In hindsight, Evelyn should have known that the day would end in disaster. All in all, it was the perfect storm. Cullen's withdrawals had been especially bad upon waking up that morning. He had described the symptoms to her in vivid detail one night, and his descriptions alone had horrified her, knowing what he was going through and how little she could do to help, other than be supportive - which felt like frightfully little, in the grand scheme of things.

What symptoms he suffered from seemed to vary from day to day, along with their intensity. After a while she found herself able to spot the signs of each one, and did her best to devise ways of helping. The worst, however, was the irritability, and it was obvious he was feeling especially short-tempered after he rose and barely said a word before leaving to attend to his duties. Word soon spread through Skyhold that the Commander was not to be inconvenienced that day, and that minor mishaps that would usually earn an eye-roll were being greeted with scowls, scornful words, and the slamming of fists on desks.

Soon Evelyn found herself dreading the impending meeting in the war room - and felt incredibly guilty for it. She just couldn't help it. Being around somebody in a bad mood was always the easiest way to set her on edge. It mattered little in battle, of course, but amongst friends she despised it. She knew why, too. When she was a child, her mother's bad moods meant she would soon be scolded for something - whether she deserved it or not, a lengthy rant, punctuated by much shouting, berating and finger-pointing in her face was on its way. When she was in the Circle, it was no better. A Templar in a bad mood was a recipe for disaster, a fact that many a mage tended to quickly learn the hard way.

Perhaps that was part of why she felt so guilty for allowing Cullen's own bad moods to set her on edge so easily - she'd long since disassociated him from the 'Templar' label in her mind. He would never take out a bad mood on her. She knew he wouldn't. She had to believe it. As it was, these self-assurances did nothing to stop the slowly coiling tension tightening in her chest as the day went by. Typically, when he was in these moods, she would simply avoid him. He preferred to be left alone in such times anyway, until he had more of a grip on his temper. Often, when he was back to his normal self, he would even be twice as loving for a time after, as though to try to make up for it - no matter how much she insisted there was no need and that she understood.

Their roles had never become an issue in their relationship, with the exception of their efforts to keep their private life, well, private. They had said from the outset, when they decided to make a real go of it, that it would never work if their relationship interfered with the Inquisition as a whole. During war councils, she was the Inquisitor, and he the Commander. There would be no favouritism skewed in favour of his advice on her part, and no expectation on his part that she would follow his advice simply because they shared a bed - and when they left the war room, that was that. Their professional disagreements, when they had them, never soured their personal relationship.

Until that day.

In the beginning, she dutifully convinced herself that the war council could be a blessing in disguise. Her duties were stressful, of course, and growing ever-more so as the war waged on, but the more she had to do, and the more important those tasks were, the less time she had to worry about doing them. Evelyn suppressed a snort. It was a sad day when paperwork was considered a welcome distraction.

The meeting was in the early evening and started off like all others. They slowly worked their way through their ever-growing list of problems, but it was when they reached the last item on the list that things started to quickly spiral downwards.

Pacing like a captive animal, Evelyn gnawed at her lip as Josephine read aloud the letter they had received from a Chantry Sister, pleading for help and describing how she and a number of Inquisition soldiers were trapped in the Frostbacks, pinned down by Avvar.

"This party of soldiers we have in the area - the one we sent to pursue the Red Templars - they're near enough?" Evelyn asked sharply.

"They should be," Leliana nodded "My birds could reach them in time, I have no doubt."

"We should send word," Josephine said immediately "They're our allies, we cannot abandon them to this fate after they've done their part for us."

"And the party is big enough to take on the Avvar?"

"I don't doubt that," Cullen sighed, speaking up for the first time since the issue was raised "...However…"

Evelyn paused in her pacing, watching him expectantly. He dropped the hand that had been pinching the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Inquisitor, no one wants to make this call, but if the Red Templars escape, it opens up the possibility of even more being harmed. Our soldiers would understand. They knew the risks when they enrolled in our forces."

Josephine made a slight disapproving noise, but gave no argument. Instead, three pairs of eyes settled heavily upon her, waiting for an answer.

Exhaling heavily, she closed her eyes. These sort of dilemmas were the exact ones that she had dreaded encountering upon becoming Inquisitor. The tight, heavy feeling in her chest that had been worsening all day increased tenfold. What gave her the right to make these sort of decisions? But then a conversation sprang to her mind. One she'd had with the Iron Bull back in Haven. What was it he had said? That leaders don't necessarily have to be the strongest or the wisest, they just have to be willing to make a decision.

The image of their wounded soldiers was vivid in her mind. The first time she'd quite realised what an impact she had on the soldiers themselves was after she'd rescued the group in the Fallow Mire from the Avvar - when one had turned to his friends and exclaimed triumphantly "I told you the Inquisitor would come for us!". Was that what these ones were telling each other, huddling together for warmth as they waited for her to waltz in with her staff and her mark? It was with a sinking feeling that she realised that the answer was probably yes, they were.

If she was to be the one to shape this Inquisition, she wouldn't have it be one that abandoned its men. Especially not after they'd already fought and sacrificed in her name. Who knew - maybe they'd pick up the Red Templars' trail again. In that moment, she felt calm. Weren't they due a little luck, after all?

"Send word to the party - divert them to the Frostbacks," she turned to Josephine when she opened her eyes.

The Ambassador gave a pleased smile before making a note on the parchment she always carried with her "Right away, Inquisitor."

Cullen, however, gave an exasperated huff. The display surprised her but she attempted to shrug it off, sharing a quick look with Leliana before casting her eyes downwards. The sinking feeling returned to her chest with a vengeance. Carefully avoiding looking at him, Evelyn opened her mouth to call the meeting to a close, but then Cullen spoke.

"Evelyn, my men have been tracking these Red Templars for an age - you can't simply call on them to abandon it now we finally have their trail. This is war. We can't save every soldier."

His use of her name in place of her title made his words feel all the more personal, and she knew the others had caught this too, if the way they shifted uncomfortably was anything to go by.

"I understand your point," she said gently, and ignored the way his responding scoff sent a streak of hurt through her chest "But we can save these soldiers. They've done their duty and now it's only fair that they get to go home. I...I can't have them dying in a cave with my name on their lips."

It was a rather personal thing for her to give voice to - the very thing that had haunted so many of her nightmares, as he well knew. Surely he would understand, him of all people. Instead his brows only knitted together, and his voice had a defined edge to it when he responded.

"Well plenty more will die with your name on their lips if you don't stop being so bloody naive and short-sighted!"

His words were like a slap in the face - so much so that she visibly flinched. Whether it was the pure annoyance laced in his tone (annoyance with her. Like she was little more than a complete and utter pest at worst, or a mild nuisance at best), or the way his voice rose, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she had to get out of there before she embarrassed herself. Or before he embarrassed her further. Slipping into 'Inquisitor mode' with practised ease, she straightened her back and let her face fall blank, but couldn't quite bring herself to look at him still. This was how she missed the regret which instantly flooded his features in the silence that fell after his words.

"Josephine, see that word is sent before nightfall. If that's all, I have other matters to attend."

With that, she left. Walking as fast as her legs would allow without running, and positive she looked completely ridiculous while doing so, Evelyn silently debated on whether to return to her rooms, where any of her advisors could easily find her alone and force her into a discussion about what just happened. The alternative was The Herald's Rest, where she'd have to force a smile on her face and recount stories from battle she'd rather not remember in that moment. But The Herald's Rest had wine. And ale. Yes, she could easily have both brought to her, but what kind of impression would it make among the servants if she spent the evening in her quarters drinking alone? It was unlucky that this particular meeting had been scheduled so late and all of her other duties for the day were already done, otherwise she could throw herself into her work. The only remaining work she had was her ever-growing stack of paperwork, which usually felt like the more she did, she more she had left to do. But she didn't have the heart to spend the night reading reports from Cullen. Instead she'd have to find the next best thing to work to throw herself into - a tankard of ale. Or ten.

With a huff she hurried through Josephine's office and took a sharp right. The few people who did seem as though they might stop to talk to her quickly changed their minds upon seeing the look on her face.

Cullen felt utterly wretched. He'd been well aware of his foul mood all day, but that awareness did nothing to help him control it. Instead he'd gritted his teeth and endured every slight misfortune that occurred, all while resolutely ignoring the headache forming directly in the centre of his forehead. On any other day, Evelyn's decision wouldn't have prompted such a reaction. She'd taken the advice of the others over his before, and even if he disagreed, he focused on his own duties. After all, he didn't envy her role when it came to making the decisions, and he knew well how some of those decisions kept her up at night. And this was how he thanked her for taking on this burden.

The moment he'd finished his tirade, all of the anger seemed to instantly drain from him and he suddenly couldn't remember just why or how he'd been so annoyed in the first place. None of that, however, could change the look on her face; one of pure shock and hurt. The horror it instilled in him at his own words was second only to that when she flinched. Leliana was staring at him, while Josephine seemed to resolutely be looking in any other direction. As soon as the hurt had appeared on Evelyn's face, it was gone, her Inquisitor mask firmly in place. Her back straightened, and her chin lifted, and her eyes devoid of any of their usual glimmer. Cullen felt a wave of shame that he'd be the cause of such a thing.

"Josephine, see that word is sent before nightfall. If that's all, I have other matters to attend."

And just like that, she was gone. He opened his mouth to call after her but then firmly shut it. What could he even say?

It was Leliana who broke the silence.

"Make it right, Commander."

He said nothing. What could he say? Any trace of the angry fog he'd been enveloped in had vanished, leaving him feeling foolish and ashamed. Giving the two remaining women an uncomfortable nod, he left - not to chase after Evelyn (she was unlikely to appreciate that, for he knew well enough when to leave her alone and when to press an issue) but to return to his office and work out just how he might apologise for his outburst. It helped that warring against the part of him that wanted to run after her was another part of his mind that was sure he could never face her again.

For so long he'd done so well in keeping his withdrawals from negatively affecting her in any way, amazed that she'd even still been interested in him after learning of them - especially after she'd been able to see him as a man and not a Templar, a trait unusual in many of her fellow mages. And not only had she accepted him anyway, she helped him. She stayed up with him 'til dawn on the nights he didn't have it in him to face the nightmares, finding new ways to distract him, entertain him, and make the withdrawals bearable. Just last week his heart almost burst from his chest upon hearing from Cassandra about the climb she'd made to collect some Royal Elfroot in hopes it might help alleviate what ailed him. And this was how he thanked her. Now he'd undone everything, all of his phenomenal luck, in one fell swoop.

With a snarl, he slammed the door behind him.

Evelyn was able to enjoy a good ten minutes taking turns brooding into space and taking great gulps of her ale until Bull appeared, lumbering up the stairs to the top floor where she'd hidden herself away, grateful for the fact that even Cole didn't seem to be around. Or if he was, she couldn't see him. She wasn't sure she could stomach him voicing every negative or hurtful thought in her head at that particular moment. Bull, however, she could deal with. Usually. He was better at knowing when to drop a topic and, well, he was a good friend. He'd probably shy away from such a label, but it didn't change the fact.

Once he was finished purposely making as much noise as possible in his approach, he fell into the one other chair at the table. Feeling petulant, and very much not in the mood for any kind of tough love, Evelyn watched him quietly, taking another gulp from her tankard.

Instead of chastising her, he produced a bottle of Maraas-Lok. Evelyn groaned at the sight of it.

"No," she shook her head pointing to the stairs "Nope. Not happening. Away with you."

He chuckled and sloshed a good amount into her mostly empty mug, ruining what was left of her perfectly good ale.

"Bull," she positively whined "Don't make me use my Inquisitor voice. Not today. Please. I just want to drink."

"And I'm helping," he shrugged, nudging the tankard closer to her "Drink up."

She did so, fixing him with a glare as she did. Out of spite, she did her best to hide any reaction as the vile liquid burned a hole through her chest on the way down.

"So what are we brooding about?" He took a swig of his own drink, eye examining her speculatively.

"I'm not brooding, I'm celebrating," she declared simply.

"My bad, boss, the two look awfully similar. What are we celebrating?"

"My new clear vision. I have been, erm, advised that my perspective is far too naive and short-sighted, to the detriment of our soldiers. So I stopped. Nothing but...but brutal realism from here on in."

His brow twitched in surprise and a small petty part of her felt smug for managing to surprise him. The rest of her just felt pretty wretched. The Iron Bull was the last person she might have expected to befriend before the conclave was blown up. Actually, Cassandra was the last person. Bull was a close second, though. However, his skill in being able to lighten almost any situation was one that she valued. Tonight she just felt guilty for making him feel compelled to do so so often. She wondered if she could add 'buzzkill' to her list of faults, right below 'naive' and 'short-sighted'. Bull's protective, almost brotherly nature towards her had only increased after meeting her actual older brother, Caleb, and she couldn't help but wonder if he had said anything to bring this about in the Qunari.

Then, of course, she wondered if trusting him was yet another way she was failing the Inquisition. Would history laugh at her for choosing a Ben-Hassrath as her shoulder to cry on? Probably. But she hoped not.

"Red can be a little harsh at times, you know not to take her words too seriously," he waved a hand.

"Who said anything about Leliana?" She muttered into her tankard.

Silence fell at that. Evelyn was too buzzed to worry overmuch about that, though - it was amazing how the Maraas-Lok somehow tasted worse the second time round. She took another sip. It was only after she'd resisted the strong urge to gag, that she realised Bull had not yet replied.

"Never would've pegged your Commander as the type to say something like that."

It came as no surprise to her that with Leliana out of the way, the only other option was Cullen. It would take a lot for Josephine to think something like that, and even more for her to actually say it.

"Yeah. Well. Who cares?" she leaned back, tapping her fingertips against the table.

"You do," Bull gave her a knowing look "You just don't want to right now."

"Maybe that's easier," she muttered, purposely lowering her voice "If I'm such a terrible leader, it won't be much of a loss."

"Loss?"

"When I'm dead. That's how this war is going, isn't it? Look at the Hero of Ferelden. Corypheus, me...Whichever one of us goes, we'll take the other with us. That's how these things work."

"I, my friend, am living on borrowed time. We all know it, so why pretend otherwise? There's always another mountain ready to be dropped on me, and I'm not sure how many more I can crawl out from under."

"However many more you have to," Bull said seriously "Boss, I don't know why Cullen said those things, but it doesn't take a Ben-Hassrath to know he didn't mean it."

"Drunken words, sober thoughts."

"I didn't realise you spent your war councils getting drunk."

"He wasn't drunk, he was angry."

"There's a reason the saying isn't 'angry words, calm thoughts', Evelyn."

At this, she gave a non-committal sigh. How many nights after Adamant had Cullen spent up with her, fiercely arguing that she should blame Corypheus and not herself for the constantly growing pile of bodies she found herself overseeing the recovery and burials for? Would he have done so if he believed her responsible? No. With Cullen's devotion to his men, she doubted he'd even talk to her if he deemed it her fault. But that just made his words sting all the more. For him to know how deeply those words would hurt her, and throw them at her anyway? Soon her eyes burned as much as her face did from the Maraas-Lok. Bull dutifully pretended not to notice.

Closing her eyes, she resisted the strong urge to press her face into the table. She would not cry. She wouldn't. Not over a man. She'd always rolled her eyes at such women in the Circle. Hadn't that small, nagging voice been telling her that something like this would happen eventually? She had no right to be upset or surprised. What could a man like Cullen see in a sheltered little Circle mage? Was this outburst a product of bottling up these thoughts and feelings for so long, only to have them forced out by a bad mood? Or, if Bull was right and he didn't mean any of it, was she a complete monster for taking his angry words to heart? Evelyn was torn, and felt no matter what she believed or how she reacted, she was wrong in some way or another.

Emotions only heightened by the alcohol, she swallowed the lump in her throat and, somewhat belatedly, began to question how wise her decision to start drinking might have been. All she wanted to do now was go to her rooms and hide under the covers until they took mercy on her and swallowed her whole. Taking a deep breath in, she opened her eyes and summoned whatever remaining dignity she had.

"You know what, Bull, forget all of this. Bad day. Pretend it never happened. 'M fine. Just need to sleep."

At first her bodyguard looked like he might argue, but then he seemed to change his mind.

"Come find me in the morning if you feel like hitting something," he shrugged in lieu of farewell.

The first thing she did when she returned to her quarters was throw open the doors to both balconies. Chilly, bracing mountain air soon filled the room and she breathed in great lungfuls of it. Fresh air was almost a commodity in the Circle, and so filling the room with it was the easiest way to stop herself from waking up mid-nightmare certain that she was back there, locked up once again. With a wave of her hand, the freshly built fire in the fireplace was lit, and she fell back onto the bed.

The last coherent thought she had before falling asleep was that her boots seemed all too far away to remove.