The Coming Storm 1: Cullen

Cullen hated waiting. He shifted slowly from one foot to the other just to give himself something to do, no longer concerned that someone might see him fidgeting. The oppressive silence in the meeting room was only broken by the crash of the storm raging outside the White Spire. The Lord Seeker had urged them to make great haste to Val Royeaux for this unprecedented congregation of the Knight-Commanders of Thedas, and now that all were here, they waited.

Cullen's uneasiness was mirrored in many of the faces around him, some familiar from his three years as Kirkwall's templar commander, others less so. Some he only knew by reputation, like the new Knight-Commander of Dairsmuid, where it was said that he had executed the Right of Annulment gleefully and mercilessly, ending an ages-long struggle to eradicate the heathen Rivaini traditions practiced by their Circle mages. Standing before the rain-lashed window, gazing dispassionately into the night, was fellow Fereldan Reynolds who, like Cullen, was also relatively new to his position. Cullen remembered Reynolds as a hardliner who had once called him unnatural for enjoying a mage's pretty smile. Sadly, Ferelden's Kinloch Hold was far from the only Circle of Magi where a relatively moderate templar leader had been replaced with an extremist who descried mage freedom.

The Lord Seeker's summons hadn't explained the purpose of their meeting, only its urgency. Of course, it was the uncommon templar who did not feel some trepidation about the Seekers of Truth, the Templar Order's mysterious overseers, so they had answered. It wasn't hard to guess that the meeting had something to do with the recent unrest with the mages, which had started in Kirkwall, but had ignited into a full-blown rebellion here at the White Spire. Now the system was in free fall, with every Circle of Magi rising up, and strange rumors flying of a cure for mage tranquility and discontent between the Lord Seeker and the Divine.

A lieutenant wearing the dark armor of a Seeker but the red cloak of a Knight-Captain entered the room. His eyes took in the group and he gave them a smug smile that had a cruel edge. "Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves will join you shortly," he announced.

"And what is this meeting all about?" Reynolds demanded, spinning around to glare at the man. "We haven't been told anything."

The Seeker smirked again. "In due time."

"Ill winds blow for us all," began the Nevarran Knight-Commander from Cumberland in a slow voice. "We work to keep our own houses in order as chaos erupts. I believe I speak for all of us when I say we want to execute our business here swiftly and return home."

The Seeker stood at parade rest near the door and did not respond.

The Nevarran looked around the room, perhaps noting that all eyes were on him as the most senior. "Plus, we are only fourteen. I do not see Knight-Commander Eron of the White Spire."

"Nor will you," announced a new voice.

A broad-shouldered man armored all in black swept into the room, sending Cullen's senses tingling as the Seeker's presence filled the room. This man was powerful and no doubt dangerous.

"Eron no longer leads the White Spire. I do. For those of you who do not know me, I am Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves. I have called you here because we stand at a turning point in history. And, I expect that you will all step up to the challenge." Lambert paused to let his words sink in, but there was no need. He clearly had everyone's attention.

The Lord Seeker paced slowly across the room. "Many of you have heard of the conflict that took place within these very walls. How the First Enchanters repaid our leniency by turning a sanctioned conclave into an opportunity to foment sedition. Now rebellion spreads like a dark plague on the land. Even our option of last resort, the Right of Annulment, has not stemmed the tide." He nodded solemnly at the templar from Dairsmuid, whose mouth thinned at the indirect slight.

Lambert turned to look out the window and a flash of lightning lit up his face and glinted from his cold gray eyes. He pressed his palms together and held them to his lips for a moment, like a supplicant in prayer. "What you may not know is that the Divine Justinia herself was a party to this betrayal."

Several indrawn breaths indicated the surprise that met this pronouncement. Cullen's jaw clenched and he worked to control his own reaction.

"How can this be?" asked the Orlesian woman from Montsimmard.

Lambert slowly turned. "The Divine has been undermining the Chantry's control of the mage threat since her first days in office. It was she who commissioned an investigation into the reversal of the Right of Tranquility over five years ago. It was she who sanctioned the mission that retrieved this knowledge and ultimately spread it to the mages. Moreover, it was she who actively aided the mage rebellion here at the White Spire, luring the templars away while the mages set their plans. My brothers and sisters, the Chantry has failed us."

Murmuring broke out as almost everyone started talking at once, asking questions and voicing outrage. Cullen remained silent and watched.

The Orlesian woman spoke out again and the suspicion in her voice was strong as it rose above the din. "Those are very serious accusations."

Lambert sighed. "Yes, they are. And, yes, they are true. The Divine even boasted to me of her role in these events, as my colleague Ser Arnaud can attest." He motioned to the smirking lieutenant still standing near the door. "Plus, there is the fact of her personal entreaty to me to come to the Grand Cathedral the night of the insurrection, leaving the White Spire virtually unguarded. All true."

The murmuring broke out again, but the exclamations were more muted this time, sounding more concerned and fearful.

Lambert raised his hands and waited for the room to quiet. "But, all is not lost. Yes, the Chantry has abdicated its sacred duty to protect Thedas from the threat of dark magic. Once upon a time, however, before the Nevarran Accord, this was our sacred duty and so it can be again." He paused again for effect. "I intend to break the Accord so that we may step in where the Chantry has failed. Even now, the mages gather at Andoral's Reach preparing their next sortie. By unfettering ourselves from the Sunburst throne, and the incapable woman who now occupies it, we may do what has to be done to staunch the spread of this disease. It now falls to us and us alone."

The room fell silent again in astonishment at the bold proposition. Cullen's eyes flicked around the room, noting individual reactions. Reynolds' eyes had lit up at the idea and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. The Rivaini openly smiled. The Orlesian woman was frowning and tapping her lower lip. The Nevarran's expression remained neutral, giving no true indication of what he thought. The others all fell along the same spectrum of reactions, with some, like Cullen, attempting to mask their emotions and failing.

Cullen's mind flinched away from the thought of abandoning the Chantry and the Maker's chosen path. It had taken him years to come to peace within his own mind about the true purpose of the Order and the greater good he tried to serve in the name of Blessed Andraste.

It was quiet until the door creaked open to admit a column of helmeted Seekers. Ominous in their dark uniforms and silent as the grave, they moved around the perimeter of the room to loosely corral the templar leaders. Two stood before the now closed door.

The natural antagonism between templars and the Seekers of Truth was obviously being wielded against them and anger started to burn in the core of Cullen's stomach. The threat was clear and it was unconscionable that the Lord Seeker would attempt to intimidate them in this way. The Orlesian, and two others, were scowling in outrage. Even the Nevarran's cool façade had cracked and he glared at the Lord Seeker.

"Now, I expect you all to rise to this challenge and do what must be done," Lambert said in a business-like voice while he rubbed his hands together. "We all know what happens to templars who fail in their duty." He looked around the room, catching each individual eye. Cullen wondered if it was his imagination that Lambert held his eye a second longer than the others. "A vote," Lambert called out. "Daismuid! What say you?"

The Rivaini raised his fist across his chest in salute. "We support the breaking of the Accord."

"Kinloch Hold!" Lambert looked at Reynolds, who similarly saluted.

"We support the breaking of the Accord."

Lambert continued around the room, seeming to choose the more extreme supporters first, who all unanimously agreed, before coming back to the doubters. "Montsimmard."

The Orlesian did not answer right away, taking a few deep breaths before she said, "Montsimmard will follow."

"Cumberland."

The Nevarran shook his head slowly, his face stricken. "Maker forgive us," he muttered. Then, in a stronger voice, he added, "Cumberland will see it done."

Finally, coming to the last in the room, Lambert looked at Cullen. "Kirkwall." Something in the way he said the word, drawing out the syllables, clued Cullen in to the fact that the Lord Seeker's animosity toward him was not imagined. Cullen could only guess that it was due to his involvement in the events that had first sparked the mage rebellions.

Cullen wet his lower lip nervously, wondering if he could actually utter the words that would divorce his duty, and himself, from the Chantry. Even in the darkest pits of despair, languishing for weeks in the demon-spawned cage after the fall of Kinloch Hold, when the voices in his head urged him to abandon his faith to escape the pain, he had never faltered. Could he now? Even if the alternative was loss of that very duty that had sustained him? Or even death?

He clenched his fist until his fingernails started to bite into his palm, the pain giving him much needed clarity of the greater issues at stake. Before he lost his nerve, with the bile rising in his throat, he said, "Kirkwall will also see it done."

An unholy light sprung to Lambert's eyes at these words. "Very well. And, as Lord Seeker and Knight-Commander of the White Spire, I will also see it done." He looked around the room, rubbing his hands together again. "We have not a moment to waste. Our host will march on Andoral's Reach in three days' time. The mages will face such a reckoning that the bards will weep for telling of the tale. And, then we shall establish a new order and usher in an era of peace." Lambert nodded briskly and then turned on his heel and left.

Walking through the storm, with the rain sheeting across his face and dripping through his hair, Cullen still felt unclean. For eight hundred years the templars had been one of the pillars of the Chantry and in a matter of moments, it was over. No one, not one of the fifteen, had spoken out against it. Even himself.

He brusquely dashed the rain from his eyes, trying to distract himself from his dark thoughts, and peered through the gloom. Finally.

Gleaming softly before him with a warm golden light were the stained glass windows depicting the trials of Andraste. Her entreaty to the Maker, begging forgiveness for the sins of man. Her Exalted March on the Imperium. Her betrayal and execution. Her ascendance to the Maker's side. Would Andraste forgive his own sins?

He scanned the deserted streets nervously before slipping through a little used side entrance. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light, the drip of rain water off his sodden leathers echoing loudly in the dark corridor. He started forward, wondering if he could find the way on his own, when a slim shadow detached itself from the darkness before him, making him start in panic and reach for his sword.

A smooth Orlesian voice said, "Now what have we here?" She stepped into the light, her short red hair and piercing blue eyes coming into focus. She studied him for a moment and frowned when she noted his hand resting on his pommel. "Hmm. Come with me," she said, her tone brooking no argument.

He had to hurry to keep up with her, following her down a warren of twisting corridors and up several flights of stairs. Eventually she led him down a brightly lit hallway and ushered him through one of its many doors.

He found himself in a cozy sitting room lined with bookshelves. A middle-aged woman with small, dwarven spectacles perched on her nose sat reading in a large, comfortable chair before the fire. She didn't look up as they entered, but the subtle shift in her body language indicated that she knew they were there.

"Justinia," said the red-haired woman, "see the mouse I found wandering your house."

Justinia looked up at last and smiled tiredly. Cullen rushed forward and knelt down on one knee, his head bowed. "Forgive me, Your Perfection."

She reached out and lightly touched his head, causing him to look up. "Now, now, what have you to be forgiven for?"

"It is done," he choked out.

She motioned at the letter in hand and in a dry voice said, "So I see." She read aloud, "With the Circle no more, I hereby declare the Accord null and void. Neither the Seekers of Truth nor the Templar Order recognize Chantry authority, and instead we will perform the Maker's work as it was meant to be done, as we see fit." She snorted softly. "As we see fit. Lambert has been unable to see the Maker's path for some time. "

She looked over her glasses at Cullen, who remained on bent knee, and her eyes narrowed. "There is no need for forgiveness, my son. You have done the Maker's work today. We needed someone we could trust inside this process. We are in your debt."

"This separation was inevitable," the red-haired woman added. "Cullen, you knew this. If you had not supported the breaking the Accord, you would merely have been replaced with someone who would."

"Leliana is correct," Justinia said. "If any one of the fifteen had balked, Lambert would not have hesitated to retaliate. In fact, I would guess some of your colleagues may still not be safe."

"That is possible, Your Perfection. There were a few of the Knight-Commanders who clearly were unsettled by this change. But none spoke out," Cullen said.

"Did he suspect you?" She motioned for him to rise from his knee, so he complied.

"I . . ." Cullen trailed off, recalling the suspicion in Lambert's cold gray eyes. He pursed his lips in thought. "I'm not certain. But he seemed mollified with the result."

"Good. I am well pleased. Now, with you under Lambert's new banner, we may more easily watch his next steps."

"He will march on Andoral's Reach." Cullen stared into the fire, unsure who would come out on top between the host of templars and the desperate mages, unsure who he pitied more.

"It's as I expected," Justinia said. She tilted her head slightly at she looked at him. "Yet, you are still troubled."

He clenched his jaw and tried to untangle his mixed emotions. "I am, Most Holy, but it needn't concern you."

"But of course it does. Please."

It was a gentle request, but a request nonetheless. He paused, uncertain how to explain, while she waited patiently. "I am a templar. It's who I am. It is all that I am. I have striven to understand the demands and responsibilities that places upon me, and at times, this has been a genuine struggle. But through it all, I have cleaved to the principles laid down by Blessed Andraste. That, while magic is meant to serve man, the users of magic are also the Maker's children. The Chantry is at the core of my beliefs. But now . . ."

"Ah," she said, "I think I see. But now I have asked you to compromise those beliefs."

"Oh, n-no, Most Holy, you haven't—" he said quickly, but she interrupted him.

"You are right. I have not." She chuckled again, a worldly sound at odds with the solemnity of her office. "Cullen, the existence or non-existence of the Nevarran Accord is irrelevant to your beliefs. In fact, I would venture to say that even the Chantry is somewhat irrelevant to your beliefs. It is not the institution that defines your faith, it is you. So whether your chain of command leads to the Lord Seeker or to the Divine or even to no one at all, that does not change who you are fundamentally."

"But . . ." He stopped, surprised that he was actually about to contradict the Divine.

"Go on."

He wet his lower lip. "But, I am a templar, Your Perfection," he repeated, hoping she would understand.

"I know that, Cullen. But, I've seen your heart, and at your core you will always be a templar. You are Andraste's champion. No piece of paper will change that," she said, indicating Lambert's letter with a frown. "We will need men like you for what is to come. Men of true faith. This is why I am encouraged today."

"I-I will do my best to serve, Most Holy," he stammered, feeling his cheeks warm at the unexpected praise.

"You know, Divine Beatrix—may she rest at the Maker's hand—used to warn that a storm was coming. Now that it is upon us . . ." She trailed off thoughtfully.

"I shall weather the storm," added Leliana, quoting from the Chant of Light. "I shall endure."

". . . What you have created, no one can tear asunder," Cullen finished.

Justinia smiled briefly and nodded, but then she grew serious, her face creased in world-weary lines. Her eyes grew unfocused as she stared into the fire, the flames dancing in reflection on her spectacles. "Sometimes . . . in order to fix something we love, we must first break it down and then build it anew. We will all do our best to weather the coming storm. And, when the clouds part and the blessed sun shines again, we will rebuild and be the stronger for it."

"So mote it be," Leliana murmured.

Justinia turned toward Cullen, her eyes clear and sharp again. "Go now. Leliana will contact you when the need arises. Take comfort that you still follow the Maker's word, Knight-Commander. Don't lose faith."

He clapped his fist across his chest. "Never."

She chuckled. "Good. For it may soon be in short supply. Maker watch over you, Cullen."

"Maker watch over us all, Most Holy."