Pain was a constant companion. It throbbed in Anne's back, sharp and relentless, each breath a jagged blade scraping against her ribs. She swallowed hard, the effort making her throat ache, but she forced her eyes open fully. The light hurt, but she needed to see him. Needed to tell her hero everything that had happened, for Alrik might weave more lies and deceit—lies that could make Cullen hate her or believe she had betrayed him.
"Permission… to speak with you… alone, Knight-Captain," she rasped. Even forming the words made her wince, but the urgency outweighed the agony.
Cullen’s expression tightened, his jaw set as he nodded. He glanced at Ilara and Tamlin, who shifted uncomfortably, his concern etched plainly on his face.
“An…” her childhood rival began, his voice heavy with uncertainty, but his words trailed off as the Senior Enchanter stepped forward, her movements graceful yet firm. She rested a hand on the Knight’s arm, guiding him gently but insistently away. “This way, Ser. Please.”
Tamlin hesitated, his eyes flickering between Anne and the Knight-Captain, but after a tense moment, he allowed himself to be led away. His back was rigid, and his steps reluctant as he disappeared with Ilara toward the main area of the infirmary.
Now alone with Cullen, Anne turned her gaze toward him. He stood tall and imposing, his expression grim but attentive. Faith sat at his side, her yellow eyes fixed on the recruit with an intensity that felt almost human.
The young woman’s breath came shallow and uneven as she began, “Knight-Captain… please, listen. I need you to know what happened… what Ser Alrik tried to do.”
Cullen’s brow furrowed further, and he nodded curtly. “Speak.”
Anne began her tale as hastily as she could, revisiting the restless morning that followed her sleepless night. She described the sting of humiliation in the Chapel, where cruel recruits had jeered at her, forcing her to her knees and provoking her furious retaliation—a moment that had spiraled into her being dragged to the cells.
She longed to soften the harsh edges of her story, to dilute the venom of Alrik's whispered rumors and the vile accusations he had tried to force upon her about Cullen. Yet, once again, the truth surged forth unbidden, her words painting the events with painful honesty. At this moment Anne saw the mabari’s ears twitch, the hound letting out a low growl, a sound that sent a ripple of reassurance through the young woman. Faith’s anger wasn’t directed at her—she knew that instinctively.
Yet, as Anne recounted each harrowing detail, her spirit seemed to wither, her voice faltering and her body trembling. A tide of emotions welled within her, rising like an unrelenting tide, threatening to drown her as she relived the ordeal. By the time she reached the final chapter of her story, where Alrik had left her alone in the cell with a meager health potion for company, her voice cracked. “I thought… I thought this time for sure I was done for,” she confessed. “But I didn’t betray you, Knight-Captain, on the Maker and His Bride! I couldn’t let Knight-Lieutenant smear your name.” A shuddering breath escaped the recruit as the dam finally broke, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I owe you my life. And I… I would rather have died than… than let him take your honor!”
Anne turned her head slightly, wincing at the pain, but enough to see the Knight-Captain’s face more clearly than before. Cullen’s expression was a storm of rage and indignation, his jaw working as if to keep himself from speaking too soon. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not in threat but in an unconscious gesture, as though grounding himself against the fury that coursed through him. He closed his eyes briefly, his shoulders rising and falling as he drew a deep, steadying breath. When he opened them again, the fire in his gaze was tempered by something softer, though no less resolute.
“You did well, Knight-Recruit.” Cullen’s voice was steady, carrying a note of reassurance. “And I swear to you, the Knight-Lieutenant will answer for this.” He paused, his expression darkening, frustration etching lines across his face. “But for now… there’s no proof to substantiate your account. Though I believe you, it will be your word against his if I denounce his actions before the Knight-Commander. Ser Alrik’s impeccable record and his…other merits,” the Ferelden’s voice strained, the word ‘merits’ laden with bitterness, “would ensure you lose. But even if I can’t bring the Knight-Lieutenant to justice right now, I will ensure those who spread these rumors about you, and those who provoked you in the Chapel, are punished.” His gaze locked onto hers, firm and unyielding. “You’ve been through enough. Rest now. Don’t worry; I’ll find a way to protect you from Ser Alrik’s further machinations.”
Anne closed her eyes, her lashes trembling as fresh tears welled up. This time, however, they were tears of happiness. The tension and fear—that suffocating dread that her hero might doubt her words or her loyalty—began to unravel. Her body sank into the rough embrace of the cot, her exhaustion mingling with newfound peace. Her lips moved faintly, shaping whispered words of gratitude, though they were barely audible. Of course, she would have preferred to see Alrik pay for his crimes here and now, but if Cullen swore the Knight-Lieutenant would face justice, she believed him. A man of honor did not make such promises lightly.
Her quiet weeping and incoherent murmurs were likely misunderstood by Cullen as a bitter disappointment, for he quickly added. “I understand and share your frustration with this turn of events, but one must face the realities of the world with a strong spirit. The Knight-Lieutenant will answer for his despicable actions but in due time.” He straightened, the faint creak of his armor breaking the silence as he prepared to leave. “May the Maker grant you a swift recovery.”
Before he could walk away from the cot, Anne’s voice broke through the quiet. “Ser, wait.” Her words came haltingly, trembling with emotion. “I trust and have faith that you will see the right thing done. And I’m just so endlessly relieved that you trust and have faith in me too…” She hesitated, her face burning with shame at the audacity of what she was about to say. Yet, try as she might, she could not hold the words back. “Before you go, could I ask for just a little more kindness? Please, Ser. Just a word more.”
Cullen stopped mid-step, his back stiffening as her plea hung in the air. He turned slowly, his expression one of surprise and uncertainty. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Faith, however, took matters into her own paws. The mabari stepped forward, her wet nose nuzzling against Anne’s face before she began to lick away the tears on her cheeks. Startled, the young woman let out a weak laugh, squinting her eyes and scrunching her nose against the hound’s affectionate attention. In a few swift strokes of Faith’s soft tongue, Anne’s tears were gone, and with a huff, the mabari turned her attention to Cullen. Gently, she took his hand in her maw, guiding it with care until it rested atop the recruit’s head. Once satisfied with her work, Faith sat back, her short tail wagging in quiet triumph.
The Ferelden blinked, clearly taken aback. For a moment, he looked utterly lost, his fingers hovering stiffly on Anne’s hair. He cleared his throat, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Uh… there, there,” he mumbled, his hand hesitantly patting the young woman’s head before scratching lightly behind her ear, much like he would for Faith. “You… you’re strong, Knight-Recruit. You’ll get through this.” He withdrew his hand, standing too rigid for a moment. “Yes, well... as I said, may the Maker grant you a swift recovery.” At his feet, Faith let out a low bark—not sharp, but gentle, as if she too shared in the wish.
Anne thanked them both heartily, and together Cullen and his hound retreated from the infirmary, leaving behind the recruit who, despite her pain, injuries, and the injustices she had endured, found herself in remarkably high spirits.
The next morning, she woke slowly, the familiar haze of pain gripping her body but feeling slightly less sharp than it had the night before.
“Good morning, Anne. How are you feeling?” Senior Enchanter Ilara’s soft voice broke the silence.
Anne blinked against the soft morning light and turned her head slightly. Ilara stood beside her cot, her golden hair braided around her head in a crown, her porcelain-like features serene but watchful. At her side was Bethany, her youthful, round face etched with quiet determination as she held a small bowl of steaming porridge.
“I… better,” Anne managed, her voice hoarse. She winced as she shifted slightly, but a gentle hand pressed her shoulder, stilling her.
“Careful,” Ilara uttered. She knelt beside the cot, her delicate hands glowing faintly as she passed them over Anne’s back. A soft warmth followed the movement, and Anne exhaled slowly, the magic dulling the worst of the pain.
Bethany stepped forward. “Here, I brought some food. You’ll need your strength for the healing to take hold.”
The recruit tried to sit up instinctively but was immediately met with a sharp protest from her battered body. Ilara frowned softly, shaking her head. “Not yet. You’re still too weak to move. Bethany will help you.”
Anne hesitated, feeling a flush of embarrassment, but the apprentice offered her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s alright,” she said quietly, settling into a chair beside the cot. She scooped a spoonful of porridge and held it out. “Just take it slow.”
Despite her initial discomfort, the recruit yielded, opening her mouth to taste the worm porridge, which, to her surprise, was reminiscent of a slice of heaven. Bethany fed her patiently, pausing when Anne needed to catch her breath or adjust her position. All the while, the healer continued her silent enchantment, her magic weaving a cocoon of relief around the wounded recruit.
As Anne ate, she couldn’t help but revel in Ilara and Bethany’s care and attention. She wasn’t accustomed to being doted on or pampered; in fact, this was a first for her. The Sisters at the orphanage had always been too tired and overworked to give much affection to the children, and the Templar Order—well, there was no room for kindness toward its recruits there at all.
The apprentice wiped Anne’s lips with a cloth as she finished the last of the porridge. “There,” the young mage uttered with satisfaction. “That’s a good start. You’ll be feeling stronger in no time.”
The recruit offered a faint smile in return. “Thank you.”
Ilara stood, smoothing the folds of her robes. “You’re in good hands, Anne. Rest now. Bethany and I will check on you later.” She placed a hand lightly on the apprentices’ shoulder, and together, the two mages retreated to tend to the other patients.
Anne closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. If only all mages were like this—like Ilara and Bethany—so kind, so good. The thought pinched at her heart, bittersweet. And if only all Templars were like my Cullen—strong, fair, and true. Life would be so much better... Her eyes flew open, her cheeks burning. My Cullen? What kind of foolishness was that!?
The soft creak of the infirmary door pulled her from her thoughts, and soon she saw Tamlin approach her with a stack of tomes and scrolls balanced in his arms.
“Morning, An,” he greeted, setting the materials down on the floor beside her cot.
“Morning,” the recruit replied, propping herself up slightly. “What’s all this?”
“Your new study materials,” he said simply. “Knight-Captain Cullen instructed me to bring them to you.”
Anne’s brows knitted in confusion. “Study materials? I… I don’t understand.”
Tamlin pulled a chair closer to her cot and sat, his arms resting on his knees as he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a more serious tone. “The Knight-Captain has devised a plan to protect you from Alrik.”
Anne blinked, ”So soon?”
Tamlin’s jaw tightened, “Yes. As long as you’re a recruit, you’re under his authority. And that puts you in danger. We both know that.”
The young woman nodded. The thought of returning to Alrik’s supervision filled her with dread. “But… I’m not supposed to become a Templar until next year,” she said hesitantly.
“That’s the thing, you’re not waiting until next year. The Knight-Captain wants you to study hard while you’re here recovering. Harder and faster than anyone else. If you can pass the tests early, you’ll be allowed to take a Vigil and be raised to the Templar status right after you leave the infirmary. That means Alrik will have no hold over you.”
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Anne looked down at the tomes, the titles etched in elegant script: Mastery of The Chant of Light, Templar Discipline: Advanced Lessons, The Fade and Its Inhabitants, The only good maleficar is a dead maleficar. Scrolls lay beside them, their edges lined with notes and diagrams she couldn’t yet decipher. “I… I don’t know… I reckon the Knight-Captain thinks too highly of me. I’m daft, and my memory ain’t worth much…”
Tamlin grinned, that cheeky, self-assured grin Anne hadn’t seen since the day they’d been caught by the blood mage. “Yes, you are, but don’t fret. With me teaching you, even a thick-skulled Ogre has a chance.”
Despite herself, Anne chuckled. “Well, we’ll see about that.” She couldn’t help it. Somehow, she found she preferred this annoying, cocksure version of him to the grim, brooding Templar he’d become after the blood mage incident. It was good to see not all of him had been lost to that whore Idunna. Then she remembered something she’d meant to say. She hadn’t thanked him for worrying over her when she was locked in the cell, nor for getting Cullen’s help. “Oh, and by the way, I don’t know why you cared enough to run to the Knight-Captain about me, but… thanks.” After a beat, she added with a smirk, “Horse-face.”
Tamlin’s grin grew into a wide smile. “What’s the point of life if I am not the one who makes the Ogre miserable, eh?” His voice was playful, but surprisingly there was something softer beneath it. “Now enough of this mushy talk,” he continued, his usual demeanor snapping back in place. “Let’s get to work. I’m the best teacher you’ll ever have, but even I can’t turn water into ale.”
The days that followed were a blur of healing and study. Each morning began with the Senior Enchanter and her apprentice tending to her wounds, followed by Tamlin’s lessons. At first, the recruit doubted his ability to teach, given his short temper and cocky attitude, but she was soon proven wrong. He had a knack for explaining even the most tedious of doctrines in a way that stuck, though whenever Anne got an answer wrong—and there were plenty of those—Tamlin would flick her forehead with just enough force to make her scowl. “Wrong again,” he would say. “Honestly, it shows that Sister Petrice dropped you on your head as a babe!”
But for every sharp remark, there was also a layer of care. He noticed when she struggled to stay focused and forced her to rest when her exhaustion became too obvious to ignore. He ensured she had everything she needed, whether it was a spare quill or a moment of quiet.
Meanwhile, the recruit’s body healed slowly but steadily. Each day, she felt a little stronger, and the excruciating pain dulled to a persistent ache. She began to sit up on her own, then walk short distances with Bethany’s support. The scars forming on her back were rough and uneven, and when she caught glimpses of them in the polished surface of a basin, she couldn’t help but shudder yet also feel proud. They were hideous, but they were hers—a testament to the dedication to preserve Cullen’s honor.
Evenings brought news from the outside world. One day, Tamlin shared that the Knight-Captain had finally punished every single bastard who had spread rumors or insulted her in the Chapel.
“You should’ve seen their faces,” her ‘teacher’ said with a grin. “One of them practically fainted when Knight-Captain Cullen started listing their offenses. They’re going to be scrubbing those chamber pots for months, not even allowed to touch a sword!”
Anne’s chest tightened at the thought. Cullen had fought for her dignity and upheld his promise. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite describe—gratitude, elation, and something else, something she could not put a finger on.
And so, weeks passed in this steady rhythm, each day a relentless tide of learning and growth. The recruit found herself brimming with knowledge: battle tactics, the intricate workings of blood magic and its influence on the Veil, doctrines etched into her mind alongside the precise patterns of Templar abilities and combat strategies. Her thoughts often swirled with the weight of it all, an endless cascade of lessons and challenges. Yet, despite its overwhelming nature, she could not deny the transformation taking hold of her. Each passing day chipped away at the young woman who only ever wanted to be away from the Gallows and in her place, Anne began to see the faint outline of a true Templar—a figure steady on her feet, armed with strength forged through trial —someone worthy of serving under the Knight-Captain Cullen.
The day of her test arrived with little fanfare, yet Anne’s chest thrummed with both anticipation and dread. The infirmary, which had been her sanctuary for so long, now felt stifling as she awaited Ilara’s final inspection. The Senior Enchanter worked nearby, alongside Bethany, tending to an apprentice who had burned her hands and face while miscasting a fire spell. The boy lay on the cot, wincing as Bethany carefully applied salve under Ilara’s watchful eye.
Tamlin stood in front of Anne, his back to the mages, rattling off last-minute advice. “Alright, Ogre, focus. Recite the Canticle of Trials. And don’t you dare mess up again.”
The recruit tried to concentrate, but her nerves made it nearly impossible. Her gaze darted repeatedly toward the healer, watching for any sign that she was done and ready to clear her to leave.
“An!” Tamlin barked, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “Are you even listening? Or is your head as empty as it looks?”
Before she could respond, he flicked her forehead. “Focus.”
Rubbing the sore spot, the young woman glared up at him. “I am trying, horse-face.”
Before their banter could escalate, the infirmary doors swung open with a loud creak. A short, stocky female Templar strode in, her dark, bobbed hair bouncing with each step. A jagged scratch marred her chin, and her scowl was as sharp as her tone when she voiced her demand, “Senior Enchanter! I need healing. Now.”
Ilara looked up, her expression turning that of a hunted dove. “Knight-Templar Eda,” she uttered, her voice shaking slightly. “I understand your need, but this apprentice has suffered serious burns. I ask for your patience while I—”
“I said now, mage,” Eda interrupted sharply, cutting her off. She moved to an empty cot and sat down heavily, crossing her arms and glaring at the enchanter. “I’m not waiting while you coddle some fool who can’t control his magic.”
The healer’s shoulders sagged with a sigh, but she turned to Bethany. “You’ll need to finish tending to the burns. Apply the salve gently, and keep his hands elevated to minimize swelling.”
The apprentice gave a solemn nod and set about her task, while Ilara stepped forward, her focus settling on Eda. Before the seated woman, the enchanter began her incantation, the soft shimmer of magic illuminating her hands. Yet, as the spell took form, Ilara faltered. Her hands quivered, her body shrinking subtly, as though she sought to make herself smaller.
Anne, observing the peculiar change in the healer's demeanor, narrowed her gaze. Something was amiss. It was only then, as her attention sharpened, that she discerned the cause of Ilara’s distress. Eda, sitting there with a creepy smile, had allowed her hand to slip beneath the folds of the Senior Enchanter robes, her fingers gliding along her slender leg with a deliberate, intimate motion. Anne's jaw tightened, her temper flaring hot. Before she even knew it, the words slipped right out of her mouth, “The nerve of this bitch!”
“What?” Tamlin frowned and whipped around to look over his shoulder, following her gaze.
Meanwhile, Anne was already getting to her feet, her anger propelling her forward. But Tamlin’s hand came out fast, clamping down on her shoulder and shoving her back onto the cot. “Stay put,” he ordered, his voice firm and low. “You can’t go stirring up trouble right before the test. This is exactly what the Knight-Lieutenant wants. Let me deal with it.”
Anne shot him a glare, but the look on his face left no room for argument. “Alrik, you bold fuck, not on my watch,” he grumbled under his breath, turning and striding toward Eda before she could ask him what the Knight-Lieutenant had to do with it.
He stopped beside the Templar, his stance deceptively casual. “My fair Eda, how’s your dear wife doing these days?”
The woman’s round head snapped up, her hand jerking away from Ilara as if burned. She pushed the mage back roughly and glared up at Tamlin. “What do you want?”
The man smirked. “Oh, nothing much. Just thought I’d check in. You know, make sure everything’s well at home. Your wife wouldn’t want to hear about… misunderstandings like this, would she?”
Eda’s face turned red with fury as she shot to her feet, fists balled tight. “You’re poking that ugly nose of yours where it doesn’t belong,” she hissed. “Just because you’re kissing the Knight-Captain’s arse so hard your lips are swollen doesn’t mean you won’t regret this.”
Tamlin's grin stretched wide. "Ah, Eda, at least I'm planting kisses on a fine, firm backside of a proper stud. Better that than the saggy, wrinkled arse you lot are slobbering on, Orlesian-style.”
Eda's glare darkened further, and Anne could swear for a heartbeat that the female Templar’s gaze flickered to her. “I can’t wait until all of you gets what coming,” she hissed venomously.
Tamlin’s smirk stayed firmly in place. “And I can’t wait to write a nice little note to your wife about you being a cheating turd.” He cocked his head. “Unless, of course, you fancy dragging your fat arse out of here this instant?”
For a long, tense moment, Eda stared at him, her jaw tight. Then, with a sharp scoff, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the infirmary, slamming the door behind her.
Tamlin exhaled softly, his smirk fading as he turned to Ilara. “Are you alright?”
The Senior Enchanter nodded, though her hands betrayed a subtle tremor, her fingers twitching as she clasped them tightly together. "Though I appreciate your intervention, Ser," she murmured. "It... it would have been better to leave it be. Knight-Templar Eda… it was far from the first time such things have occurred. It's wiser, in such cases, to simply endure. Once she gets what she wants, she leaves me in peace. That’s how it always is." A dark shadow crossed the healer’s face, and her voice faltered. "But now... now I fear that she will turn her anger upon me, or worse still, accuse me of blood magic."
Before Tamlin could respond, the recruit rose swiftly and crossed the infirmary. She placed a steady hand on the woman’s trembling shoulder. "I swear I will not let that happen! Tamlin will speak to the Knight-Captain about Eda’s behavior and will get stationed here until I’m a full-fledged Templar. After that, I’ll request this post myself to guard you and Bethany from any other perverts.” Ilara’s lips parted in astonishment at Anne’s fiery words, but she said nothing, allowing her to continue as the recruit turned to the Templar, "You will do as I say, will you, Tamlin?"
Bethany, who had been watching the exchange from a distance, now stepped closer, her hands still coated with a salve from tending the burned apprentice, her expression one of tentative hope. Their combined gazes, heavy with expectation, caused a faint blush to creep up the man’s ears.
“Right,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to the Knight-Captain. Stop staring at me like that!”
Bethany let out a soft sigh of relief, the tension in her shoulders easing, and Ilara’s haunted eyes softened just a fraction.
“I... I appreciate it,” the healer said quietly. “Thank you. I hope…” Her words trailed off as a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. She shook her head as if to banish the thought. “Thank you. Truly. Now, I should go back to my patient.” She gestured to Bethany, her tone turning brisk. “Come, let’s finish the treatment.”
The apprentice gave Anne a small, grateful smile before following Ilara back to the burned mage’s cot. As Ilara walked away, she turned briefly to the recruit. “I will be with you after I tend to the boy.”
The young woman waved dismissively. “No worries. Take as long as you need.”
As the two mages resumed their work, Anne turned back to Tamlin, eager to pose her queries. “Why did you mention Alrik earlier by the way? And who’s this Eda buttering up?”
The Templar’s gaze shifted toward the door the female Knight had slammed moments before. He glanced around to ensure no one was listening, then nodded toward a quieter corner of the infirmary. “Come here,” he said softly, motioning for her to follow.
Anne’s brow furrowed, but she trailed after him. Once they were out of earshot, Tamlin leaned in, speaking in hushed tones. “This whole thing with Eda... It’s not just her being a horny creep abusing power. I’m sure today was Alrik’s doing. It’s sabotage, An. A plain and simple attempt to make you stir up trouble and get thrown back into the cells right before your test.”
Anne stiffened, her blood running cold. The Knight-Lieutenant’s plan would have absolutely worked if not for Tamlin. She would be brawling on the floor with Eda right now, guilty of starting another fight. Bethany and Ilara were kind souls, but they weren’t the bravest—they wouldn’t have dared to defend her for fear of Alrik’s punishment. The scars on her back ached at the thought, and she shivered. “I know he’s mad I won’t play his bloody game, but—”
“It ain’t just about you,” Tamlin cut in, his voice grim. “This is bigger than either of us. Look, I didn’t want to tell you this before, you needed to focus on your studies and recovery, not get distracted by politics, but the Order’s splitting apart at the seams. It’s damn near a civil war in the Gallows.”
Anne blinked, jaw dropping. “What? Since when!?”
Tamlin dragged a hand through his coppery hair, letting out a heavy sigh. “Since Captain Cullen started cracking down on folks spreading gossip about you. The Order is divided into two camps now. On one side, you’ve got the Knight-Lieutenant and his pals. They’re Templars coming from families with titles, money, and connections. They think that Alrik is the right one to lead. They do not fancy the idea of a Ferelden upstart with a dog giving them orders. On the other side, there’s Cullen and the rest of us—common folk. Farmhands, blacksmiths, merchants’ sons, and daughters. We’re larger in number, but we don’t have the kind of funding or influence Alrik’s people do. And trust me, that influence makes all the difference.”
Anne’s jaw tightened as she processed the information. “And Eda? She’s one of Alrik’s?”
Tamlin nodded grimly. “Yeah. She’s kissing up to him, hoping he’ll throw her a bone when—if—he takes power.”
Vexation rose within her. “This is insane. The Templars are supposed to protect people from magic, not play power games.”
Tamlin shrugged. “Yes, well, the Order’s ideals and its reality ain’t always the same, are they? Alrik wants Cullen’s position. Andraste’s burning tits, he probably has his eye on Knight-Commander after that. And this—what Eda pulled—is just one of his many schemes to chip away at the Knight-Captain’s support.”
Anne’s frustration turned to confusion. “But... Knight-Commander Meredith. Why doesn’t she stop this? Isn’t it her duty to keep order within the Gallows?”
“It’s tricky, An.”
“How?” she pressed, her tone sharper.
“Meredith isn’t a fool,” he replied, his voice even quieter now. “She knows what’s happening, but as I told you, Alrik’s allies aren’t just Templars. They’re former nobles. They have connections outside the Order. Powerful merchants, Chantry clerics, and magistrates. If she moves against them it will have to be for outright treason or criminal behavior, or else she risks alienating those nobles. And if they pull their funding—or worse, call for her removal—her life is going to get really tough. Yet, she also can’t let them overstep too much, or she risks losing her authority completely. It’s a delicate dance, and she’s not willing to stick her neck out unless she has to.” Anne’s hands balled into fists as the Templar continued, “But Captain Cullen is not giving up. That’s why you becoming a Templar is so important. You’re one more voice on his side. One more loyal Knight to support him.”
At his words Anne’s resolve hardened more than ever. She straightened her back, her eyes blazing with determination. “Then I’ll pass this bloody test, take a Vigil, and become a Templar come what may, even the Blight itself!”
Tamlin’s lips quirked into a small smile. “That’s the spirit. Just don’t get so fired up that you forget the material, Ogre.”
Anne’s smirk returned, her defiance undimmed. “Shut it, horse-face. I said, I’ll pass, and I will.”
Tamlin chuckled, the weight in the room lifting a bit. “Yes, yes. Now, come on. We’ve still got a lot to cover before Ilara gives you a final look, and I ain’t letting all my forehead-flicking go to waste.”
