A Promise Made, A Promise Kept

Cullen stared at the small group in front of him, desperately trying to maintain a semblance of calm.  Hawke spoke to him curtly, obviously angered by the expected responses he'd parroted.  But Meredith's people were everywhere, and if he wanted to maintain his position as Knight-Captain, Cullen knew he had to keep up the appearance he'd cultivated.

"You play a dangerous game in coming here, Lady Hawke," he said carefully, quietly.  "You've done much for Keran and Macha, and your new standing in the city guarantees you a measure of protection not granted to most people in your position.  But I would not test the Knight-Commander's patience further, especially considering the company you bring with you."

The blond man at her side stiffened and glared at him, and Cullen stared impassively back, ignoring the faint ache in his chest.  He would not react, would not betray to the eyes watching that anything out of the ordinary was occurring.

"Threats?  I never thought you'd stoop so low, Knight-Captain," Anders said at last, tone thick with disgust.

Hawke looked back and forth between the two of them, realizing, finally, that a finely drawn thread of tension twanged between the two men, some unknown undercurrent tying them together in a way she couldn't fathom.

"Anders?" she said, quietly, and when she put her hand in his, Cullen sighed internally with relief.  She will protect him.  Thank the Maker.

"This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion," he answered tiredly.  "You've never understood.  I accept that.  But do not-" he stared intently into the all-too familiar eyes, "do not presume to judge that which you have refused to even attempt to comprehend for nigh on two decades."

Anders stepped forward, mouth twisted with anger.  "What is there to understand?" he said, voice low, raw.

"Get out."  Cullen clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to reach out and shake him, to try and make him listen-  "Get him out of here, Hawke, before he draws attention to that which should remain hidden in a place such as this."

Hawke's eyes widened.  "Andraste's tits, Anders, he knows?" she said, and he shook his head once, tightly, in negation.  "It's not what you think, Hawke.  Let's go."

Cullen turned away and started towards the portcullis leading to the Gallows proper.  If he was lucky, attention would linger on him instead of the three mages and the dwarf standing in front of him.

"Bastard," came the taunting imprecation behind him, and Cullen turned, suddenly, goaded into reaction.

"You just can't resist, can you," he said, "Always pushing, pushing, pushing until I push back.  Keep pushing, mój bracie, and when Meredith realizes just how much I've hidden to protect you, I'll be dismissed, and you three will be in here, branded and mindless.  Just keep pushing."

They stared at each other for a long moment- Anders turned suddenly and stalked away, followed by Hawke and the elf girl.  The dwarf stood next to Cullen for a moment longer, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Mój bracie," he said, "What is that, Anderfellian?"

Cullen stared down at the beardless dwarf, and remembered the first time they'd met, after.

He'd run away to Calenhad as soon as he turned sixteen, a scant four months after they'd taken Szczepan away, crying and screaming.  He'd thrown away all markers of his past, had thrown away the boy who used to be Mikolaj, playing with the syllables in trade tongue- Mikolaj, Nicholas, Colin, Cullen.

Cullen was a good, sturdy Fereldan name.  It would do.

When he'd arrived at the Circle Tower, young, brash, homeless, and presented himself for training, Knight-Commander Greagoir had questioned him.  No, he'd answered, he didn't have any family.  He was- an orphan, yes.  He'd work hard to protect good, innocent folk from the dangerous, demonic powers of the mage-born.

He'd been tested, and whatever they'd been looking for, they'd found it- the latent connection to the Fade that all but screamed relative of a mage, the necessary component for wielding their lyrium-enhanced powers.  But he hadn't known about that until much, much later, and by then it didn't matter- this was his calling, his purpose.

When Szczepan had been placed in his four-year old arms, so many years ago, he'd sworn to protect him, wringing a smile out of his normally dour father.  Maker help him, he was going to keep that promise, no matter what.

And one day, a few months after he'd become a recruit, they'd crossed paths at last- Cullen in his initiate garb, Szczepan (who was now being called, uncreatively enough, "Anders") in a set of plain apprentice robes.  

Thank the Maker, he is safe, he'd thought with relief, but the look of sheer betrayal on Anders' face had staggered Cullen.  Wait, he'd thought, as his brother had been marched away with the other mage children, Don't you see?  I'm here to protect you, brother.  I'll never let them harm you, I swear.  But if they know, they'll separate us, send me away- I'm doing this for you, Szczepan.

Cullen had done what he could, over the years, although Uldred's demons had nearly broken him, had borne in him an echo of the fear his own father had felt, so strongly, on the day he cast Szczepan out- fear of what a mage could do, could become.

But when Anders had escaped for the last time (and oh, how many favors he'd called in over the years to keep his little brother from being made Tranquil), had become of all things a Grey Warden, and had somehow escaped to Kirkwall, Cullen had taken the phylactery he'd stolen years before and followed, using the collateral he'd garnered as one of the few survivors of the Tower debacle to arrange a transfer.  Because Kirkwall was full of templars, and the Gallows was much, much worse place for mages than the Circle Tower.

"Yes," he said to the dwarf, "It's Anderfellian.  Now if you'll excuse me-"

From across the courtyard, he watched another set of eyes track the group, one of the newer recruits, the blue-eyed Little Hawke.  Blue eyes watched his sister leave, expression unguarded, miserable.  Cullen began to make his way across the courtyard, to arrange a quiet talk with the Little Hawke.  A talk about discretion, of quiet rebellion, of hidden insurrection and misdirection.  Because things were coming to a head in Kirkwall, Meredith growing ever more paranoid by the day, and someday, when it all came crashing down, it would fall on their shoulders to protect, to guard, to save.  Would fall to people like Thrask, Keran, Carver- and him.

Cullen had sworn, on that day so long ago, that he'd protect his brother, and by the Maker, he would continue to do so, to weave this complicated web of alliances and favors and misinformation, to turn Templar eyes the other way.  Even if his own brother despised him, reviled him, misunderstood him- none of it mattered, because a promise was a promise, and would be kept, no matter what.