A part I never got to in my Dragon Age fanfic Origins Written in Blood, but I'd toyed with an idea that eventually Cullen and Isthalla would (very tenderly) reunite during Inquisition after a decade apart before it went to the Big Sad of her story..
Dragon Age Origins/Dragon Age II
Cullen Rutherford: child and adult
Child Cullen, dreaming of becoming a Templar one day, sizes up the statue in the middle of Honnleath with his friends.Years later, Ser Cullen faces the statue remains of Meredith as he prepares to leave the Order for good.
For @chaos-company’s Angstpril Day 30 - Endings
That’s it!! I did it! Every day of Angstpril! WOO!
(On AO3 here)
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Birds covered the statue like bees on a honeycomb, though with a far lazier purpose. Their coos were a part of the village hubbub, each one of them as much a market square staple as the men and women that kept busy in this gentle yet never-resting nest.
The sudden roar of many small creatures sent every pigeon into a flurry, whipping up like laundry in a hurricane.
Cackles and shrieks of victory erupted from the children, their arms thrown skyward with the same gusto as the statue beneath as its feathered sheet flapped cacophonously into the sky. Running about the statue and making swooshing sounds with their voices, the future generation of Honnleath did laps around their village’s strange mascot, this expulsion of birds the most exciting thing that would happen to them today.
Amongst the charge, one boy - his hair like lambswool and the colour of straw - came to a stop and craned his head upwards, watching the mass of birds in awe.
The exhilaration lasted a few moments, but in time, the group grew somber as they returned to the original order of business: regrouping in a cluster, they huddled up, the eldest of the girls taking charge.
“So. Who’s going to touch it?”
The statue had simply appeared one day. Its arms flung towards the sky, its head arched back, legs frozen mid-movement, it was unlike anything seen along the King’s Road or in the local chantry, and those of the village who had traveled to Redcliffe with their families swore that it was nothing like the statues there, either. The stone was rough, more like rocks that just so happened to take the form of a person than anything deliberately carved, with white markings around its face and neck a little like those on some of the dwarves that came by to sell cakes and trinkets. Some of the markings even seemed to be a type of writing, as though someone had tried to use Trade Tongue but gotten it wrong. By far the strangest part of the statue of all, though, were the crystals: around one shoulder and one ankle, rings of them not only grew, but glowed. Even at night, the children could see the eerie white-blue light from their bedroom windows, causing whispers amongst siblings as they exchanged stories of ghosts and magic to answer what it all meant.
The dare was a frequent game: either someone managed to touch the stone creature and became both hero and feared curse for about as long as attention spans could manage (about until dinner time), or, more often, everyone was too wise to take the risk. After all, one never knew what might happen that time.
“My sister says it’ll snatch you up and carry you to its cave!”, one boy volunteered.
“My father says you turn to stone and get chopped up into bricks for new houses!” another countered, leaning forwards in thrilled, gleeful certainty.
“My brother says you become a demon.”
This suggestion earnt particular respect. It seemed likely, and was a fantastic motive to make someone touch the thing.
At this, the often shy, blonde-haired boy piped up, raising his chin and taking what he felt was a brave stance: mostly, it consisted of making sure his torso was as far above his feet as possible. “I wouldn’t! I’m going to be a Templar. They can’t BE demons.”
The statement was met with a combination of impressed murmurs, knowledgeable confirmations, and a few sniggers from the older kids who had recently discovered class and economy enough to feel superior in their cynicism. They knew that Rutherford would never be a Templar - that was for rich people. This didn’t stop elbows nudging the boy forwards, however, both from those who avidly believed him and others who really wanted to see a demon today.
“Go on, then. YOU touch it!”
“Yeah, you touch it!”
“Don’t just touch it! KILL it!”
“No!! I like it!!”
The boy looked between his friends, taking on this mixed counsel and weighing it up, then nodded, a child’s grim determination settling upon him - the kind that is always half-play, but never feels that way until actual severity enters life and reveals the difference.
“Alright. I will.”
“Mia’s going to be so mad if he’s a demon,” one girl muttered seriously to another.
“I won’t be a demon.” His conviction based on very little (although a templar had let him hold his sword one time, and who else could say that?), the boy took a few bold few forwards, then a cautious few after that.
The grass around the statue was tall, purples swaying amongst the green. Summer heat bounced off the stone, the classic Bloomingtide weather bringing its particular blend of sun and sweet scents, lodging themselves in the children's memories far more poignantly than any of them could yet know. There were a few weeks of play still left before field work would begin again, and the children were giddy on that temporary freedom, determinedly living it as fervently as they could.
Another step forwards, then another. Sometimes, he liked to pretend that the statue’s strange position was the stagger from being mightily stabbed by he and his brother, but, when he wasn’t fighting monsters, he liked to think it was skipping.
This close, the child felt as though he could hear the glow of those crystals and that strange, incorrect writing. There was a metallic taste to the air. He thought about running back, but he wouldn’t be a coward. Templars weren’t ever afraid.
Cautiously, but resolved to prove his metal, the boy reached out a hand
An ear-piercing scream from one of the girls cut through the group moments before he connected. It broke the spell: the group ran, laughing and joining the excuse to scream as they leapt over the low wall around the village green. The boy looked over his shoulder, watching the group bundle and crash away to the fields, then turned thoughtfully back to the statue once more.
-
Cullen stood a safe pace from the figure, watching it. After everything that had transpired here, it was hard to be fully convinced it wouldn't move. His time here was done, and yet of all the tainted memories he wished to leave behind in this place, this one, he could not stop looking at.
Reduced to its knees, stricken with pain, its ribs visible and the spine beneath even more so, the statue was almost skeletal, apart from the occasional taught pull of muscle. It sat in permanent desiccation, every bit the horrifying bronzes that has watched Cullen on the way to her office. That had, in the end, marched to her command. Looking at the remains now, he expected to be reminded of Kinloch, the broken shapes that his friends had been reduced to there… but all he could think of was Meredith.
Even now, deep rivets of red, glowing with twixt threat and appeal, snaked through the statue like veins. He could feel it calling to his blood, his bones, but his heart was closed to it: it was too beaten down, had been through too many rounds, to have the energy to register fresh temptation now.
Unlike Meredith. It was hard to feel empathy for her, after everything, but in Cullen's disappointment, there was a drained, disillusioned solidarity. He had watched the sanity leave her little by little, just as it had left the mages in Ferelden Circle. Instability was not something exclusive to these people he had feared so long, it turned out, and neither was the ability to become a monster.
“Go on, touch it! I dare you!”
Cullen turned to the young voices. Further off in the square, a group of Hightown children were eying the statue, elbowing each other and looking on it with wonder. Despite everything - its macabre truth, the risk it still posed, how fatigued he was under his latest grief - he found himself to be smiling.
“Children.” The templar - for, he technically still was a templar, for a few days more - called out; “Don’t touch it.” He might as well use his uniform for one last attempt at good. His next words, he uttered with far more fondness than he had felt for such a sentiment in years, feeling nostalgia stir within him. On the city air, he swore he could smell summertime grass: “You’ll turn into a demon.”
The group gasped, sufficiently awed yet warned, and scattered to spread the news. “I’m going to tell my sister!!”
The resigned Knight-Captain watched them go, a smile once again managing to survive under the weight of his spirit. Hopefully, the city would have the Knight-Commander removed and laid to rest before anyone got themselves hurt. He resolved to stay long enough to make sure that was so - one final chance to reduce the harm of Meredith’s choices, even if he had missed so many in the past.
Watching the children run, Cullen pondered how little they knew about the city’s recent evils. It was a small relief - a reminder that life existed beyond Kirkwall’s burdens. The politics, the mistakes: all they saw was a relic to play with. It felt naive, but a part of him couldn’t help but hope that one day, what had happened here would matter that little.
Pairing: Cullen Rutherford & f!Amell. Alistair Theirin / f!Amell
TW: Some angst, but not too bad
Summary: After Ferelden’s Circle has been retaken from Uldred’s blood mages, warden Constance Amell attempts to calm the mage children down with a song. This time, though it’s not working and when she asks for Cullen’s help the way he used to… but Constance is faced with a man whose views on mages has changed. Yet she hopes that it won’t be forever...
You can read it on Ao3 too, and follow the series for my Amell/Alistair
If you want to be added to a taglist instead of getting emails from Ao3, let me know and I will add you 💜
...
“First Enchanter Irving! Very well then, if you have made it, and if you give me your word…” Knight Commander Greagoir clearly hesitated, unsure of whether he was making the right decision to trust so easily. A young templar the group of heroes had rescued sure tried to convince them all that these mages could not be trusted in the slightest – but it was Cullen’s fear and paranoia and… hatred that convinced Greagoir that he was making the right decision: he would not stoop to unprecedented fear and hatred like his fellow templar had. Greagoir was there to guard these mages with the help of the First Enchanter. There was meant to be trust between Knight Commander and First Enchanter.
So… trust he would have.
The Circle was safe again.
But the fear was still present, and everyone needed a moment to recover. This included the warden Constance Amell, who had just witnessed the place she’d known her entire life be devastated by demons and abominations. A man whom she had looked up to when growing up had just attempted to murder her in the name of mage rights…
Yet, when Alistair reached out to her arm to check on her, her mind was not on her own feelings anymore. Her eyes, wide with sympathy, had caught sight of Wynne moving over to the children.
There were 5.
There used to be 7.
Her hand reached out to Alistair’s hand, and she squeezed tightly as she let her emotions take over – but instead of saying anything, she guided him and Leliana over to Wynne and the children.
“Amell!” one of the children, still chubby from her toddler years, rushed over to Constance and clung onto her leg. The other children hurried over too, completely ignoring Wynne.
Constance knelt among them, reaching out to each of them to try and offer a gentle touch instead of squishing them all against her chest in an attempt to calm their fearful eyes like she wanted. That would not help them. “Calm now, children,” she spoke quietly. “Everything is over now. You are all safe.” They didn’t calm, and the youngest’s bottom lip quivered in a dangerous anticipation of a wail. “It’s okay,” she tried again, reaching out to the poor child and offering her a hug at least. “It’s…” She hesitated, unsure of whether this would work… but perhaps giving them something nice to remember would bring their minds away from the darkness they had just witnessed. “It’s like those stormy nights, hm? You all were afraid then too, but nothing happened.”
They were quiet at that, but their gazes were on her now, anticipating further reconciliation.
Wynne moved over, the woman kneeling by the children too, listening to Constance’s admittance with intrigue.
“Do you remember?” Constance asked.
“We’d sing,” one of the older children dared to say.
“We would. You would wake me, quite rudely, in the middle of the night,” Constance said with a little sassy twinkle to her eyes, earning a few faint smiles from the children, “and we’d go somewhere safe… and we’d sing until the loud thunderstorms were over. It’s like that, but the thunder is over. We’re all just still… shaken. But it will pass.”
“It doesn’t feel it,” a little girl said quietly, breaking Constance’s heart.
“Oh you poor child,” Wynne murmured.
From where he was standing with Leliana, watching, Alistair felt entranced with the way Constance interacted with the children. He’d seen her maybe once or twice with a child during their travels, mainly though it was just to talk. This…. This was gentle, soothing and with a calming smile on her lips that she didn’t offer anyone else.
She was good with children, and Alistair wasn’t too sure what the strange pull in his stomach meant upon seeing this… but it was nice.
“We can sing again now, if you like?” Constance offered.
The children nodded.
…
When in the Maker’s presence, my heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds that rise,
From the lake to the trees.
Cullen knew he couldn’t sneak when dressed in full templar armour. Everything on his body clinked and clanked with each step he took, no matter how carefully he stepped. But the group of mages were too loud to even hear him.
When he approached the little corridor, Cullen stood in the doorway for a while just watching them. The second he realized that it was Constance Amell that was missing from her bed, Cullen didn’t have to worry. This woman was the epitome of kindness, and there was not a single bone in her body that could ever have decided to suddenly go do something sinister in the middle of the night.
So he had calmly begun to walk around in search for her.
Maybe she walked in her sleep.
A lot of mages did… it could be a haunting image, really, to find them with eyes wide open but not present mentally.
And sometimes they said funny things to which Cullen would have to try not to laugh when in the presence of his fellow templars.
But Constance wasn’t sleep walking.
She was with the children, who no doubt had woken her up knowing fully well that if they would get sympathy from someone despite waking them in the middle of the night, it would be Constance.
Cullen had cursed his fellow templars when they hadn’t placed more people on guard duty by the children’s chambers. Everyone knew that children disliked thunderstorms, and it was obvious there was going to be one. The templars needed to be present and vigilant in case someone got frightened and accidentally set fire to the curtains – or… as Cullen had initially thought, in case someone woke up in fear and wanted some comfort.
Templars were there to care for the mages, after all. With children, sometimes that care meant to soothe their fears.
Knight Commander Greagoir clearly didn’t care about that too much.
When in the Maker’s presence, my heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies,
From a chantry on a breeze.
Constance did, and Cullen admired her for it.
He recognized the song. It was a familiar one sung by Andrastian mothers to calm children down.
His mother had sung the same song to him once, which was why, when he entered the room dimly lit by candles, he joined in on the singing.
To sing through the night,
We let our hearts pray.
He wasn’t surprised, nor offended, when Constance and the other mages gasped in fear and went to huddle away from him. But he continued to sing, a smile on his helmet-less face, until Constance relaxed and joined back in on the song.
The two would continue to sing until each child was calm and smiling again, one even daring to reach out to Cullen and ask for him to carry her back to bed.
He had, Constance carrying another child, whilst the others followed holding each others’, and their, hands.
It turned into a routine as well as the only time he and Constance could interact without other templars scrutinizing and waiting for Cullen to step over the line.
As they’d tucked the children back into bed, Constance had turned to him and thanked him – with a little kiss to his cheek. He’d stood frozen on the spot for what must have been hours, or it had only felt that way to him as the wind got knocked out of him…
But he knew that from that day on, that routine had become his favourite. And sometimes he selfishly hoped the weather would be bad during the night…
…
None of that seemed to be on Cullen’s mind though as he watched Constance and the children sing the familiar song. None of the good memories were anything good to him in that moment after Uldred’s attack.
He didn’t trust it anymore. For all he knew those memories were either fake, put into his mind by those demons and blood mages… or they were a way for Constance to manipulate him to lower his guard and miss that she had actually been working on Uldred’s plans all along.
His crush on her might have been fake. His feelings of admiration toward how she was with the kids might have been fake.
All of it might have been.
The only thing he knew existed was his fear, and he clung to it, glaring at her as she turned her brown… oh so beautiful… eyes to him with a beckoning look to help –
He looked away with a snarl.
Constance, shocked, stopped singing and stared at the one templar at the Circle that she remembered was even slightly decent.
She had to admit that part of her crush on Alistair was because sometimes Alistair’s ways of interacting with others reminded her of Cullen… but there was something deeper with Alistair. He made her feel safe, wanted, and most of all, he made her laugh. Cullen had held agency over her… and despite her having some sort of crush on Cullen, she had to admit that the agency had scared her.
As if he had read her thoughts, Alistair kneeled down and blocked her sight of Cullen, breaking her gaze on him and forgetting her fears… and her aching heart at Cullen’s treatment of even the children, who had done absolutely nothing to him.
Alistair distracted her further by attempting to sing the song too but his… singing skills were perhaps not fully on par with her and the children.
They, however, seemed to instantly forget their fears, succumbing to giggles and laughing upon Alistair’s singing. The little smile Alistair was trying to hide as he pretended he took his singing very seriously reassured Constance that it was alright for the kids to rudely laugh him in the face – he was doing it on purpose.
And her heart warmed for Alistair as she inched slightly closer and smiled at him whilst he continued his act, pretending to be hurt at them mocking him.
This silly man was the one she truly cared for. She could see that very clearly now.
But her eyes still drifted over to Cullen… worried what his future would be like now that he seemed to have such a sour outlook on mages…
One day, she prayed, Cullen would find someone who would change his mind on mages again and turn him back to the man he truly was.
