Chapter Text
When Cullen arrived at Kinloch Hold he did not truly think that he would find friends with anyone outside of his fellow Templars and still he had hoped that at least one of his charges might give him a response to his good morning greetings. The others laughed whenever he let it slip, his dismay, chastising him for his foolish and boyish desire of that base companionship from the “things” they are protecting. Of course he never gave rise to their comments of the people they were meant to protect because how could anyone see these mages as anything but people? Yes they had terrible and destructive powers, but Cullen wants to protect them as much as protect others from them not even to be championed a hero for it by them. Though it is a bit unnerving for his charges to simply stare past him and not give him a single wave, not even a quick glance of their gazes past the moments where shifting brings the echo of his clinking armor to their ears. Of course he had been prepped that the mages would not appreciate his presence, that if they talk to him he should be suspicious, but Cullen is somewhat social by nature and it is disconcerting to be invisible. Well, he was invisible until a short elf girl who might’ve been his age caught his gaze and gave him a small wave in response to his smile. The shock was too much for him to return the wave and his expression must have been read as upset or suspicious, maybe a threat, so she turned and quickly walked away.
Now he is spotting her everywhere, whether she is with her fellow apprentices or simply sitting alone in the library. She must be following him, how else could she constantly be in the same area as him? Either way, his eyes always find her in whatever room they share. Does he know her name? Of course not, who would he ask without risking it being interpreted as having seen her do something worthy of his gaze? The last thing he wants to do is put Templar gazes on this mage, she hasn’t done anything wrong. He may have pure protective intentions that he’s sought to maintain through his vows, yet he knows some of his brothers and sisters do not hold the virtues of protection in their heart especially based on the comments told to him and the ones he hears in their shared barracks.
So he simply watches this beautiful mage from afar, taking note of the markings around her eye that he has heard that the Dalish have. Was she with the Dalish before the circle? How would she have come to be here instead of with her clan? As far as Cullen understood - admittedly he really does not know much - the Dalish protected their own with fury and rarely did they ever interact with humans. Still he stares and notices how green her eyes are from this distance, would they be as green as fresh grass up closer? He builds up quiet fantasies of the things he would say if she approached him again. He would compliment her eyes and maybe she would return the compliment, saying the usual comment of how his eyes are golden and such that people tend to. Maybe Cullen would ask about the marking, if that wouldn’t offend her. Would it offend her? He really isn’t sure. In this fantasy though it wouldn’t and he would be able to ask her questions of her clan, grow to learn more about such a secretive culture he knows only rumors of.
In the fantasies he lets himself have in the safety of dreams, maybe she lets him touch the markings with gentle calloused fingers. Of course these fantasies do not go far because it is hard to fantasize about someone who you don’t even know the name of. That fact does not stop his brain from still conjuring images that he refuses to think of in the morning light. All it takes is a mental reminder of his vows and that he does not know this mage’s name to banish those shameless dreams back into the fade where they can cause no one grief or
One day that can’t be more than two months into his time at the circle he learns her name. Does he learn it by gaining the courage to ask her? No, of course not. Cullen learns this mage’s name by a friend shouting her name from down a hall.
“Amelia!” A dark haired apprentice shouts as she walks quickly away from him.
Cullen watches as she does not respond, hands clenched into fists at her side. It is a struggle to not adjust his position to rest a hand on the pommel of his sword. Clenched fists lead to anger, anger leads to magical backlash, and an angry mage who is releasing magic is a danger to themself and others. This was drilled into his brain and yet he does not move, brain on loop having heard his crushes’ name at last.
“Amelia, don't ignore me!” The male mage shouts again as he rushes faster, grabbing onto Amelia’s wrist.
This catches Cullen’s attention and he adjusts himself now, gloved hand resting on his sword. His armor clinks together and does its job to alert the mages to his presence once again. The two glance over and the man lets go of her, making a face that has him looking almost like a petulant child. Cullen hopes he never looked like that when he was younger and upset he lost chess again.
The male clearly tries to lower his voice, but of course Cullen can still hear him. This man is honestly a bit stupid, in his own opinion, since the hall is quiet with just the two of them talking and he really did not lower his voice at all.
“This isn’t over, okay? I said I was sorry and it was just a study session I missed. I’m sorry, but me missing it isn’t worth the silent treatment!” The man snaps and is met with a cold look from Amelia.
The man looks confused at the silence and honestly Cullen is confused too. Did Amelia take that much offense from this guy missing the study session that she refuses to speak? It isn’t a surprise though that the man shares the same confusion. He just voices it since he can.
“Why aren’t you-“
Her eyes suddenly meet Cullen’s gaze and he feels the other mage’s eyes on him as well. Just as soon as their gazes locked she breaks away and looks back to the man, her expression just screaming ‘Are you stupid?’. Cullen is still utterly confused and just wants this weird exchange to make sense.
“Oh, Maker. Sorry I forgot about that. Just find me after dinner okay or during and bring paper. I’ll bring paper? We can both bring paper and forget like we always do,” he jokes and bumps shoulders with Amelia.
The eye roll she gives this guy shouldn’t cause his heart and hand to clench. He only just learned her name and the comfort she feels with a fellow name should not be bringing him any emotion. So caught up in these feelings he does not notice the man leaving and Amelia staying in place.
He blinks to bring himself back and is met with her piercing green eyes staring up at him from across the hall. Cullen bucks up and gives her a small wave with a smile, hoping it is not intimidating as he knows it could be. Amelia returns the smile and lifts her hand to make what he presumed would be a wave, before her hand freezes and drops quickly. Cullen frowns and tilts his head at the oddness of that movement. Why would she be hesitant to wave?
She leaves before he can ask the question and he is left alone with his thoughts. Well only the Maker and his internal shame know that his thoughts are not of pure innocent curiosity. Of course Cullen would swear they start with it; the curiosity started out as theories to why she was hesitant to move her hands and why she refused to speak to someone who might be her friend. It shifted to something shameful as it always does and those thoughts will never be allowed to pierce his mind while the sun shines. He simply waits and watches and hopes he does not come off as creepy as he can feel sometimes while staring at her. The movement of her hands always captivate his gaze, drawing his attention from whatever he was focusing on before, ignoring the world around him for precious few seconds as he tries to unlock the questions he has about her simply by watching.
All he can do is wait with his fantasies and hope one day he might be able to hold a conversation with her and gleem any answers about her.
Another month passes and things change when it is late into an evening shift he has watching over one of the libraries. Cullen never expects these shifts to be anything less than mind numbingly boring; no one to watch and nothing to do, nothing to look forward to other than sleep since he has already had dinner.
To his surprise though after maybe an hour of staring at the books willing for him to stay focused, a door opens and he hears the soft steps that give away a mage versus a fellow Templar. Eyes turn to see who it is and once again to his surprise it is Amelia walking in, holding a precarious tower of books in her far to small hands. Cullen stares and tries to battle with his duty to go help her with the clearly heavy stack. Compassion wins out and he is thankful for it as he reaches her just in time to assist her as a chair out of place trips her up.
It is the books or the mage and under threat of sword Cullen of course would answer he stopped the books from falling without touching the mage. However he is a compassionate eighteen year old boy and when Amelia catches her foot on the chair, tripping herself and beginning to fall, he reaches out to wrap an arm around her waist to catch her. It can’t be comfortable, the metal of his armor digging into her waist as she somewhat dangles into the air.
“Oh Maker’s Breath I am so sorry,” Cullen mutters out as he helps right herself after many seconds too long. “I saw you falling and I didn’t think.”
Silence greets him along with a small tentative smile from Amelia, her grass green eyes glancing between him and the books now sprawled on the floor. Does he want her to help? Cullen stands there for a few awkward moments before he notices the tension in her shoulders, her hands trembling in a way that means she is desperately trying to hide it. Maker forgive him, he is still a Templar and Mages are scared of them.
“Right, right uh, I’ll help you pick them up?” He sputters out and crouches down to try and escape this growing awkward one sided conversation.
This is why he really should listen to the others and stop hoping the mages will talk to him. They fear Templars so why would they ever wish to speak to him? Why would he have tried to move this blasted infatuation beyond the confines of his shameful mind?
The small hands of Amelia enter his vision and the two of them work in tandem to pile the books on the table nearby. She says not a word while they make quick work and Cullen uses this moment to look more closely at her. Her eyes truly are as green as fresh grass caught with morning dew, unnaturally green and beautiful. There are faint freckles he could never have noticed from a distance along with a faint scar going through the markings on her left eye. Did that happen before or after the tattooing? He longs to ask and learn more, but he really truly does not want to scare Amelia more than he might have already this evening.
The books are stacked neatly and once again Cullen is looking down at Amelia struggling to figure out what to say. She just looks up at him with a polite smile, but such obvious confusion and faint fear in her eyes. He doesn’t want her to be scared!
“Sorry again, for not warning you about the chair. I’m…uh, I’m Cullen.” His hands fidget and the metal clinks faintly, causing a barely visible flinch in Amelia that he never would have caught without being this close.
The longer she stays silent the more Cullen grows confused and a bit hurt if he was truly honest with himself. Is she so fearful that she refuses to speak? It could be that she sees herself above speaking to those below her, but the moments of kindness he’s seen Amelia give dismiss that idea long before it could even set in.
Her eyebrows furrow together as the silence stretches to tense awkwardness and she looks down at her robes, patting them down to look for…something. Fear spikes and an irrational thought surges forward that she is looking for a knife, that she is about to stab him for blood magic and escape to threaten others. The frustrated look she gains quite honestly does not help quell the growing anxiety.
Finally it spikes to much and he takes a step back to ask a question led by ingrained fear and distrust to secretive mages, “What are you-“
Her hand reaches up to the top of her robes where it covers up to just under her chin and pulls it down. Out of ingrained modesty and confusion Cullen averts his eyes so quickly the world spins for a moment. The hand waving trying to get his attention will not tempt him, he will not cave and give in to something like this for someone he does not know. It could be a trap!
. . . . .
Or it could be the answers and the hand is waving almost annoyed and Cullen honestly really wants to know what is going on. So with great difficulty he turns his gaze back to Amelia and mouth falls open as he sees the scar across her throat. Cullen is no healer but even then he knows that the wound that caused this scar goes deep.
“How are you alive?” He whispers out without fully knowing he asks, hand raising a bit to reach out and touch it.
She flinches back as the hand approaches and Cullen snaps back from the stupidness that had infected his hand and brings his hand back to his side.
“Apologies that was grossly inappropriate for me. The question and the hand, I am sorry. Forgive me.”
A shaky breath and she waves a hand dismissively, giving him a curious look before her waving hand shifts to something familiar to him.
“A Templar sorry? Surprising.”
Ferelden sign language! His eyes widen and Cullen cannot stop the smile on his face. His mother forcing him to learn, as terrible as those lessons went, is going to pay off.
“Do Templar’s truly not apologize that often?” He asks with a tilted head.
Now it is Amelia’s turn to be shocked and her eyes light up immediately. Cullen feels his heart beat faster at the joy on her face and absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. Now is the time to be odd and beat weirdly at a cute mage being happy.
“You know sign?!”
“I do,” he answers before continuing with a question, “Do others in the tower not?”
She rocks back on to her heels and Cullen almost puts a hand on her back to stop her from falling, he doesn’t of course, but the desire is there. Maker what is wrong with him? He barely knows this girl and here he is wanting to place his hands on her to do what? Keep her safe, simply to touch her?
“No, a lot do not know it. The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander know, but the others mostly don’t. It is not taught here, so, why would they know?”
He tilts his head and furrows his brow to ask, “Why? If you need to use it and know it, why would people not be taught?”
She leans against the table and Cullen can more easily look down and meet her eyes, trying so hard to focus on the hands moving.
“It isn’t needed for casting and no one has the time,” she signs so casually with an indifferent shrug that it brings a frown to his face.
No one has the time? That is foolish and Cullen is tempted to bring it up to the Knight-Commander, the Templars at least should know the basics because surely Amelia isn’t the only one to need it to speak.
“Well that is simply foolish since there must be others besides you who would benefit from being able to communicate with sign. Not to mention that the Templars themself would benefit from being able to communicate like that.”
“It is what it is, Cullen, why try to change the entire course of a river to water a field when it would be easier to simply dig smaller canals?”
With that statement the two fall into a comfortable conversation that avoids speaking of family or their life before the circle. Those are not conversations for the first time they speak. Instead they speak of how their days went and what they were doing here. Amelia was here to return books that had been growing a collection in the apprentice room and Cullen of course told her that he was technically on duty to watch the books and make sure they do not grow to be haunted. It is nice to finally be able to communicate with someone other than his fellows and he is overjoyed that it happens to be Amelia.