#cullen is a turd in da2

[littlelostmabari]

WIP Wednesday

One of the Good Ones (in progress)

CW: Canon-typical violence under the cut

The Gallows (Part II)

Part I is here.

So Knight-Captain Rutherford knew who she was, and that she had magic. That was… hardly a surprise. But it also didn’t bode well for her escape to know that Meredith’s second-in-command was standing with his hand clasped around her arm. The men continued back and forth for the moment it took her to take the face of the man who had intervened on her behalf. The Knight-Captain had curly, dirty blond hair to Carver’s straight and dark. His eyes were a whiskey amber to Carver’s brown… and the way he stood with his weight on his back foot suggested extensive martial training that Carver could not yet match. He reminded her of the paladins that walked the streets of the Upper District of the Gate — sure of themselves, but for good reason, and with the gleaming armor of devotion strapped across well hewn muscle. One of those paladins had taken out a cambion in the district square not a week before she landed in Kirkwall, with a smite that left her blinking away dark spots for an hour. 

But the differences Saoirse thought she’d seen between the two men seemed to end there. Rutherford’s eyes showed the same tired resignation as Carver’s, and he spoke with the same accent. Ferelden then.

“You know there is a standing order to ignore apostasy in your sister’s circle for the sake of Kirkwall’s safety.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain, I do.” Carver’s grip around her arm tightened. 

“Then you know that you are going against a direct order from the Knight-Commander.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain, but…”

“You think you know better, then, do you, Ser Hawke?” 

“Yes, sir… I mean, no, sir, I only…”

“You only what?!” Rutherford snapped. “You thought that you could earn some good favor by bringing one of your sister’s friends to the Gallows?” He looked around and lowered his voice. “One that most certainly is going to escape thanks to her connections to your sister? You know, the Champion of Kirkwall? A very public escape, surely, resulting in additional embarrassment for the Knight-Commander? Did you think any of this through?” 

The grips on both her arms were getting tighter by the moment. When the fingers in her left hand began to go numb she couldn’t help but squirm. Carver turned on her in an instant, yanking her nearly in half towards him. 

“Where do you think you’re going, mage,” he spat. Saoirse could taste the venom on the last word. Her lip curled up to meet his sneer. 

“Wherever the fuck gets me away from your bitching, Junior.” 

If the Knight-Captain hadn’t been at her side, Carver’s gauntleted backhand would have had Saoirse on the ground. Even still, she reached a hand to her lips and pulled away an imprint of blood. 

“Rude.” She almost spat red onto the ground, but thought better of it before looking up at Carver. “Especially considering I’m unarmed.” She raised up her wrists again in mock deference, the blue lyrium runes still sparkling across the dark iron. Whatever reaction she was expecting from the Knight-Captain… that wasn’t true. She fully expected the Knight-Captain to berate Carver for attacking an unarmed, silenced charge. What she didn’t expect was for the Knight-Captain to push her farther into the Gallows, which meant she stumbled over her feet. 

“You’re dismissed, Ser Hawke. Return to your patrols.” 

“Sir, I…” “Dismissed, Hawke.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The Knight-Captain waited only long enough to take the seized staff off of Carver’s back before pushing her forwards. Saoirse got a glance of the younger Hawke as he turned on his heel to begin the trek back to Hightown, but the look on his face told her where he thought she could shove her attitude. The doors to the Gallows loomed ahead of her as she wiped her mouth against the inside of her cloak. 

“Knight-Captain, apologies but I’m terribly confused. Didn’t you just tell Junior that I’m not supposed to be taken to the Gallows?” 

Unmoved, his piercing gaze shifted from Carver's receding figure to her blood-stained face. His keen attention to the subtle movements of her hands was eerily similar to Carver's, evidently searching for any signs of magic as he forcibly brought her alongside him. "The Knight-Templar’s actions may have been foolish, but you're already here, witch. I cannot set you free without risking a Void-induced riot," he said, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose before meeting her gaze once more. "You remain a mage, and thus a significant threat. No matter what escape plan you've devised, it will have to wait until this evening. In the meantime, there's sufficient time to secure your phylactery in the vaults."

Uh, nope. 

“Absolutely not, Knight-Captain.” She dug her feet into the stones, but he was far stronger than she was and her motion continued forward. “My blood will remain exactly where it is, thanks.” He continued to drag her toward the great metal doors of the tower. She’d practiced this act for Carver, not a Templar with real institutional power. “Come on, Knight-Captain. You look at us like we’re all maleficarum about to strike, but the only one talking about blood magic as if it’s completely normal is you.” 

He spun on her. Before she could blink his face was inches from her own.  A surge of apprehension washed over her, as if she had inadvertently woken a deeply slumbering and fiercely irritable predator and was now facing the consequences. 

“This is not a game,” he growled menacingly. “Blood magic is the purview of your kind alone. Phylacteries are the Maker’s way of protecting his true children from the real dangers of those who have succumbed to the allures of the Fade.” 

She tried to look bolder than she felt. “And yet, your kind are the only ones I see pulling innocents out of their homes to draw their blood and use it to trap them.”

With a scoff, his shoulders shifted away from her again, as if she was a petulant child in need of instruction. “Then you have not seen enough of the world, witch.”

The last word was met with a yank, not on her elbow this time but on the center of the chains binding her wrists, pulling her closer to the doors to the Gallows. This had definitely gone too far, both in spirit and in distance into the Gallows. 

“Well, this has been fun, Knight-Captain,” she said, alighting with the largest, fakest grin she could manage. She raised her voice in hopes it would echo among the pillars of the Gallows courtyard. She had intended this embarrassment for Carver, but the Knight-Captain had gotten in her way, the poor man. He didn’t seem to realize this as he turned back to pull at her chains again. “But I’ve an appointment to keep with a bunch of… what was the phrase? Oh yes, ‘my kind’. I’m afraid tonight's escape has been pushed up.” 

With a great heave of her shoulders, she felt her fingers melting together into soft feathers and slipping between the shackles that remained firmly in the templar’s grip. The iron clanged as it fell against his greaves behind her, for she was sprinting toward the stairs and launching herself over the railing, taking fully into the sky as a raven. She felt Rutherford’s perfectly executed Silence, and Carver’s sloppy Purge, and (thank Sylvanus) the moment confirmed her suspicions. 

She had no connection to the Fade. 

And her wild shape was not magic. 

And none of the Templars below could do a damn thing to stop her.