been taking lyrium.”

Lyrium.  

Will sat up, frowning. Ignoring the darkness, he stared across at the other bed. “What do you mean?”  

Every Templar recruit understood what lyrium was and its importance. It allowed the mages to step into the Fade while awake, sure, but it was also what boosted a Templar’s abilities enough to resist and dispel magic when used against them.  

“Something about how…the longer you use it, the more memories you lose later on until…” Hesitancy caused Cullen’s voice to drop off.

A ripple of unease skittered down Will’s spine.

Taking an audible deep breath, Cullen finished, “Until you don’t remember who you are anymore.”

Will shivered again, this time more violently, as if on the receiving end of a gut punch. “I don’t believe you!” he hissed.

Cullen said nothing in reply.

Revulsion at the idea surged like the high waves after a sea storm in Ostwick and Will swallowed tightly. There was no way – surely, Cullen had to be imagining this or it was some sort of practical joke meant to scare Will or…or…  

Or.

Without another word, Will laid back down and rolled so his back was to Cullen.  

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about it more, or that he didn’t believe Cullen.  But…losing all of your memories? It was a preposterous idea. Impossible! And to suggest it was connected to lyrium, something the Chantry said the Templars needed to fight against magic? It couldn’t be…

Could it?  

No, it couldn’t. There wasn’t any way it could. It was just…just a one-off thing.

Unless… What if the Chantry knew? Or the Templars? What if they knew and just…just didn’t care?  

Tugging his blankets over his head, Will started making plans. There had to be more to this, something he was missing right now. A missing piece to the puzzle that made it all make sense. He wasn’t going to figure it out tonight, but tomorrow…tomorrow he could look into it. See if he could find anything at the library. Ask some careful questions.  Tomorrow would be soon enough. Because something out there had to explain it and would allow Will to prove Cullen wrong. Something.

Will’s eyes drifted closed just as the first rays of weak sunlight rose in the sky outside their window.  

~

Skyhold, Frostback Mountains between Orlais and Ferelden, Dragon 9:41

The wind howled outside of Cullen’s office as it funneled its icy chill in through the unfinished roof on the floor above. Not for the first time since establishing their base of operations at Skyhold, Will wondered how Cullen stood it. Cold. Snow. Rain. Wind.  How did he sleep exposed to the elements like that? Even his soldiers lived in better conditions with their tents!

But the few times Will had brought the subject up with his friend, Cullen waved off any concern. I’ve lived through worse.  

It was hardly an excuse, and it was one Will certainly didn’t easily accept, but he also didn’t want to start a fight over the subject. Their renewed friendship had finally settled back into place after fifteen years apart. Having that back – keeping it – wasn’t worth the risk.

Of course, there were rumors, and Will had heard a number of them since the Inquisition was formed. If they were to be believed, Cullen really had lived through worse.  

That horrified Will almost as much as the memory of Ser Alain’s screams.

So, he kept his mouth shut.

Most of the time.

The two braziers Cullen had the quartermaster place in the office provided some warmth and sufficient light that Will didn’t have to strain his eyes to see the chess board, but it wasn’t enough to keep the wind from finding its way down Will’s collar, and he shivered.  And if he was chilled, what about Cullen?  

Will watched his friend closely, searching. One of the telltale signs of lyrium withdrawal was having difficulty staying warm.  

Shivering again as another draft found his neck, Will sat up straight in his chair, hissing between his teeth.

Cullen, in the process of moving his Knight Commander, paused to glance over. “Are you all right?”

Will’s irritation flared, but he bit it back, unwilling to taint their evening. Instead, as Cullen returned to surveying the chess board, Will snatched up the white Tower he’d liberated from Cullen’s side a few moves earlier. Leaning back in his chair, he downed half his tankard at once, hoping the alcohol would tamp down his reactions.

Then again, this was his second – or was it third? – cup of the night, and drink had the tendency to loosen his inhibitions rather than rein them in.

Turning sideways in his chair, he hooked his legs over the arm of the chair and held the Tower up before him, rolling it back and forth between his fingers, staring at it thoughtfully. Almost without realizing and unable to stop himself, the words slipped out.  “Are you ever going to fix that damned roof? We might as well be back at the monastery for as cold as it is in here.”

Cullen, sitting with his hands steepled beneath his chin, spared him a brief, unconcerned look. “It isn’t that cold.”

The Tower came to a stop between his fingers and Will stared at his friend.  “You can’t be serious.” His feet hit the floor with a thud as he lurched back to an upright position.  “Please tell me the Chantry didn’t brainwash you into believing that suffering through the elements is essential to pleasing the Maker?”

It was…rude. Heartless, maybe. Not Will’s usual manner, certainly. Especially with a friend he’d known so long.  

And as he sat there, Cullen startled enough to stare back at him, Will berating himself mentally for his own stupidity, he blamed the drink. Well, he blamed himself, of course, but he blamed the drink more and as his head whirled with anger and frustration and irritation, Will jumped to his feet. In one, smooth move, he launched the wooden chess figure across the room where it connected with the stone wall and fell into several pieces on the floor.

“Gaaaahhhh!”

His shout reverberated around them before fading to complete silence. Only the whistle of the wind through the eaves above could be heard.

The silence, Will could handle. It was the guilt that chased in after it, wrapping around him, constricting tighter and tighter until it left Will rasping for breath, that made the situation worse. Anger at himself, embarrassment at his insensitivity towards a man he called a friend, and it left him flailing. Running a hand over his face, Will couldn’t look at his friend as he stammered, “Look, Cullen, I’m –”

The soft scrape of a chair followed a moment later by a hand on his shoulder was unexpected. “Will,” Cullen murmured quietly, “it’s all right.”

It should have been reassuring. He was certain that’s how Cullen meant it. But in the end, all it did was stir Will’s emotions to a boiling point.  

What is going on? Why am I doing this? This isn’t me!

Back in their youth, Will had been the relaxed, happy-go-lucky, occasional prankster, the one who was willing to risk punishment for sneaking out after curfew.  

But now?

The near constant ache that had been present in his left hand since the Conclave flared to life, a soft crackle and flicker of green in the corner of his eye.  

Blast it all to the Void and back!

Spinning around to face his friend, he found Cullen watching him closely, his expression one of intense calm and patience. As if this isn’t how it all happened before…

~

Templar Monastery, Jader, Orlais, Dragon 9:26

An explosion of temper echoed throughout the room followed by a clattering shield, wobbling unevenly on the floor until it settled. Grunting in frustration, Will turned on his friend. “Why can’t you see what they are doing, Cullen?”

Cullen stood a few feet away, shoulder propped against the wall. With arms folded across his chest, he shrugged, eyes watching Will closely. Compassionately. “It’s too late, Will. You know that.”

Too late.

In the weeks and months since the incident with Ser Alain, Will had sought answers, sought to determine if what Cullen had told him was accurate. After hours of searching, a small passage in an almost hidden tome in the depth of the library. Careful questions asked of the Sisters in the Infirmary and the few Templars Will trusted not to catch on to his plan. And while he’d only had minimal success, what he had found had, unfortunately, backed up what his friend had overheard in the Infirmary that day.

Lyrium was more dangerous than the Chantry or the Templars had led them to believe.  And it wasn’t just the loss of memories. Will had found evidence of other possible outcomes. Difficulty in separating reality and dreams. Paranoia. Obsession. Dementia.  All of it thanks to the lyrium.

But that wasn’t the whole of it. Will had also discovered that once a Templar started taking their philters, any attempt to stop led to other problems. Fatigue. Headaches.  Forgetfulness. Confusion. Hallucinations. Pain.

It had taken a long time for the pieces to fall together, but the minute they had, Will had shared his conclusions with Cullen.

But he’d been too late.

Cullen had gone for his vigil before Will could find him, and as predicted, Cullen had successfully passed, becoming a full-fledged Templar.

Anger – not at Cullen, but at the Chantry and the Templars – had filled Will back then just as it did now.  And with Cullen off at his vigil at the time, he had turned that anger on the next available targets: the Revered Mother and the Knight Commander. Neither had reacted other than to offer Will a choice. It was one he had gladly taken, but one that came with more regrets than he could number.

That had been a week ago.

Now, in their room, Will glared at Cullen. Compliance didn’t necessarily mean Cullen was complacent, but as infuriated as Will was - for his friend, not at him - he snarled, “This early on, it isn’t too late!”

Cullen pushed away from the wall, but he didn’t move otherwise. “You know it is, my friend. I have been taking lyrium for over a week now.”

Will ran a hand over his face, absently noting he needed a shave. Ah, well, what does it matter?  After today, the Templars no longer rule my actions. “Like I said, it isn’t too late!  It’s only been a few days - not long enough for the reactions to be that bad!”

Was it his imagination, or was it sadness that suddenly filled Cullen’s eyes, his lips tilting downward just slightly.  It was late enough in the day that the shadows were stronger than the weak sunlight filtering in through the window, so it was difficult to tell.

“They want my loyalty,” Cullen explained. “And, as far as I’m concerned, they have earned it.”

Will groaned. Earned it? By lying to you? To all of us?  

His friend had been brainwashed. It was the only explanation. “How can you stand there and tell me that after what happened to Ser Alain?”

It was a valid question so far as Will was concerned. There wasn’t a night that passed that his dreams weren’t interrupted by those screams.

“I am a Templar, Will. You know what is expected of us.”

Maybe a week really is too long? You are too far gone to see reason, too far to save, aren’t you?

Throat dry – because after all of his years here, Will did know – he rasped out of habit, “Obedience.”

Maker, how he hated that word!

Cullen nodded.

Another explosion of sound propelled Will as he spun around and stalked over to his bed. “I will not stay here and let them turn me into a drug-addled minion sent off to do their bidding!” In the process, his boot connected with his shield and it went sliding across the floor beneath Cullen’s bed. “I can’t!”

“I know.”

It wasn’t what his friend said, but how soft and sure he sounded that had Will turning back. “What do you mean, you know?”

Cullen finally moved across the room to stand directly in front of Will and settled a hand on his shoulder. “Did you think I didn’t notice how badly that incident with Ser Alain affected you?”  

Will blinked, surprised. Considering that he’d only just come to his conclusions a matter of days ago, it was shocking to think that Cullen had been so sure of Will’s response.  Then again, they’d grown up together, been roommates for the past ten years. Who else would know Will better? Certainly not the family he was about to go home to.

But, Maker, it hurt knowing that his best friend had committed himself to such a life.  How was he supposed to just leave him here like this?  

Ignoring a slow growing ache in his chest, Will asked, “How did you know?” 

Cullen’s teeth flashed brightly behind his smile in the dim light and he laughed gently.  “You talk in your sleep.”

And yet you still surprise me at this late date. “Wait - what?  I do?” He’d meant to make it sound more like a denial, but there was no point. It wasn’t going to change anything.

Cullen retrieved the shield from beneath his bed and handed it over to Will who set it on top of his storage chest. “Not so loud that others would hear,” he assured Will quickly, “but remember, I had brothers and sisters before I came here. I had to learn to sleep light, else I would end up at the end of one of Branson’s practical jokes.”

Unable to stop a soft, amused snort at this announcement, Will couldn’t fault him for that reasoning. He’d heard plenty of stories about Cullen’s younger brother over the past decade.  

His gaze dropped to the wooden chest and his shield, to all of his belongings now stored away inside the chest. “And…you never said anything? Not to the Revered Mother or the Knight Commander?”

“No,” Cullen insisted, eyes widening in shock at the suggestion. “It’s your decision to make.”  He paused, his eyes drifting to the closed door to their room before returning to Will. “And I doubt the Revered Mother or the Knight Commander would believe me if I told either of them you had said it while sleeping.”

Snorting, Will shook his head. “The Revered Mother always had it out for me,” he muttered before managing a lopsided, if brief, smile. “Thanks for the support.”

“What are friends for?”

Friends. Maker, would they even be allowed to be that after Will was gone? It was part of why he dreaded saying goodbye to Cullen for the last time. Who knew when, or even if, or how, their paths would cross again. That would have been iffy even if Will stayed and became a Templar, but leaving the Order before taking his vows?  

Highly unlikely.  

And he and Cullen were closer - brothers by choice rather than by blood -  than Will would ever be to any of his family.

I can’t leave him like this!  I have to try one last time. There has to be a way to get through to him!  

“Are…you certain you won’t reconsider?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Cullen replied. It was a non-committal answer at best, but he followed it up with clarification. “You know I have wanted this most of my life, Will.  My place is with the Order.” A pause, saying so much more than words ever could. “I’m sorry.”

A heavy handed knock at the door was the only warning they received before it was thrown wide open and Ser Florian stepped inside, looking just as surly and grumpy as ever. “This monastery is for Templars,” the Knight Captain announced, his gaze leveling on Will. “Your escort back to the Free Marches is waiting in the courtyard.”

Ser Florian’s words fell like ice dripping down Will’s back, cold and jagged with unvoiced accusation. Will bristled, even though he knew it was his own fault. But the man was doing a piss poor job holding back his delight at the way things had worked out. He and Will had rarely ever seen eye to eye on things.  

Cullen moved forward. Hefting Will’s shield onto his back, he reached for the handle at one end of the chest. “Come on,” he said quietly. “I’ll help you carry it.”

Will took one last look around the room he and Cullen had shared, making sure he’d collected all of his belongings before he grabbed the other handle. They walked in silence, making their way to the courtyard out front of the monastery and sure enough, the escort his brother had sent from Ostwick was waiting. With Cullen’s assistance, they settled the chest in the back of the cart. Ser Florian stood nearby, between Will and the entrance leading back into the monastery. No doubt with orders to keep me out.  

As Cullen stepped back, Will caught his arm. “Cullen…”

“I am sorry, William.”

“No,” Will insisted with an emphatic shake of his head. “It…it’s my problem, not yours.”  He paused, another wave of anxiety tightening in his chest, the pressure so great he thought he might implode. It had been years since he’d last had an attack like this, back in those very scary first days at the monastery. It had been his friendship with Cullen that had helped chase it off.

Maker help me now. Looking up at Cullen – Will had always been a couple inches shorter than his friend – Will shielded his eyes from the sun and forced a small smirk.  “I…write if you’ve the chance, will you? Let me know if those mages at your Circle are too obnoxiously flirty or quarrelsome?”

There was a suspicious brightness to Cullen’s eyes, but Will said nothing as his friend replied with a small laugh, “I will see what I can do.” His arm shifted, catching Will’s forearm in a warrior’s grasp. “Maker protect you on your journey.”

The soft clop of a horse interrupted the moment as one of Maxwell’s men handed Will the reins of a dark chestnut horse. Grasping them in his free hand, Will twisted his arm to grasp Cullen’s forearm in return. “Maker keep you safe as well, my friend.”

Without another word, not even a parting jibe at Ser Florian for old times sake, Will mounted his horse. Nodding one last time at Cullen, he turned the mount out of the courtyard, joining his escort and leaving behind the only home - the only family - he had known since the age of eleven.  

Funnily enough, it wasn’t his own uncertain future that bothered him in that moment, but his friend’s.

~

Skyhold, Frostback Mountains between Orlais and Ferelden, Dragon 9:41

“You know I appreciate your help in this matter.”

Will snorted softly and shook his head in disbelief. Grabbing his tankard, he finished it off then refilled it, quite pleased at the steady stream that flowed when the rest of the world around him was starting to blur at the edges. “I don’t believe you.”  He set the pitcher back on the desk with just enough force that a few droplets sloshed over the top and onto the papers beneath. He watched for a moment, fascinated at how the liquid spread and eventually caused the ink to bleed. He didn’t have it in him to care if the papers were important or not.

“You don’t…”  Cullen’s brow knitted together in an impressive crease – his ‘thinking’ face – as he struggled to parse that one out. As usual when they drank, the commander didn’t suffer from slurred words or loss of balance, but he did take a moment or two longer to fully comprehend things. “Are you…calling me a liar?”

Grinning and unable to hold back another snort of laughter, Will half wished he could see what he looked like just then. Even if he couldn’t, he knew it was wide and toothy, if only because his cheeks ached. “All I’m saying…”

Cullen sat back down, head tilted as he waited expectantly. It was enough of a distraction Will forgot what he was saying, and that was…not acceptable. Glaring down at his tankard as if it had been the one to offend him, he muttered as he took his own seat, “…is that it’s your turn.”

Cullen didn’t move. Instead, a smug grin spread across his face as he took his own drink in hand. Eyes bright, a laugh bubbling beneath the surface, he said, “You, my friend, are drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Will’s glare became a full-fledged scowl that lasted for all of three seconds before he was betrayed by a giggle bursting past his lips. All right, so, maybe he was a little bit tipsy. But what did it matter? They were just two friends relaxing, playing chess, taking a few minutes out of the day to focus on something other than the megal…megolo… A power hungry darkspawn who wanted to be a god.

Then again, he now had proof that Cullen wasn’t quite as sober as he was letting on.  Two-word counter arguments always did give you away. Though Will had always been the lighter weight of the two.

Hooking one leg over the arm of his chair, Will waited for Cullen to make his move on the board. “Doesn’t change the fact…still don’t believe you.”

His friend contemplated the board intently and for all the world appeared to be ignoring him. They were getting down to the last stages of their game with only a handful of pieces left.  

But Will should have known better. In truth, he did; he’d just forgotten how Cullen could focus on two things at the same time with the same intensity.

“See? Liar.”

“Not a liar…just…” It was Will’s turn to frown. It didn’t help that another gust of wind found its way down from above, causing the braziers to flicker wildly before finding its way beneath Will’s collar. “How can you apiec…apprrsh…apsh…”  

Cullen released an inelegant snort as he used his Divine to capture Will’s First Enchanter. "Appreciate?"

"Yes.  That."

Tossing the Enchanter into the air before him, Cullen made a fist around the captured piece as he sat back. “And I prove my point, Inquishitor –”

Slapping his hand down on the table with a loud thwack, Will giggled and leaned forward as he examined the board. Two can play that game, my friend.  “Inquishitor?”

“I did not say that!”

His laughter grew in strength, filling him, consuming him, and Will made a quick, decisive move before he could knock the whole board off the desk. “You did.” Using his Knight Vigilant, he tipped over Cullen’s last Templar. Eyeing his friend closely, a smug smile appeared. Cullen might be a bit blurry around the edges, his cheeks lightly flushed, and a half-crooked smile tilting across his face, but right here, right now, the man was relaxed and at ease. It was a welcome sight to see, all things considered.  

Too bad Will was going to ruin it. “Check.”

“What?” Cullen bounded to his feet so quickly, two captured mages fell to the floor, rattling at his feet and his chair nearly fell over behind him. “There’s no way you could have –”

Will knew he must look like a madman now, but in all honesty, he was beyond caring.  He had his friend back, a little battered and worn around the edges but putting up a good fight against the Templars and the Chantry’s controlling machinations. And this time, Will could be there for him.  

Rising, he filled Cullen’s tankard first then topped off his own with what little remained, only a little disappointed to discover the pitcher was now empty. He gulped down a mouthful as he sat, unsuccessfully hiding a belch behind his hand and replied, “Made you look.”

Cullen’s snort dripped with disdain. “Maker’s breath, Will! You’re worse than Branson some days, I swear!”

Will flashed another grin at his friend. This close, he could see that despite the irritation – and that was all it was; mild enough and something Will could handle – the side effects of Cullen’s withdrawal from the lyrium were not noticeable at the moment. That was excellent.  

Will wasn’t naïve enough to believe that getting drunk would be a permanent solution  If anything, it was an iffy substitution at best, and an even worse habit. Still, for one night, it was enough to help his friend.  

Well, that and the indignation at thinking he’d lost a game to Will.

After a quick survey of the board, Cullen moved his Knight Captain, neatly trapping Will’s Divine in the corner. “There. Get out of that if you can!” Sinking back into his chair, he folded his arms across his chest and nodded for emphasis.

Will was in too good of a mood to be upset. He might be a competitive bastard at times, but tonight he was willing to let it go. “All right, you win.”

Eyes wide, Cullen stared at Will in silence for a minute before glancing back at the board. “I – I do?”

Will nodded. Cullen might not have him in checkmate just yet, but even tipsy he could see that his options were limited. It might be two turns or six, depending how creative Will could get at this point, but he had lost the game. Reaching over, he laid his Knight Vigilant down, conceding. As he sat back, he also conceded to Cullen’s earlier argument. “And, I was calling you a liar…but I was wrong.”

“Why were you calling me a liar?”

Sighing, Will hooked both legs over the arm this time as he sat back and stared up at the ceiling. Some things were more of a challenge to admit than a defeat in chess. “If you really appreeeesh…apprish…”

“Appreciated.”

“Yes, that,” Will agreed with a nod. “If you really did want my help, you’d have stopped taking the lyrium years ago.”

Cullen rested his elbows on the desk and his chin on his hands, staring across at Will for a long, quiet moment. “That still bothers you?”

Will shrugged mildly, though a pleased smile toyed at his lips at the thought Cullen remembered after all these years. “I…worried about you. I didn’t make my decision to leave lightly, you know, and –”

“I never thought you did.”

“– seeing you go through this after fifteen years when it could have been so much easier back then…”  

A heavy sigh echoed around them; Will wasn’t sure if it had been him or Cullen. What he was sure of was that he didn’t want to head any further down this path. Will was not the type of person to say I told you so. He’d said his piece, Cullen had shared his, and it was time for them both to…to move on.  

They needed something uplifting to get back on track. Something fun. That had been the whole purpose for the evening in the first place, hadn’t it?

Cullen’s thoughts must have been along similar lines. “Another game?”

Will eyed the chessboard first, then his tankard. He could make it through another game, sure. But what was a game without more ale? Dorian might have to assist him back to his quarters later, but he wasn’t going to let Cullen drink alone. Not tonight, anyway. Gesturing at the empty pitcher, he said, “Don’t s’pose one of your messengers would fetch us another?”

There was a thump and a bump followed by a blur of movement, and suddenly Cullen was two feet lower to the ground and peering up over the edge of the desk at Will from his knees while rubbing his forehead. In his other hand were the chess pieces that had fallen earlier. Apparently, they had won this particular battle. “Why not you?”

Will rose to his feet and looked around the room, none too steady. “Might fall off the wall into the courtyard,” he replied. It was the closest he would come to admitting aloud that the effects of the drink were actually getting to him. “’Sides, I need to find something to replace your Tower for this game.”

For a moment, he thought Cullen might call him on it.  All of what he said was true, of course, and given his grand entrance earlier, and the wind still blowing hard enough to whistle through the ceiling, it was best not to take any chances. 

Cullen headed towards the door, pulling it open and speaking to one of his soldiers outside, while Will looked around the room. 

Nothing. Books and scrolls and a practice dummy and that was about it. All of it was either too big or awkward to use.  He wandered over to where the Tower he had thrown earlier had fallen, gathering the three pieces.  It had broken in such a way that they were too small to use individually, yet he had no way to glue them back together. Not even a…

Sliding his hand into his pocket, Will’s fingers poked about the bits and bobs he always carried, searching for something he could use to wrap around the pieces. But just as they brushed against the handkerchief he always carried, they also bumped into something small yet solid.

A slow smile slid across his face. Perfect.  Earlier in the day, Will had stopped by to see Blackwall about their upcoming trip to the Wastes. While there, he had found a small carved block of wood in the shape of a toy soldier. It wasn’t a Tower, and compared to the other chess pieces it was a bit larger, but it would have to do until Will could get a better replacement.

Turning back towards the desk, he found Cullen setting up the game. “Here,” Will said, crossing back over and handing him the piece. 

“What’s this?”

Will shrugged. “A carved toy soldier I found when talking to Blackwall earlier. Not a perfect match, but it’ll do in a pinch.” Maybe he could get Blackwall to carve a new Tower piece for the set. 

Cullen squinted at it, eyeing it more closely but must have agreed because he set it into the empty space…just as someone knocked on the door. 

Grinning, Will moved over to open it. He accepted the new pitcher of ale with a nod of thanks and shut the door behind him. “So…best out of three games tonight?” he asked, setting it on Cullen’s desk and retaking his seat. “Or shall we tap into our youth and go for the best out of five like the good old days?”

Snorting as he sat, Cullen retorted, “You think you can pull an all-nighter like when we were teenagers? You’re half-sauced as it is. You will fall asleep in your chair before we get through another game, let alone two.”

Will topped off his tankard and took a drink before replying, “Ahh, but things are about to get interesting.”

“Define ‘interesting.’”

Grin widening, Will began humming a bawdy tavern tune he’d once heard in Ostwick. “I remembered how I used to win back at the monastery.”

Cullen took his own tankard in hand and shook his head. “And I’d really hoped you had forgotten for good,” he muttered.

Distraction had been Will’s companion back then and it could be again now. In the long run he would likely lose, but having a bit of fun along the way would make it more bearable. “And you thought I wasn’t paying attention back then. Let’s see how much I do remember…”