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Fool's Errand 7: The Purge

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Title: Fool's Errand 7: The Purge
Author: R2sMuse
Game: Dragon Age 2
Characters: Cullen, Marian Hawke, Anders, templars, Merrill
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware. Includes DA: Inquisition speculation and mild spoilers

Chapter summary: Upon leaving the Gwaren Chantry, Cullen runs into some old friends and discovers what wartime templars do now when they discover a mage.


It hit Cullen as soon as he stepped outside the Chantry, the feeling that something wasn't quite right. The morning sun had finally burned off the fog and shone down brightly on unusually quiet streets. The only people he saw were hurrying into the Chantry, looking fearfully over their shoulders or grasping their chantry amulets for comfort.

Hawke must have sensed it as well since the silly grin they had shared inside was gone, replaced with a tense wariness. In silent accord, they started toward their rendezvous point to meet the others, loosening their blades in their scabbards as they went. After several relatively empty blocks they saw a throng of people gathered in a shop-lined square.

Even as they neared the square, it was still unnaturally quiet. The people shifted nervously but did not speak above a whisper. Almost like the crowd was waiting for something. The windows surrounding them were plastered with people watching and even the shopkeepers had come outside to bear witness.

Hawke approached a serious-looking man in a flour-smeared apron, standing in front of a bakery and watching. She nodded her head toward the center of the mob. "What's happening, friend?" Hawke asked quietly.

"Templar Purge."

"Come again?" Cullen asked, certain he had misheard.

"Templar Purge. You know, the templars, they come through now regularly, looking for anyone aiding the mage resistance and purge any mages they find."

"But, what exactly do you mean by purge?" Cullen said with greater urgency, worried he already knew the answer.

"There're no Circles any more, mate. What do you expect they do now with the mages they find? They destroy them. All of them."

Cullen felt like he was going to be sick. This could not be what Andraste intended. Maker have mercy on us all. Without thinking he immediately started pushing through the crowd to its center. Only dimly did he notice that Hawke followed in his wake.

When at last he broke free he saw a squad of templar in full regalia standing in formation, precise rows of steel-clad knights gleaming righteously in the sunlight. His mouth went dry as he gaped at them and his heart beat with sudden longing. He was taken off guard by the piercing desire to join them, to be a part of something bigger, to fit within that perfectly ordered system. Andraste's champions, the Light to hold back the Darkness.

But the perfect scene was broken when the templar officer at their front stepped to the side to reveal the target of their attentions. An abject trio of farmers clinging to each other, but otherwise alone, in the center of a large clearing in the crowd. A young girl with straw-colored hair and enormous eyes, red from weeping, cowered within the circle of her mother's arms while an angry man, presumably the father, stood behind them with unsteady hands on his wife's shoulders.

The officer stepped closer to them and moved his helmet under one arm. The man's dark hair was matched with a dark, drooping mustache under piercing blue eyes. Cullen couldn't be sure from this angle, but he thought he recognized the man.

". . . and therefore, you are hereby charged with illegal acts of magic," the templar concluded in a voice that carried across the gathering. "If the girl surrenders peacefully, then you two need not share her fate. Maker have mercy on your souls."

The girl, who looked to be around ten years old, started crying again. Between hiccupping sobs, she said, "N-n-no. I'm n-not a mage. I'm not! P-please! Please don't kill me!"

Her mother appeared to be in shock, her eyes wide as she held her daughter and rocked slightly back and forth. In a dull voice she repeated a murmured litany of meaningless assurances. "It'll be all right. It'll be all right. Everything will be fine. It'll be all right." It was clear that she didn't believe these words any more than her daughter did.

"This isn't right!" the father shouted to no one in particular, eyes darting around at the onlookers nervously. "We've done nothing wrong! Nothing wrong!" The townsfolk returned his exclamations with watchful silence.

Before the templar officer could do anything, a booming voice sounded from the sea of people. "You shall not harm her!" When Hawke groaned Cullen guessed who it must be right as the blond mage emerged into the open.

With staff charged up and emitting tiny sparks of flame, Anders looked every inch the vengeful mage and harbinger of justice, even without the supposed spirit within him. He stopped next to the family and faced the dark-haired templar. "So your war is on children now?" Anders sneered.

"Child or adult, we protect the people from the constant threat of magic unchecked. As you well know, Anders." The templar smiled coldly. "So. Our prodigal son returns. How delightful that I get two for the price of one."

"In case you've forgotten, I'm a Grey Warden now. A bit beyond your jurisdiction, Reynolds."

The templar gave an ugly laugh. "After what you've done, Anders, even Andraste herself couldn't protect you now. With the size of the bounty on your head, the whole of Thedas has been searching for the Terrorist of Kirkwall. Aren't I the lucky one to find him?"

"Lucky isn't the word I would use." Anders raised his hand which started to glow a faint red as the magic boiled up.

At Cullen's elbow, Hawke growled deep in her throat. "Here we go," she muttered, drawing her blades and starting forward.

"Perhaps not," Cullen said quickly, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. He then strode in front of her and into the middle of the confrontation.

"Reynolds!" he called out to the lead templar.

Startled, the officer swung around to face Cullen and the collective gaze of the crowd followed with a gasp of surprise. Anders eyed him suspiciously, the threatening glow in the mage's hand holding steady. Reynolds's brow furrowed as he stared in disbelief at Cullen for the span of several uncomfortable seconds. "Cullen? Is it really you?"

Cullen approached and nodded. "'Tis."

Reynolds held out his hand and they noisily clasped armored forearms in greeting. "Maker's breath, man. I've heard all manner of stories about you the last few years. We'd heard Kirkwall mages murdered you or you'd gone insane and were off living with the Dalish." He gave a huff of laughter. "Someone even said you'd been convicted of treason. Wild tales."

"Nothing quite so interesting, I can assure you," Cullen said blithely. He risked a glance at Anders, trying with his eyes to warn him not to do anything stupid. Of course, the mage just glared at him. Cullen nodded to the red cloak attached at the templar's shoulders "So, Knight-Captain now?"

He smiled proudly. "Yes, the new Commander just appointed me."

"New Commander? What happened to Greagoir?"

Reynolds's eyes slid away. "Ah, well. Greagoir was, um, just . . . retired. His replacement is an Orlesian. Edmonde Moreau. Sent by the Lord Seeker himself, may he rest at the Maker's hand."

"What happened to the Lord Seeker?"

"Mmmm, yes. Bad tidings. Lord Seeker Lambert is missing and presumed dead. Blasted robes." Reynolds spit in the dirt in the general direction of Anders.

"Another boon for mage freedom," Anders sneered.

Before Reynolds could retort in kind and escalate the encounter, Cullen turned toward Anders. "That is quite enough from you, mage. After what happened in Kirkwall, you'll do well to keep your incendiary rhetoric to yourself!" Cullen snapped, hoping the man would heed his warning in light of the volatility of their situation.

Anders's eyes blazed in fury and his mouth clamped down into a thin line as he strove to control his reaction with considerable effort. Cullen continued to stare him down, but after a tense moment, Anders finally looked away.

Luckily, Reynolds only chuckled at this exchange, shaking his head. To Cullen he said, "Some things never change, am I right?"

"Indeed." Cullen casually perused the square while making a point of carefully recording every strategic detail. Reynolds stood at ease, hands far from his weapons like he expected no real challenges. The other templars stayed in formation instead of spreading out to secure the area, but he knew they would be ready to charge into battle in an instant. Three city guardsmen stood chatting together quietly along one of the thoroughfares leading away from the square, their relaxed attitudes indicating they felt the templars had the situation well in hand. A glance at the rooftops showed him no one yet had the advantage of the heights.

The family, their modest clothing and rough hands revealing their hard scrabble life, watched him with round eyes, obviously hoping for a miracle. Anders still hadn't let down his guard and eyed both Cullen and Reynolds with the same degree of distrust. Hawke remained at the edge of the crowd, trying to blend in as well as she could, but the subtle shifting of her weight clearly showed she was ready to spring into action.

Cullen looked back at Reynolds, schooling his expression into studied disinterest. "So, if I might ask, what goes on here? This doesn't seem to be standard protocol for bringing in a new mage."

Reynolds frowned. "We're, um, not bringing her in. As you must know, the Tower is just for important prisoners of war now. I'm afraid she's subject to the Purge."

"Purge? You mean . . . here? Now? Without any formal confirmation of her power?" Cullen was unable to mask the incredulity in his voice.

"We no longer have that luxury. Surely you must know that the stakes have changed, Cullen, even from whatever rock you've been hiding under. She's on the City Guard's list as one to watch, and we don't take any chances. Not any more."

At this, the girl piped up again. "N-no, it's not true!" Perhaps emboldened by Cullen's interference, she stepped out of her mother's embrace. "It's not. The cows . . . they was hit with the sickness. It's not my fault. I swear to you and to sweet, blessed Andraste." She looked around at the crowd, perhaps hoping for an ally or at least a sympathetic face. But the townsfolk merely look on in fear, afraid it might be true, afraid it might not be true, too afraid to speak up either way.

"Can't you see? It's not us!" her father declared again. His weathered skin flushed a deep red and his gaze darted nervously around, never focusing on one spot for long. "Not us I tell ya. The cows that died . . . That coulda been anyone. Anyone! You all look at us, but it coulda been any of you." He swept an accusatory finger across the gathered townsfolk.

Something in the man's voice caught Cullen's attention, something familiar in the heat of his protestations, the tremor in his voice. Looking more closely, Cullen could see the beads of sweat on the farmer's forehead and smell the bitter tang of his fear. Cullen started to inch forward, his instincts compelling him to start to draw in his power.

Reynolds only chuckled again and crossed his arms. "Enough, old man. No need to make things worse. Just step back from the girl—"

"No! I will not allow it!" the man shouted, his voice suddenly deepening and ringing with a strange menace. He took a threatening step toward the crowd, which let out a collective gasp and visibly backed away, already attuned to the fact that something wasn't right.

"Ralph, no!" his wife wailed, speaking up at last.

Cullen was already moving, drawing his sword and murmuring a prayer, when the man cried out in pain and doubled over. He convulsed several times and his skin seemed to undulate, like something was inside him and fighting to get out.

The wife screamed. "Ralph! Not like this! Holy Andraste deliver us!" She jumped forward and threw her arms around her daughter again.

Everyone else seemed frozen in place as they watched the scene unfold. Cullen was still a few steps away when the air around the farmer trembled and there was a loud report followed by the faint smell of ozone. A few paces beyond, the woman huddled together with her daughter and started muttering passages from the Chant of Light. ". . . though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm." These words unfortunately were no protection against the burst of energy that suddenly exploded from her husband, knocking everyone within a few yards to the ground.

Cullen regained his feet as the now grotesquely deformed abomination that had replaced the farmer advanced on the cowering mother and daughter. The demon laughed, a dry sound that seemed to echo off unseen walls, and its red eyes gleamed at the girl from the ruin of its formerly human face. "Your imminent punishment for his sins was finally too much for him to bear. Fortunately for me. Now taste your reward."

The girl screamed as it reached toward her. But, an instant later, Cullen had driven the creature to its knees with a burst of holy smite. The creature hissed and staggered back to its feet, and Cullen closed the distance in a few steps.

He caught the demon's taloned blows against his shield and drove his sword through its defenses, leaving a long shallow cut along its twisted ribcage. He quickly reached for his power anew, ready to channel righteous fire through his sword and into the creature, but this time he felt nothing respond.

In his shock he hesitated just a second too long. Long enough for the demon to brutally backhand him across the face with superhuman strength. He felt like his eye was going to explode and fire ripped across his forehead as he spun through the air and crashed face first into the ground.

Through the ringing in his ears he suddenly heard the chaotic sounds of fighting all around him. Spitting out grit, he got one knee under him before a leather gloved hand reached out and pulled him the rest of way up. Stumbling to his feet, he was greeted by amused green eyes.

"And, here I was worried you were going to keep all the fun to yourself," Hawke said with a fierce smile. She gave him a saucy wink and then spun away to confront a second demon that had burst from the ground nearby, wreathed in fire.

A quick assessment showed him that the rest of the square now was engaged in a pitched battle with three lesser demons and shades that had followed the first abomination into their world. Scattered among the frantically fleeing civilians were the templars using a combination of their lyrium-fueled abilities and martial might to drive back the creatures. Anders had moved away from the melee, presumably to avoid any stray templar skills draining his power, while he called down bursts of flame and ice on the nearest demons. To Cullen's left, Hawke was a blur of glinting blades as she easily evaded the rage demon's fiery grasp.

He heard another dry laugh behind him and spun to see the original abomination close on him again. It snarled, bloodied lips pulling back from blackened teeth. "Templar," it growled, finally recognizing its ancient foe.

"That's right, demon," he taunted, realizing that for once there was no need for correction. Regardless of titles or heraldry, he was a templar and he was this creature's doom.

"But you are weak for a templar," it mused, sounding puzzled.

In a burst of speed, Cullen slammed into it with his shield and then spun around, using his momentum to swing his sword in a deadly arc that scythed cleanly through the creature. As the demon's head dropped to the ground next to its body, Cullen muttered, "Not so weak, I think."

A strangled keening caught his attention but it took him a moment to locate the sound.

It was the wife who had just witnessed him destroying what was left of her husband. Her eyes were wild and she seemed almost beyond reason, her arms reaching out despondently toward the despoiled remains of the farmer. The daughter pulled uselessly on her arm, trying to pull her away from the surrounding melee.

He stepped closer to them and hesitated. Then, in a low urgent voice he said, "Run. Now. As fast as you can." While it appeared that the daughter was not in actuality a mage, there was no telling how Reynolds would treat them now, especially if he thought them complicit in hiding the father from the Circle.

The mother looked up at him blankly, but the daughter understood. "Ma! Ma! He's gone! We gotta go! Before we're next!"

Finally, the girl succeeded in pulling her mother to her feet. "Maker's blessing on you, ser," the girl said before they stumbled off through the chaos.

The few remaining creatures had been cornered near the bakery by the armored templars. Cullen moved to help, but then Hawke rushed past him and grabbed his arm almost without stopping.

"We're leaving," she said to Cullen. Anders followed in her wake, along with Varric, Merrill and Fenris, who must have been drawn by the sounds of battle from their nearby meeting point.

"But—"

"We're leaving," she repeated. "You've done enough." She sounded angry and Cullen wondered if it was at him.


It was late afternoon before Hawke decided they were far enough from Gwaren to make camp. Cullen hadn't noticed any pursuit, but apparently she wasn't taking any chances. No one had spoken much along the way. The uncompromising set of Hawke's shoulders discouraged discussion as much as the grueling pace she set.

Everyone moved about their usual tasks to set up camp, subtly giving Hawke a wide berth. Finally, she stopped in front of Anders with her fists planted on her hips.

He ignored her for a moment, closing and setting aside his pack before looking up at her in polite expectation. Everything else stopped and the tension grew.

"What were you thinking to confront them directly? You almost got us all killed," Hawke said.

"Hawke, you wanted us involved in the war," Anders explained. "Well, welcome to the front lines. Mages are now truly enemies of the state. Every one. Even the children who just come into their power. Isn't this what you wanted? Us fighting the good fight to save the world?" His lip curled up a little, betraying the bitterness behind his measured arguments.

Hawke paused, and everyone held their breath. "I . . . Yes, that's technically true. I just thought we'd do it with a bit more subtlety. At the very least, ensuring that we make it to Denerim in one piece and still be able to do some good."

"To be fair, Hawke," Varric said, "subtlety has never been our strong point."

Merrill let out a bark of laughter, which she quickly turned into a cough. It succeeded in breaking the tension somewhat.

Hawke looked down quickly, but not before Cullen saw her lips twitch. When she looked back up at Anders she had composed herself again. "Nevertheless, that was reckless. I would think you, of all people, would be trying to keep us safe."

"No one can keep us safe now, Hawke. That's been my point all along." A wash of sadness passed over his face but he quickly looked over at Cullen, snapping, "How is it no one knows what happened to you?"

The sudden switch of the spotlight to Cullen caught him off guard. "I . . . I honestly don't know," he stammered. "The Seekers are a very secretive society. It seems their business is their own."

"If you're just a nobody now, I don't know how much use you can be."

"Perhaps we can actually use this to our advantage. For all anyone knows, he could be on any side now," Hawke mused.

"For all we know, either!" Anders said. "That encounter was a very near thing. He was a breath away from turning us in, too."

"Anders!" Hawke reprimanded.

Anders glared at Cullen. "You'll need to pick a side, Templar!"

"Can't you see that he already has?" she said. "What did you think he was doing back there, except saving your hide?"

Anders's face went still and cold. "You're defending him? Again? Unbelievable." He turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the dense wood.

Hawke ground her teeth in frustration, glanced at Cullen for a second, and then stormed off as well. Idly, Cullen noted that it was a different direction than that taken by Anders. With the drama abated, the rest of the companions seemed to come awake and move about the rest of their tasks.

Cullen grabbed the water skins and walked down to the stream. Midway through filling them he heard a quiet voice. "I don't think you were going to turn us in."

Merrill had appeared beside him, filling a cooking pan with water. The Dalish elf moved so quietly he hadn't heard even a whisper of her arrival. "I beg your pardon?" he said.

"I only said, I don't think you would have turned us in to those templars. I think you were trying to help."

The little elf almost never spoke to him, which he attributed to her innate fear of templars. Why she would talk to him now, he couldn't fathom, particularly since even he wasn't sure what his intentions had been with the templars.

The yearning to join them, to share in their blessed unity of purpose again, still trickled through him, like a slow poison tainting every thought and feeling. Why had he tried to derail their divine purpose? Why had he saved Anders? Why had he set the girl and her mother free?

If he had chosen a side, he wasn't quite sure which one.

"You weren't even there," he said dismissively.

"True. But, I do know that I'm not on my way to the Circle."

"Because templars no longer take mages to the Circle," he gritted. "Instead they kill them out of hand." Even the words were distasteful as he said them.

"See, exactly."

"What?" He looked up at her in exasperation, utterly perplexed.

She stopped filling her pot and looked at him patiently. "You wouldn't have turned us over to them, because you're not a monster."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because Hawke trusts you."

He rocked back on his heels, aghast at her simplistic reasoning. He had conned their leader into trusting him, and so they all did? Somehow that made him feel even worse.

Merrill stood to leave, holding the filled pot in both hands. "You know, Cullen, if you stop trying to make us hate you, you might be surprised to learn that we don't."

Once she had gone, he set aside the full water skins and sat down heavily on a downed log. All around him, the setting sun lengthened the shadows. Those cast by a nearby dead tree looked like spectral hands reaching across the intervening ground to drag him into the Void. He sighed. Perhaps that was the fate he had earned.

"Heavy thoughts for our hero of the hour," came a voice from behind him

A second later, Hawke plopped down next to him on the log. Her expression was unreadable, but if he had to guess, she was annoyed.

"Hardly a hero," he said sourly.

"I think that girl and her mother would say otherwise."

He clamped his mouth shut on his further protestations, unsure what he might accidentally say.

"As should Anders, not that he ever would," she added with a bitter twist of her lips. She was quiet for a moment and then ran the palms of her hands wearily over her face. "One minute, he wants to slink into obscurity, and the next, he's trying to go out in a blaze of glory. Again."

Cullen turned slightly to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees. Her eyes were lost in thought.

"Seems to me he might say the same thing about you," he said softly.

Her head snapped toward him. "That's different."

"Is it?"

She glared at him. "He is a hypocrite. For all his talk of trying to keep me safe, he finds the first opportunity to run into danger and place us all in jeopardy. It's as if . . . as if . . . he's punishing me for sparing his life after the explosion in Kirkwall." Her chin sunk down again on her knees.

Something about that didn't ring true for Cullen as he recalled the argument he'd overheard the other night. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened between you two that day, but perhaps you should consider the possibility that it's not Anders who is still punishing you for what happened. You seem to do quite a good job all on your own."

She turned to look at him again, denial writ across her face, and her mouth worked wordlessly to voice her outrage.

"Everything you do is motivated by guilt, Hawke. I've never met anyone who spends so much time looking after everyone else but herself. Even when I knew you in Kirkwall this was true, only now it's worse, since you seem to have taken the weight of the whole world on your shoulders, not just the concerns of one city." In the back of his mind, he wondered why he was saying this. It was exactly this guilt he needed to prey upon to keep her involved in the war effort.

Her mouth thinned to an angry line. "Who else will do it, if I don't?" she snapped at last.

"I don't know," he said simply. "But you need to look to your friends, trust them, rely on them, if you're going to drag them into this. And, in Anders's case, forgive him. Stop living in the past."

He braced himself for more arguments from her, but instead her shoulders slumped and she lowered her forehead to her knees, wrapping herself further into a ball. He had the sudden, terrifying urge to put his arm around her, so instead he crossed his arms, effectively pinning down his hands against his sides.

After a minute, she lifted her head. "You know, your charlatan confessor at the Chantry said something similar to me."

He took a breath to take her to task over her slur at the Chantry when she gave him a little smile and the little dimple distracted him. He released the breath explosively. "Well, charlatan or not, she was probably right." Their eyes met and they shared a genuine smile, easing the tension of the last few minutes.

Her eyes flicked to his forehead. "Um, were you aware that you're still covered in blood?"

He probed lightly with his fingers, which came away red and sticky, reminding him of the blow he'd taken from the demon. "Oh."

"Now personally, I think it makes you look rakish," she drawled, "but some might become faint at the sight of you. And not for the usual reasons."

He shook his head in amused exasperation, never sure what to expect from her any more. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gave his face a perfunctory swipe with it.

"Stop. You're just smearing it around," she scolded. "Give it to me." She soaked the handkerchief in the stream and then started to clean the wound more methodically. "Hmm, this is deeper than I thought." She stopped to rinse out the already blood-sodden cloth. "So, what happened back there with the demon? That was quite the face plant you performed."

"Is that the pot calling the kettle black?" he said sourly. "You weren't exactly the paragon of dexterity, Grace."

She scowled at him. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that name calling is rude? My name is not Grace. And, don't change the subject. Before the demon hit you, you seemed to freeze. What happened?"

It was hard to avoid her impertinent question when she held his face in her hands like that, mopping his brow in soothing strokes. "My templar abilities are not what they used to be. It merely caught me off guard," he mumbled.

She rinsed the handkerchief again and returned to her task, the tip of her tongue peeping out between her lips in concentration. "Do they still work without lyrium?"

Just hearing the word sent a shiver of craving through him, making his heart beat faster. He wet his lower lip. "Somewhat. But it seems they're also unpredictable, so I can no longer rely upon them." The thought depressed him. What was a templar without the ability to smite his enemies with righteous fire?

Not a templar . . . whispered a quiet thought, echoing within the gaping hole in his chest, the emptiness that had once held his Maker-given power. He shut his eyes against the sting of regret.

"At least they still work!" she said in an overly cheery voice, cutting through his self-pity. "I thought they would stop altogether once you stopped taking lyrium."

"No. No, it's much more gradual than that. So I should still be of use to you for some time to come."

"Cullen, I don't know if you might be trolling for a compliment, but we need you because you're you, not because of your ability to smite evilness." She smiled. "Maybe you should take some of your own advice and give yourself a break."

She stood up and nodded her head toward camp. "Let's go back. I think we need to dig out one of those new bandages for your head, since somehow I doubt we can talk Anders into a healing."



A/N: Of course, as we learn more about how DA:I templars really function, this will all be AU. But it was interesting to imagine nonetheless. Next chapter, Chapter 8: New Players.

Summary: Three years after allowing Marian Hawke to escape Kirkwall, a disgraced Cullen is sent on a desperate quest to find her. Can he earn her trust in time to regain what he's lost and finally redeem them all for the role they played in igniting the mage-templar war? Set in 9:40, after the events of DA2 and Asunder. Rated T, but eventually a little bit M. 

Previous Chapter: Fool's Errand 6: She Who Has Faith
Next Chapter: Fool's Errand 8: New Players

Special thanks to:
:iconchenria: for the awesome cover art!
:iconmeanerweaner:  my beloved beta
© 2014 - 2024 R2sMuse
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Gaspode5's avatar
Hm, personally I think templar abilities are independent on Lyrium, the templars just have to work a bit differently. I suspect the Chantry thought it was a handy excuse to keep their army in check.

Cullen have just found out how hard it is to remain on the sidelines. I'm glad he gave that family the benefit of the doubt. Now he should ask himself why mages turn to blood magic...

Anders is such a good example of why fanatics are dangerous, independent of the cause. They see everything in black and white, when in fact, nothing is.