Dragon Age: Phoenix Origins

A worn diary excerpt

Maker, guide my hand as I write, for my heart overflows with gratitude.

Evelyn—fierce Evelyn! She is the brightest flame in this darkened world, fierce as fire, yet as comforting as a hearth. Were I to stumble, were my faith in myself ever to waver, she would reignite my purpose. Surely, she is a gift from the Maker, sent to light the way and inspire me to be better, to strive harder. With her by my side, I feel as though I could face even the darkness of the Black City and not falter. How extraordinary she is! How precious this friendship is, a treasure beyond gold.

And yet, my thoughts turn often to Sorin of Ostwick, Evelyn's companion from her youth. When I learned of his story and his name "Sun," I was overcome with both joy and sorrow—joy that he bears the very symbol of our faith and sorrow that his heart seems closed to the light of the Maker. He carries bitterness within him, a wound inflicted by an unworthy Mother who treated him unjustly, as though his soul were tarnished when it was not.

Oh, how he moves me! His letters, though infrequent, are rare jewels of thought, brimming with such depth that I am left in awe of his mind. Just today, his response to my letter made my heart ache with both pity and admiration. I had written to him of the Maker's eternal love, of how He sees even the smallest sparrow. Sorin's reply was short, but it burned in my thoughts:

"If the Maker sees so much, Miriam, perhaps He might look elsewhere and leave me in peace."

How profound this is! Does he not see? Even in his frustration, he contemplates the Maker's omnipresence. How could he speak of being seen so readily if he did not, in his heart, believe it to be true? Oh, Sorin, you are a stubborn flame, flickering but not yet extinguished. I will not cease my efforts to help you see the light you already carry within you.

The Maker's plan is a mystery, but I believe Sorin is a part of it. Evelyn's fierce brightness, Sorin's quiet brilliance—both are threads in the grand tapestry He designed. I only pray that I may be worthy of the roles the Maker has given me in their lives.

***

Cullen stood frozen amidst the chaos, his training warring with the shock gripping his chest. The flames were everywhere, consuming the training grounds in a ravenous blaze. Apprentices and Templar-Recruits fled in all directions screaming, while Eda's wails pierced through the noise, her charred hands clawing at the helm partially fused to her seared skin. Other victims were lying scattered around the ground, their burns severe, and their cries desperate.

His heart pounded as he tried to make sense of the situation. Evelyn. How could this have happened? The most disciplined and controlled apprentice he knew had been utterly consumed by magic, her flames a force of destruction even the Templars struggled to rein in.

More Knights surged into the fray, their weapons drawn, their abilities reaching out to suppress the remnants of the Marcher's magic around the grounds. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus as two senior Templars hauled Evelyn's limp form toward the cells. Her head lolled, blood trickling down her temple from where Croft had struck her.

"Get those flames under control!" Knight-Lieutenant Arlo barked, his commanding voice cutting through the chaos. He and Croft moved in perfect tandem—the Knight-Enchanter, conjured torrents of water to douse the roaring flames, while Arlo unleashed a barrage of Spell Purges, steadily forcing the magical inferno back. Their stratagem was honed by years of camaraderie, perfectly demonstrated for all to see how such opposing forces could work together as one. With their combined efforts, the flames were finally extinguished and order restored. But the damage was already done.

"Healers!" one of the Knights shouted. "We need healers here, now!"

"Ser Arlo!" A voice rang out. Cullen turned to see Miriam, her robes singed but otherwise unharmed, as she was kneeling beside Eda. Her hands hovered over the young woman's burns, unwavering determination in her expression. "I can heal her. I can heal them all. Please, let me help! If we wait for the infirmary staff, they'll die!"

Arlo hesitated, his jaw tight. The stricture against allowing Miriam to use healing magic rang clear in Cullen's mind, but the scene before them was dire.

"Permission granted," Arlo said, at last, his tone begrudging but resolute. "Knight-Recruit Rutherford!" he called, fixing Cullen with a sharp gaze.

Cullen snapped to attention, shaking off the last remnants of his haze. "Yes, Ser!"

"You're responsible for watching over her while she casts. If anything suspicious happens, you know what to do."

"Yes, Ser," he replied crisply. He grabbed one of the training swords lying nearby and moved to stand beside Evelyn's friend.

Miriam didn't flinch as he took his position, the sword ready in his hands. She closed her eyes, her concentration unbroken, and began her spell. A brilliant golden light radiated from her fingertips, illuminating the room. Threads of mana, like shimmering filaments, spread outward, weaving delicately through the air—one connecting to Eda, others extending to each of the injured.

Cullen watched, awestruck, as wounds began to knit together before his eyes. Burned flesh smoothed, scorched skin regrew, and the agonized cries of the injured quieted into gasps of relief. It was extraordinary, unlike any healing magic he had ever seen. But then he saw Miriam's face—her pale skin streaked with sweat, her eyes wide and unblinking as crimson tears began to fall down her cheeks.

"Miriam?" Cullen took a step forward, but she didn't respond, entirely focused on her spell. Her body trembled, her arms shaking as the flow of blood from her eyes turned into streams.

"Do not disturb her," Croft muttered, appearing at the recruit's side slightly out of breath. "Interrupting her now could harm everyone she's healing."

Cullen nodded in response. But the longer she worked, the more drained she appeared, her breathing labored, her bluish lips moving soundlessly as if chanting under her breath. Still, the magic continued to flow, and one by one, the injured were stabilized.

"Get her a healing and lyrium potion once she's done," Arlo ordered, his tone sharp and commanding.

"Yes, Ser."

He stepped closer to the mage as the golden light of her spell began to fade. The shimmering threads of mana retracted into her hands, and she slumped forward, her palms landing in the pool of blood beneath her.

Cullen immediately knelt beside her. "Miriam, you've done enough."

Her unfocused gaze lifted to meet his as it slowly regained its pale color, and she gave a faint nod before collapsing against him. He caught her with his free hand, steadying her before she fell completely. "Let's get you seated," he murmured.

The recruit carefully helped the mage to her feet, supporting her frail frame as he guided her back to one of the benches. Miriam sank down heavily, her hands trembling as she wiped her face with the sleeves of her robes. The blood smeared into faint streaks, and she rubbed her eyes, wincing slightly.

"Are you alright?" Cullen asked, his voice tinged with concern. He crouched beside her, studying her pale complexion and the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion.

Miriam nodded faintly, though her hands didn't stop moving. "My vision is blurry," she admitted, her tone weak but steady. "But it's… slowly coming back to me." She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. "I'm just… very tired. Drained. But…" She opened her eyes again, her lips curving into a faint, grateful smile. "Thanks be to the Maker for His gift. He allowed me to save so many people today." Her voice was filled with quiet reverence, the relief of knowing her magic had made a difference outweighing the toll it had taken on her body.

"Truly, He has had His hand in this to have brought you here today." Cullen could almost laugh to himself about how just a few months ago he could not imagine conversing with a mage he hardly knew so casually… especially considering the circumstances. But Evelyn trusted her, even having just told him earlier that Miriam had healed her head. The blood was unsettling to any Templar, but perhaps such spiritual power required a price.

Remembering that she needed potions to recover, Cullen hurried to the mage's equipment cabinet. Fortunately, it was intact and contained the potions he needed, having been spared from the fire. Striding briskly back across the ring, he noticed Vale crouched near the ground, her hands reaching for something. He didn't see what it was, but as he passed by, his boot apparently caught onto it, sending it skittering across the dirt right into Miriam's foot. Vale's eyes flashed with frustration, but she quickly masked it, straightening up and pretending it hadn't happened.

Cullen paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing on her, then on the empty bottle he had inadvertently kicked, but he said nothing. He had no time to linger—Miriam needed him.

"Apologies, it must be one of the empty bottles from the fight." Handing her the healing draughs, she sipped them delicately, unlike what he was used to seeing. Leaving her to it, he picked up the vial he kicked, absently looking at the smudged glass. It had definitely been Evelyn's lyrium, as the substance was always bottled differently than other potions to avoid confusion.

"Master Rutherford, may I see that?" the mage asked, her brows furrowing as she scrutinized him. Snapping out of his thoughts, he handed the item over. She examined the bottle intently, turning it over in her hands before sniffing it several times, her expression growing more contemplative with each breath. Finally, she motioned him closer, her voice dropping to a whisper as her eyes darted around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. "Evelyn trusts you," Miriam murmured, her tone both earnest and cautious. "So I hope I can trust you to do the right thing here… I think someone tampered with her lyrium. It smells... off."

"What do you mean?" Having never taken lyrium yet, he was a bit out of his depth.

"Lyrium has no smell, but this bottle has a bitter and earthy scent to it. Foul play would certainly explain Evelyn's uncharacteristic outburst."

He shifted his footing to obscure the way they examined the bottle with his body, for if it was purposely tainted and Vale had been trying to get to it… Maker, surely she wouldn't have taken things this far? To try and get Evelyn punished so severely or worse… Perhaps he should've taken her more seriously when she warned him of Vale's jealousy before.

"Do you know what it could be?" Yet, before she could answer, Reid joined them, keeping a close eye on everyone's coming and going. His roommate's heightened state offered no comfort, knowing he had an uncanny sense of trouble lurking. After surveying the yard, he looked at the two in silent question, "Miriam here believes someone tampered with Trevelyan's lyrium."

"Let me see it." He held a hand out, and the mage placed the empty vial in his hand. Tristan's eyes lit up immediately. "There is oil residue here, and it smells like… blah! It's Ghoul's Beard. Someone wanted to do her dirty."

"I admit, I… don't pay much attention in alchemy class to know what that means." Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, but one could hardly blame him for drifting in Ser Lloyd's class. The man's deep and monotone voice could put an Archdemon back to sleep.

Reid crossed his arms, eyes narrowing under the shadow of his dark chocolate-colored hair, "Ghoul's Beard is vile and completely unpredictable. The only thing that is assured when taking it is that it will fuck you up. A boy from home ate some on accident, and the poor sod itched until his skin was raw. He was convinced he needed to peel it off him to stop it." He shook his head in warning, "I've never seen it, but I've heard stories of what it does to mages. It is certainly capable of causing this."

"Who would do such a reckless thing?" Cullen questioned.

As the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter entered the training yard to assess the situation, his thoughts went to what would happen to Evelyn. He had heard her desperate plea to have Arlo Silence her, so even she was aware something had caused her to lose control. Yet, the Apprentice was now unconscious in a cell unable to defend herself.

While Greagoir and Irving received detailed reports from Croft and Arlo about the events, the infirmary staff finally arrived to tend to the wounded. Healers moved swiftly, their hands glowing faintly with restorative magic as they carried away the injured on stretchers. Among them, Cullen caught a fleeting glimpse of Eda, her body limp and her face a picture of devastation. Though magic had healed her wounds, her features would remain forever twisted. Despite his disdain for the fellow recruit, Cullen felt no satisfaction at the sight.

Once the infirmary staff had departed with the injured, the Circle's two leaders called everyone to attention. Their voices cut through the lingering tension as they lined the remaining recruits and apprentices in formation for an address.

First, Miriam was singled out. She was congratulated, though very briefly, for her healing prowess and swift actions that had undoubtedly saved lives. A faint murmur of agreement passed through the ranks, and even some of the Templars found themselves nodding. Though it seemed a pitiful display of gratitude, it was the best Miriam was going to receive from this lot with her mutation.

The Knight-Commander raised a gauntleted hand, and the murmuring ceased immediately. His voice, deep and authoritative, rang out over the training ground. "Today, the Circle faced chaos and calamity. Lives were endangered, and one of the apprentices had fallen to a condition we cannot yet explain. But make no mistake—order will be restored, and those responsible will be brought to justice."

Cullen hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward from the line. His heart thudded in his chest, but he pushed the hesitation aside. "Knight-Commander, may I speak?"

The Knight-Commander gave him a sharp, appraising look before granting a curt nod. "Proceed, Knight-Recruit."

Cullen cleared his throat and held up a small glass bottle. "This is the potion Apprentice Trevelyan used before the incident. I suspect it was tampered with. It contains traces of Ghoul's Beard—a known contaminant. It could explain what happened to her."

He stepped forward and offered the bottle. Greagoir took it from his hand, raising an eyebrow, while the First Enchanter examined it with interest. Cullen turned and marched back to his place in the ranks. As he settled into line, his eyes caught a movement to his right.

Vale shifted nervously, her arms crossing over her chest as her blue eyes darted from one side of the chamber to the other. The moment she realized he was watching her, she straightened abruptly, her expression a mask of indifference. Her gaze flicked away, but not before Cullen saw the flicker of unease in her features.

A spark of realization flashed through his mind as he remembered her attempt to pick up the bottle of lyrium from the floor earlier. Vale. Of course, it was her. She and her friend had made Evelyn's life miserable for months. The cruel remarks, the rumors—Trevelyan had endured it all without fighting back, which was no easy task for her fiery temper. But Cullen had no proof it was Marrian who had tampered with the potion.

Meanwhile, Greagoir and Irving exchanged a grave look after examining the bottle. The First Enchanter tapped the glass with a glowing finger, and the faint shimmer of magic illuminated the bottle.

The Knight-Commander turned back to the gathered recruits and apprentices. "This confirms it. The lyrium potion was tampered with, leading to the chaos that unfolded today. This act is not only reckless but criminal." His eyes scanned the assembled. "I will offer this one chance to whoever is responsible. Step forward and confess now. If you do, you may yet spare yourself the full weight of the consequences."

The training yard was silent. The tension was suffocating. Cullen's eyes turned to Vale once again. Her hands fidgeted before she clasped them tightly behind her back. She stared straight ahead, her jaw clenched and her chest rising with shallow, quick breaths.

No one stepped forward.

Greagoir's gaze hardened. "Very well. If no one will admit to this crime, we will conduct a full investigation. Rest assured, the truth will come to light—and the guilty will be dealt with harshly."

Suddenly, Marrian stepped forward, her face flushed. "It... it was Eda!" Her voice cracked as she spoke, making the gathered recruits and leaders pause. "It was my friend... Knight-Recruit Eda Witfield who did this." Her eyes welled up, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks, but she wiped them away quickly, as though trying to regain control. "I tried to stop her. I really did. I told her it was wrong and dangerous, but she was... she was set on teaching apprentice Trevelyan a lesson." Vale's voice broke, and her knees seemed to give way as she dropped to them, a sob escaping her lips. Her eyes, wide and pleading, turned toward the Knight-Commander. "Maker, be my witness, I tried to stop her. I didn't want this to happen... but Eda was determined. She said apprentice Trevelyan deserved it—said she needed to be brought down a peg. I wanted to stop her, to denounce her action before Ser Arlo but... but I was too afraid to speak out. I... I was afraid." She trembled, as if the weight of her supposed guilt was too much to bear, her hands clasped as in prayer. "Andraste, forgive me. I was a coward when I should have stood up... and now poor Evelyn and so many other innocent souls are hurt, and my dear friend Eda will bear terrible scars. It's my fault, too. I should have stopped her. I—" Marrian's sobs intensified, her body shaking as she pressed her face into her hands. "Please, I beg you Knight-Commander. Let me atone. Let me do something to make it right."

Cullen couldn't help his jaw from dropping open, feeling as though he was watching one of those terrible Orlesian theater plays people talk about. Everyone knew Eda was, well, she was called 'Witless' for a reason, she surely did not plan this alone.

At her confession, Greagoir excused them all except for Irving, him, and Marrian. Croft and Arlo remained as well, and more and more he became aware of their solidarity. The two instructors took their mentorship seriously, and their presence in handling all aspects of the incident involving their students. For a long moment, the six of them waited in an uneasy silence until the yard emptied.

Gregoir massaged the bridge of his nose. "Well, Irving, what are your thoughts? Would there be any reason for the mage to specifically take the herb? For magical enhancement perhaps?"

The aging mage clasped his hands behind his back. "Not unless she wished to inflict the most harm on herself. Ghoul's Beard has been known to kill if the conditions are right."

The color in Croft's cheeks flushed, and he ground his teeth. "No students of mine have reason to take such things. Abraxas and Evelyn's mana are suited specifically for battle. Before I agreed to take them on, they were vigorously tested, and if I suspected they couldn't control it, I'd never have taken them on as apprentices." He took a loud deep breath regaining some composure. The puckered scar that stretched across from over his ear to cheek relaxed slightly. "I do not give praise easily, but Trevelyan is as talented as primally-inclined mages come. Moreover, her noble upbringing has instilled an unwavering sense of duty."

"I agree," Arlo added, "the girl knows her place. Maker's balls, she immediately knew something was wrong and asked me to Silence her! Had I not hesitated… anyway, the point is this was not her doing." Cullen let go of the breath he was holding, the heaviness lifting from his chest that Croft and Arlo had Evelyn's back. Their words would weigh more than he would've in her defense.

The Knight-Commander crossed his arms. "So then how did such animosity come to thrive between them? The Knight-Recruit here stated that Witfield wanted Trevelyan 'brought down a peg.' Why?"

Arlo let go of a gravelly sigh, "You know how these things are, especially with women. 'Twas a petty squabble which escalated."

"Permission to speak, sers?" As hard as he tried to simply let them figure it out, he was afraid Vale was steering this narrative too much. Gregoir nodded, yielding him the floor, "The trouble started when Witfield and Vale began spreading rumors about the mage." He attempted to stay neutral, not wanting to reveal his friendly relationship with Evelyn. "We all heard them. She even read a slanderous letter in the mess hall to anyone who'd listen."

The Knight-Commander being the competent leader he was, thankfully had Vale recite such rumors for him to hear. Her icy glare occasionally drifted to Cullen at having rightfully exposed her part in this drama. "Even if I had simply shared a letter from my kin aloud, I had no intention of acting upon such knowledge! As I said, I pleaded with Witfield to let it lie, but she could not."

"I've heard enough and am ready to dole out the punishment." All traces of congeniality were gone from Greagoir's voice, "For poisoning a mage and endangering this entire Circle, Eda Witfield is to receive a dozen lashes and is expelled from the Templar Order." Both he and Vale's eyes widened at hearing the severest of sentences thrown at their fellow recruit. "Though it was not of any fault of hers, Apprentice Trevelyan harmed members of this Circle with magic and must also face the consequences." Cullen held his breath, ready to argue in her defense at the sentencing. "She is to have a week in solitary confinement to fast and recite the Chant of Transfigurations. Brother Devons can be in charge of her reeducation in the dangers of magic."

Though harsh, Evelyn was not being made Tranquil and not bodily harmed, which he supposed was a small victory. In his heart, he just couldn't reconcile the fact that she had done nothing, absolutely bloody nothing, but wake up and attend training, only to get caught up in Vale and Witfield's scheme — and could've died! Yet, Evelyn was being punished. If her temper had gotten the better of her maybe he could justify it, but she had kept it in check.

His pained expression was ignored by all but the Knight-Enchanter, who stared explicitly at him. That look felt like both a reprimand and an acknowledgment, as though to say: You see this for what it is. Do not forget it.

"As for you, Knight-Recruit Vale," the Knight-Commander continued, " for spreading harmful rumors, disrupting the peace of the Circle, and failing in your duty to bring Knight-Recruit Eda's actions to your superiors, you are sentenced to three lashes. Additionally, you will be responsible for latrine duty for the next three months."

Vale's eyes widened, her breath hitching as the pronouncement struck her like a physical blow. She stood frozen for a moment before tears welled in her eyes—not the crocodile tears of earlier, but something raw and real. They spilled down her cheeks as her lips quivered. "Please, Ser," she whispered, desperation etched into every line of her face. "Let me atone in any other way. Anything but the lashes. They'll scar—terribly. I beg you."

Greagoir regarded her with a gaze colder than steel. Without breaking his stare, he turned slightly toward Arlo. "Make it five lashes," he uttered evenly.

A shuddering gasp escaped Vale's lips, the sobs coming now in heaving waves that shook her frame. She dared not plead again, knowing that another word would only make it worse.

While it didn't erase the injustice of Evelyn's sentence, Cullen found solace in seeing Marrian wounded where it hurt her most: her vanity.

With the Circle still in a state of distress over the morning's accident, their class schedule was disrupted, and Cullen saw it as his opportunity to go see how his friend was doing. In the Tower's infirmary, he found Tristian, Dane, Abraxas, Miriam, and Rhetta surrounding an awake Evelyn. Several Templars were stationed nearby but kept out of the way, probably due to the Sentinel's close presence. Her eyes squinted against the pain of her concussion and her temple had a blooming bruise of deep purples and reds.

"Why is it you're always hitting your head, Trevelyan? It's a wonder your brain hasn't oozed out your ears." At his jest, she cracked a toothy grin. The witty sarcasm that she typically flaunted he tried to mimic for her sake. "How do you feel?"

She groaned, "Like Gavril-fucking-Croft hilt smashed me in the face. That was rather terrifying." Though propped up in bed, he noticed her body was eerily still. As if sensing his concern, she added, "The rest of me is fine from what I can see, though I can't feel it. I haven't regained my mana yet since they Silenced me."

"Aye, I keep ticklin' her toes to make sure," Rhetta imparted, though didn't look at him. Of all of her mage friends, the elf didn't seem friendly towards him.

Straightening, Abraxas' clear blue eyes bore into him, "And what has the Knight-Commander decided?" The group fell quiet, all looking to him now. "Word hasn't reached us yet."

Taking a deep breath, he worked to keep his voice steady, "Witfield is to be publicly punished with ten lashes and then expelled from The Order. Vale, for her part in instigating and failing to inform the higher-ups, will receive five lashes and months of latrine duty. She threw Eda under the bronto to keep her from blame."

"And Evelyn?" Miriam asked, clasping her hands around the pendant with the Andraste's flames on her chest. "They knew it was not her fault, yes?"

He nodded, but his expression was still grim as he looked from her to the Marcher, "They know you had nothing to do with it, but your magic still hurt a lot of people. Because of that, you've been sentenced to a week in solitary." He felt the other part of it was irrelevant now.

"Solitary? But…" If it were possible to witness someone's faith sink into the Void, Evelyn had just shown him what it looked like. It pained him more than he expected it to, yet he knew not how to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, Trevelyan, I tried as did Croft and Arlo. Vale could do nothing but redirect the blame away from her."

"I'm gonna ring that harlot's neck!" Rhetta grit out, making the motion with her hands. "They cannit do this to ya! They could've kill ya and yet they are 'bout to walk away like nothin' happened!" She shook her head angrily, "That's Templar justice for ya."

"And yet," Evelyn's voice was weak, looking at Abraxas, "I must fit the mold." He nodded, a resolve forming in their eyes at her cryptic words. "Thank you, Cullen, for speaking out. The others told me what you did for me. I'm sorry I'm such a pain in the arse." Her guarded humor was back, and though she wielded it as a shield, it was for the protection of everyone but herself.

"You're not that, you're…" He became keenly aware they were not by any means alone, "I-I was just the one who spoke up first. Anyone here would've done the same." A thought came to his mind that between his self-depreciation and her guarded humor, they made quite the delusional pair.

Something in the way she looked at him that day would never leave him. It made his world shift as he drank in her attention. Even surrounded by their friends, her gaze continued to flicker to him with a warmth – a warmth he didn't realize he craved.

Days passed and though she was locked up, Evelyn never seemed to leave his thoughts – nor his dreams. Each morning he awoke to a sweaty and sticky mess of his bed after dreaming about her. It was getting to be a walk of shame to get a bucket of water and wash out the few pairs of smalls he owned – and dump another cold one over his head for good measure. It seems the incident had stirred some hidden feelings he hoped would pass before she got through her week in solitary.

Maker, how could he face her after seeing the things his dreams conjured…

Returning to his room in the barracks with wet hair and another bucket of water, Tristian was readying himself for the day and turned with a questioning look. "What's been your issue this week? And don't say nothing, I've bunked with you for years now to know this is new." Tossing his bedclothes in the bucket aggressively, face blushing, his roommate got the hint, "You need to find yourself a girl… or pay one."

Scrubbing the linen between his fingers with vexation, he side-eyed Tristian, "I'm not going to a brothel." His father had warned him about such places, "I don't want the Orlesian Itch."

Reid rolled his eyes, "Not if they use their mouth, dumbarse." Cullen sighed, frustrated in more ways than one. "Do you need coin? I can lend you some until we're paid next?"

"No, I have the coin."

"Then what is— oh. Who's got you hung up?"

He forced his eyes to the ground, "No one."

His friend scoffed, "Fine. Mage or Templar?" His eyes shot back up to him, and he pressed his lips into a hard line. Reid's eyes narrowed in that roguish way, "If I know them, then I can help. I can probably even tell you whether or not they are available."

Cullen's face scrunched up in annoyance at the thought that he'd talk about such things with Evelyn or even know if she has…

"Maker's breath, how could you know something like that?!"

The brunette tilted his head, his straight, straggly locks falling over his face, "I know you're not blind to my questionable hobbies." It was true, Tristan was involved with the Circle contraband trade, but he had never once involved Cullen in it so he turned a blind eye to his activities. If he didn't know, he couldn't speak of it, so he didn't feel like he was betraying his vows. "I always have an ear to the ground, and I hear a lot of things…"

"Have you heard anything about… me in these things you hear?"

He shrugged, "I know Vale was interested, though I doubt that anymore." They shared a short laugh and relief that he had dodged that awkward encounter with someone like her. "I've heard of some mages too," when Cullen's eyes widened, his friend chuckled heartily, "so it's a mage you're humping the sheets for!"

Going back to his washing, his reflection in the water showed him a face twisted with guilt. It was against Circle Law for him to fraternize with a mage. Would he so easily throw away everything for the pleasures of the flesh? Look how one misstep found Eda Witfield expelled from The Order. He would not be disgraced so, not when this is what he had always wanted. This was simply another trial to prove himself worthy of Andraste's Scared Order of Knights. Moreover, he would endanger Evelyn's future as well as a Knight-Enchanter. They both shared the drive to serve, which had been the foundation of their whole friendship in the beginning and to give in to base desire even once could see all that destroyed.

"You're seriously not going to tell me who it is?"

Defeated and sobered by his thoughts, Cullen shook his head. He had never expected such a distraction to cause him such pain, but here he was moping over a bucket of wet smalls, longing for something that could never be. How pathetic.