Chapter Text
The Arishok wants to speak to the Knight-Captain.
The Arishok. Wants to speak. To the Knight-Captain. To Cullen. Because Cullen happens to be the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. Kirkwall, which is probably about to be invaded by the Qunari. By the Arishok. Who wants to speak...
"Maker preserve me..." Cullen murmurs as he and his templar guards stand in front of the Qunari compound. The demand of the Arishok is ridiculous. The entire situation is ridiculous. Tensions in the city are ramped high enough as it is, no need to antagonize the Templars as well. Not that the Qunari would actually care about that. But Cullen can find no reason as to why the Arishok wanted to see him of all people. Not Knight-Commander Meredith, not City Guard-Captain Vallen, not even the Viscount himself or Hawke for that matter, no, he wanted Cullen.
"Knight-Captain, should we go in?" asks one of his lieutenants.
Right, of course. Cullen and his guards are literally standing right in front of the compound. Stalling won't help him, no matter how much he wishes it would.
Squaring his shoulders and willing his face into a blank mask, he walks towards the gate guard, his Templars following behind.
"Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford," he introduces himself, "I received an invitation from your Arishok."
The Qunari guard nods at him, and then gestures towards his sword.
"You may enter, Knight-Captain, but your weapon and your followers will stay behind."
His Templars bristle at the order. He can practically feel their indignation directed at the guard, and he would smile proudly if he wasn't busy hiding a grimace. No warrior likes being separated from his weapon. Especially when going into the encampment of potential enemies.
"I will send my Templars away; my sword and shield stay with me."
"Knight-Captain-!"
"The Arishok has demanded to see the Knight-Captain,” he admonishes the men beside him. “And I will meet him as such. My Templars will leave, my arms will stay with me."
Rutherford, just what in the Maker's name are you doing?! Bargaining with a Qunari? Cullen stands with his head held high, his voice commanding and his posture oozing authority. Inside, he's shaking like a leaf in the wind. He fully expects the Qunari guard to strike him down right there, if the intensity of his glare is any indication towards his current mood. Stoicism on them is already scary, but having to be on the receiving end of one of those glares... Cullen dearly hopes that he doesn't piss off the Arishok. Even more, probably.
But the guard nods in acquiesce, and pointedly looks towards his entourage. Cullen turns around to see his men glaring at the guard, their hands near their swords and bodies in a defensive posture. They are trained well, and he acknowledges their readiness to protect with a firm nod. But they still need to leave, although even the word of their superior has them hesitating to leave him alone. The Knight-Captain looks them all straight in the eyes, his second command of "Leave." not allowing any further disobedience.
When they have all disappeared from sight Cullen allows himself an inaudible sigh of relief before turning back towards the den of the lion. Den of the Arishok. Maker give me strength.
DA:2
“Knight-Captain,” the Arishok greets him, the deep gravel of his voice creeping up Cullen’s spine. He has to suppress a shiver. He never actually met the Arishok himself, only occasionally had he even had contact with some of the ordinary Qunari. It’s still a mystery why he’s actually here.
“Arishok,” he replies with a Fereldan salute because at least that is familiar to him.
Silence. Absolute silence.
Cullen dares to look up to find the Arishok simply looking at him. Odd.
The Templar straightens and tries not to fidget under that intense gaze.
He tries to subtly examine his surroundings, the Qunari warriors with their red war paint standing alongside the outer walls, next to the massive throne their leader is sitting on.
Just- why. Is. He. Here.
“I have researched this city.” The Arishok speaks so suddenly that Cullen barely manages to hide his jump, snapping his eyes to the Qunari. “The city guard and the Circle of Magi. The Templar Order. All corrupted like every citizen of this low-minded, unruly bog.”
Cullen frowns at that, retorts and protests on his tongue, but he reins them all in. For now.
“Especially the Templars. Their one duty is to contain their mages, their saarebas, and they utterly fail at that.”
“With all due respect-“
“There is no honour in this miserable excuse you call a city. You pretend to do your Maker’s work, and yet you demean yourselves and do not even see it.”
Now he is getting angry. How dare this Qunari judge the Order when he knows nothing of its working!
“Arishok-!”
“But you are different.”
“…What?”
“Do not make the mistake of believing that I know nothing of this city, human. I may believe it to be past recovery, but that does not mean I have not gathered information on its leaders. I know of you, of what happened to you at the hand of demons and blood mages.”
Cullen feels like shards of ice push into his very being. How does he know that? How did he get that information? True, it is no secret in the Gallows, but there is no way that it could have reached the city, is there? Maker, how many know? Who can hurt him, hurt the Order with that knowledge?
What is he here for?
“And still you do your duty without judgment of your charges. I do not agree with the lenient way your mages are being treated, but I can recognize a man who follows his duty without hesitation, despite experience that might weaken his resolve.”
He cannot mean… what does he mean?
“You know your place, Knight-Captain, your purpose, and you strive to fulfil that role. You do this with the willpower of a Sten, a warrior of the Qun. You are wasted on this city. The Qun would be a better place for you.”
“I beg your pardon?!” Cullen cannot contain himself any longer. Though he does shrink back from where his hand has fallen to his sword as every Qunari looks at him with their unreadable eyes. You really should not provoke the Qunari, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hawke’s rings in his head, they will eat you alive.
“Arishok, I, is that-, well, is that why you, ah, asked for me to come…here?” Dammit, he is the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall and still his voice is as weak as a kitten’s.
“Yes.”
Well. Good to know.
Or not!
“Ah, well, I’m honoured, really-“ Shit shit the Arishok has narrowed his eyes at him, and did he change his posture? Where does he keep his weapon? Is Cullen about to be struck down because he won’t convert?
Nevertheless, he pushes on. “But I cannot accept your offer.”
“It was not an offer, human, but a choice.”
“Ah, well,” Cullen knows that he really ought to speak with respect and reserve, because while the Qunari don't handle politics like the rest of Thedas, mainly through opulent festivities and The Game, they still should be spoken to as if they are nobles. Just to placate them. Make sure he doesn’t lose his head.
But he never has been particularly good at humouring nobles, and The Game is utterly lost on him. Thus he can't bring himself to soften his words, to make sure he isn't being insulting.
“I really don’t want to convert to the Qun.” He is blushing. Cullen just knows that his entire fucking face is on fire and it’s not due to the heat of the Free Marches, oh no, nothing as ordinary as the weather, it’s this bloody situation!
“Why?”
“Because my duties lie here.”
The Arishok glares at him and Cullen swallows, shifting his weight to both his feet and clenching his hands tightly together behind his back. Maker, did the Arishok really think that he would convert that easily? Was that the entire reason for calling him here...?
"Sten, take care of the Knight Captain tonight. Be accommodating, and don't hurt him. Show him the most pleasure you all can give him."
What.
Several Qunari warriors approach him, flanking him and guiding him away from the Arishok, while said Qunari watches on with a- is he pouting??
"HUH?!?"
"Knight Captain, you will spend the night among my men, who will take care of your suppressed desires in the most fulfilling ways possible."
Taking care of my suppressed desires-
"WHAT WHY?!?"
The Arishok glowers at him from his throne, "Because I say so."
"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" Cullen has the urge to laugh hysterically in the face of his upcoming doom? Demise? Pleasure?!? He tries to subtly shrug the arms off that steer him away, because no matter how terrified he is currently, he cannot allow himself to agree to this, though it seems that his consent here isn't really being asked. Maker this can't be happening!
"L-listen, Arishok, I'm-," What does one say in such a situation? Flattered? Honoured? Mortified?, "-not sure I s-see the use of...of doing this...th-this-," Maker his stammering won't help him get out of this situation! "-of indulging in this....indulgence-," I want to die.
"Knight Captain, this isn't up for debate."
"I DON'T GET A WORD IN THIS?!?"
"No."
Cullen feels like his soul just decided to escape from his body, for he is watching himself from the outside, how his body is being lifted up by a Qunari, muscles rippling under the red war paint, and- sweet Andraste he is BEING CARRIED LIKE A SACK OF POTATOES! WHILE BEING IN FULL ARMOUR NO LESS!
Cullen contemplates fighting the hold the warrior has on him. His arms are free, he could reach his sword, he could also reach the Qunari's weapon and he is not far from the entrance to the compound, he could manage to run before any of his captors would get to him. Slowly he looks around, assessing his surroundings, calculating where an attack could come from should he break free. He lifts his head to look to the Arishok-
And looks right into the grim and expressionless face of a Sten. His entire body freezes, his mind going blank. He is starkly reminded of the height and power these Qunari have, that same power he is soon to be subjected to regardless of his wishes, and he decides that escaping in plain sight is a terrible idea. He has a sense of self-preservation. He does.
A shiver runs down his spine upon swiping his gaze up and down the warrior's body, really looking at all that strength that he can't compare himself to.
Perhaps this is the Maker’s idea of a joke, and at any moment Cullen will wake up in the barracks, sweating like a well-used horse, safe in his own bed.
Maker help him, because none of these Qunari will.