Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age and everything that goes with it. I'm just borrowing these characters for fun, not for profit.

.

The Crux

The holy chant would not come from his lips. The words floated 'round in his mind, to and fro, as they played themselves in his memory, but he refused to speak them aloud. Grief and guilt blended together within his heart and filled his mind with the faces and names of the comrades he had lost. Instead of reciting the expected holy doctrine to honor the fallen, he whispered their names on bended knee to an empty room that echoed his disgrace back to him.

"Frederick, Seth, Keir, Wallace, Aaron..."

Eyes closed and head bowed so low that his chin almost touched his chest, the broken templar had no prayers, no whispered hymns left within himself to give. Such things felt thin and inadequate. While he still felt duty-bound to the Chantry, he was privately disappointed in the way they were handling the situation.

"Edmund, Nathan, Caleb, Lewis..."

With twilight quickly approaching, the descending darkness made him want for his armor terribly. He had seen too many things, unnatural and horrifying things, that hid themselves within the blackness to trust the empty spaces anymore.

Anxiety zigzagged along his flesh, whispering reminders of what could be lurking still, but he clenched his jaw stubbornly and pushed his paranoia to the back of his mind. He had no right to wear the templar uniform or patrol the circular halls, not until he honored them by name.

"Conway, Braden, Logan, Tomas, Seamus..."

A shutter of anger and self-loathing moved through him as he began to recount the names of those closest to him. So many had died, may of them little more than acquaintances. Being a Tower Guard meant round-the-clock shifts, leaving precious little time to get to know anyone unless duties were shared or overlapped.

But now the list of names was moving toward those he had known for years – including the handful of men that had once served under his command. Their bodies had been discovered in the upper levels of the Tower. Many so disfigured that they could not be properly identified.

He would remember them as well.

"Rowan, Simon, Marcus, Devin, Sean, Edgar, Cullen-"

He paused abruptly, hearing his own name echo back at him in a tone of reverence that mocked him. Then he laughed. It was a hollow and dead sound that grated against his ears like rough burlap on skin, but he couldn't help himself. Oh, how he wished he was dead! He should have died with them. With his sword drawn and body poised to strike – he was ready to fight and die in order to defeat the very thing that slaughtered his men, his brothers.

But the demons that had leaked out of the Fade had outsmarted them. They confused and beguiled them, causing the youngest and least experienced of his squad, Simon, to break formation. The other templars, in their panic to be rid of the demonic forces that threatened to turn every mage in the into an abomination, went on to confront Uldred in the Harrowing Chamber while Cullen tried to collar their newest recruit back in line.

His decision to go after Simon had cost him dearly. The blood mages and demons were upon them both in an instant, overwhelming them with lies, violence and hallucinations. Simon stood little chance against the onslaught and Cullen wasn't doing much better. Then the door opened, and the battle paused. For the briefest of moments, Cullen felt relief. His squad was returning. They would help him avenge Simon's death, finish off the remaining demons and cleanse the Tower. Everything would be made right again and perhaps they wouldn't have to use the Rite of Annulment. Perhaps some could be saved, after all.

Instead Uldred appeared – tall, cocky and radiating power and contempt. Cullen could only stare in horror as his eyes took in the evidence of what had become of his men. Bits of flesh and blood, bright and gleaming, stained Uldred's perfectly-tailored robes and shoes. The Abomination stepped forward, toward Cullen, and smiled wide and cruel.

"I see one still lives," he said in a voice that made the templar's blood run cold. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though savoring the scent of a rose or honeysuckle. "Mmmm," his voice rumbled, "Quite delicious."

Grip tightening on the hilt of his sword, Cullen's eyes narrowed at the Abomination. Five steps, and he would be upon him. Five steps, and he could run the Abomination through with his sword. Just five steps and this could all be over. He would probably die in the attempt. Cullen was already close to exhaustion and he didn't have enough Lyrium or Magebane to defeat an Abomination with so much power – but with the Maker's blessing, he could land a solid, devastating hit.

Heart and mind clear, the templar lunged. Years of training provided him with speed, strength and accuracy, but it could not save him from the overwhelming invasiveness of blood mages that could peer into an exhausted human mind. Uldred had expected his attack. With an expression of mild amusement, the Abomination simply lifted his hand, palm up, and Cullen suddenly felt an unseen force slam into him. It sent him skidding across the room, disarming him, before his body impacted hard against the stone wall. Then a prison of magic encircled him.

The Abomination smirked at the templar as he watched him stumble to his feet and prepare himself for the next attack. With no weapon or shield, Cullen knew it was only a matter of time before he joined his fallen brethren, but until that moment, he had to resist. Only his spiritual training at the Chantry stood between himself and absolute corruption. Worse yet, they knew that, too.

"His will is strong. He should prove to be most satisfying," the Abomination said, turning his face toward a shimmering blackness that was slowly congealing together into something solid and human-like. "Enjoy your meal, Sister, but try not toy with it too long. We have much left to do."

With those words, the thing that had once been Uldred returned to the Harrowing Chamber. Then the temptations began.

"D- Daniel, Arthur..." Cullen whispered, voice unsteady from fury and grief. He swallowed hard, breathed deep, cleansing breaths and willed himself to be calm as he forced the memories of the desire demon from his mind. Then his litany for the dead began again.

"Reimund, J- Jonas, Isaac-"

The sound of knocking, soft but insistent, on the door leading to his room disturbed his private memorial. A sudden rush of adrenalin filled him, setting already anxious nerves aflame. The Tower was clear, the Knight-Commander said as much... but still...

Heart pounding hard in his chest, Cullen reigned in his unease as he glanced over his shoulder toward the door and scowled. He couldn't tell who was interrupting him, but he was certain that it wasn't a fellow templar. He would have heard their approach – the hallways did nothing to hide the sound of armored boots. That meant that the person on the other side of the door was either a cloistered sister or mage.

"Unless this is an emergency," Cullen bit out, "please leave me in peace. I wish to be alone."

"C-cullen?" a too-familiar female voice said. "It's me. Please, may I speak with you?"

His jaw muscles twitched and tightened as his shoulders suddenly felt painfully tense. Anger flowed into him in a rush. With unconcealed rancor, he ground out his answer, "No."

He should have known that she wouldn't listen to him just as he should have known that she would eventually come looking for him. She always did, though there was a time when he welcomed it.

Biting on the inside of his cheek, Cullen struggled to keep his rage in check as he heard the gentle groan of the door to his room being opened against his wishes. He was tempted to turn on her and drive her from his room, using every templar ability and skill at his disposal. Without his armor and weapons, however, she could easily defend herself against him if she refused to leave.

'Once again at the mercy of a mage,' he thought with disgust.

But this mage was no ordinary mage. The Knight-Commander had tried to remind him of that the morning after she killed Uldred. He even went so far as to say that this was not the same person who left the Tower all those months ago. This girl – woman – was different. She was a Grey Warden, and the responsibility that came with the title had changed her.

Cullen heard the words but did not truly understand the message. Only much later would he realize what it was that the Knight-Commander was trying to tell him.

"Knight-Commander Greagoir told me you were here," Surana said. "I thought you would come out for dinner, but when you didn't..." she trailed off and glanced down at her hands. "May I speak with you? Please?"

"Now is not a good time."

Silence lapped against him, creating eddies of uncertainty and impatience. He wanted her to leave. He wanted to be alone, to purge his sins and make amends. He couldn't do that with her there.

"Now is the only time I have," she said, her feet whispering across the stone floor as she approached him. "Please. I need to talk to you."

With a resigned sigh, Cullen stood to his full height and turned to face her. Without his armor, he did not feel quite as imposing as he normally did when facing a mage, but he still towered over her. She peered up at him, taking in his appearance in regular civilian clothes while he let his eyes wander over her choice of attire. She was wearing that ridiculous robe again, if one could really call it that. It had been repaired and cleaned, but the way it clung to her shape made him uncomfortable. The bruises along her arms were mostly healed, as was the burn on her right hand. Her chin-length, chestnut-brown hair was washed and groomed and her face freshly scrubbed. She smelled clean, looked clean. But her eyes seemed haunted. Tired.

'Worried.'

He didn't know what she could possibly want to speak to him about that would make her come to the Templar Wing of the Tower. Mages tended to avoid the area as though their skin would slide off their bodies if they ventured too close. But not his mage. She was always a bit too brave and stubborn for her own good.

Moving past her, Cullen pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. When she did, he turned and faced her.

"Go ahead," he prompted. She blinked up at him, clearly uncertain what to make of his coldness He knew she was expecting him to stutter, to be overly-polite and patient, but his grief and anger wouldn't allow it. Regardless of how he once felt about her – still felt about her – he was a templar and she was a mage within the Tower. He would behave accordingly. Distant. Cold.

"Aren't you going to sit?" she asked.

"I prefer to stand."

She cleared her throat nervously and pushed a lock of hair behind her delicately pointed ear. He watched her watch him, then sighed impatiently.

"I thought this was important," he said.

Her nervous countenance gave way to mild frustration. "You don't have to make this difficult. I've been worried about you," she said. "Are you well?"

He stared at her, doubting his ears. Did she honestly come up here for that?

"Yes. I'm fine."

Disbelief flashed in her eyes, but she said nothing.

"If that's all," he said, tone dismissive. "I have things to do."

Her expression hardened instantly. "No, that's not all."

"You really shouldn't be here-"

"I don't care!" she interrupted. "I want to talk to you. I-" she paused for a moment, just long enough to reign in her emotions. "I just want to know what happened!"

Animosity chipped away at the small amount of patience he had left. "You saw what happened."

"Yes," she snapped, then immediately reconsidered her answer. "I mean, no! I just... damn it, Cullen! You never used to be this hard to talk to!"

"You're a mage," he sneered. "I am a templar."

"We're both people!"

He said nothing. She shouldn't be here. He knew he should just order her to leave. As a templar in the Tower, he still had authority over her, regardless of her Grey Warden status. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was much easier to simply be cruel to her until she left, even if it meant she left forever.

Standing over her, he waited, trying as hard as he could to be as imposing as possible. The effort seemed to work. Her original nervousness had returned and she could no longer meet his eyes. Instead she kept her gaze downward, focused on her fidgeting hands in her lap.

"If you're done here," he said, voice low and harsh, "I would appreciate it if you would leave."

She didn't move. Stubborn and determined, she remained firmly in place and finally voiced the question he knew drove her to see him in the first place.

"I- It used my face, didn't it? My... body..."

Jaw clenched and lips forming a tight line, Cullen could only glare at her. She knew the answer to that. What did she hope to gain by forcing him to admit his sin out loud? He had shamed himself enough already.

"I... what y- you said..." she trailed off and pressed her hands flat against her thighs. It was then that he realized she was trembling. "It used my likeness to... to... do that to you," she said. "My face. I hate that it... did that to you. I would never hurt you..."

Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched painfully tight, Cullen balled his hands into fists in an effort to keep himself from lashing out at her. Why couldn't she just leave? What did she think happened? What did she think the demon did to him? Did she have any idea at all of what she was talking about? She was hurting him, just by being there. Just by being a mage and a woman and being so close and still so unattainable and impossible. It didn't take a desire demon or a dozen blood mages to do that. It was all her! Always her!

When he still did not speak, Surana finally worked up the courage to look at him. Whatever expression he wore caused her eyes to widen impossibly large.

"Cullen, I-"

"Don't," he said, voice flat and cold. "Don't say anything."

She swallowed hard, but dared not look away.

"You have no idea – no idea – what I saw, Surana," he continued, doing is damn best to ignore how her teal-colored eyes were quickly filling with tears. "Or what I experienced. I was in that cage for almost two days before you showed up. They slaughtered us as though we were nothing. Everyone was either an Abomination or a corpse and that... that... thing kept showing me visions... of you... of us... together."

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, but he continued, undaunted.

"Do you have any idea at all what that was like?" He sneered at her, "To be tormented hour after hour with lie after lie that I wanted so badly to be true?! And all I had to do was hand my soul over to be devoured!" Voice beginning to break, he forced himself to finish, "No, Surana. You have no idea. You never will."

He turned away from her then, finding it too difficult to keep his mind clear when looking at her. She brought out far too many emotions and memories that left him feeling weak and vulnerable. Arms folded over his chest, he listened to her gentle sniffles as she cried. He refused to look at her. To look at her would be his undoing, he was certain of it. It was so much easier to just be angry, but the sounds of her tears refused to be ignored and he hated himself for that.

"Oh, C-cullen," she whispered, voice strained and squeaking.

Against his better judgment, he turned his face toward her and looked at her from the corners of his eyes. The change in her visage took his breath away. He'd seen everything. Or at least, he thought he had. The desire demon had showed him so much of her - lust, anger, rapture, desire, joy, spite, hate... but not this.

Cullen wasn't prepared for this... this... heartache.

For him.

Anger begin to ebb into panic as he realized that what he saw in her eyes was entirely real. The pain, the worry, the grief... she felt all those things for him. And then she stood and moved, slowly, carefully, toward him. Her hand lifted to reach out to him, to touch him and he took an instinctive step back, away from her, and felt the wall behind him.

"N-no!"

She flinched and he was immediately reminded of a chastised puppy. He realized right then that he had to power to hurt her – hurt her the way he was hurting. And if that was true, it meant she cared about him, too.

'Oh, no, oh, Maker... help me.'

Her fingers, still trembling, clenched at the front of her robes, near the collar. It was a nervous gesture that he was long familiar with and it bitterly reminded him of better days.

Voice still thick from tears, she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Cullen. Please don't hate me."

He blurted out the first thing that came to mind and instantly regretted it. "You're a mage!"

She recoiled at his words as though he had slapped her. Face already pale and miserable, she took a half step back and swallowed hard as she struggled to compose herself. She turned, showing him her profile as she did everything she could to avoid looking at him. Why she didn't just leave, he didn't know. He suspected that if their roles were reversed, he would have fled. But his mage stayed.

Clearing her throat, she made an effort to wipe the tears from her face as she took in her surroundings. Suddenly, Cullen was very aware of all of the anti-magic equipment, poisons and trinkets he had in his possession and it felt like every single one of them were out on full display. She seemed to take note of them all, her eyes bouncing from his freshly cleaned armor to his vials of concentrated Magebane to his supply of Lyrium. Then she turned toward the wall where he kept his swords mounted and wiped the last of her tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

After what felt like an hour of seconds, she finally spoke.

"That was the sword you brought to my Harrowing," she said, inclining her head toward the second sword on the left. It had a hilt adorned with blue and gold, instead of the more traditional red and gold. He was openly surprised that she recognized it.

"I was happy to see you there," Surana continued without looking at him. "I was scared to death it would be Jacob or even Greagoir, but it was you." She chanced a glance at him and offered him a weak smile that did nothing to hide her inner hurt. "I was so relieved."

"Wha- w-why?"

She gave a half-hearted shrug. "I knew that if you were there, everything would be okay. I'd get through it and you would protect me."

Still trying to navigate her sudden change in topic, Cullen could only stare at her in open confusion.

The corners of her lips twitched and curled upwards, and she ducked her head down to try to hide her growing blush. "I- I know it sounds silly, but that's what I thought. I didn't realize that the Harrowing was something that a mage had to do completely alone. I always assumed that when they said that a templar was assigned to a mage for their Harrowing, that it was a trial that they went through together."

He openly scoffed at her. How could she be so naive? "Surely you knew that my role was to kill you," he said. "You've known mages who failed their Harrowing."

"Well, yes... but that was only if something went wrong," she explained. "You know that we're not told the details about the Harrowing, about having to go into the Fade. We only know that if something goes wrong the mages don't come back, but we're not given details about why they don't come back. Everyone just assumes, but no one knows for certain. I just felt confident that if you were there that nothing would go wrong. Everything would be okay."

Cullen furrowed his brow. "That makes no sense. My purpose is in direct opposition of yours-"

"No, your purpose is in direct opposition of apostates," she corrected. "I am not an apostate."

"Mages will always be kept in check by the templars," he said solemnly, "regardless of their status with the Circle."

She nodded, "I won't deny that there are mages who resent the templars. In this place, it is difficult not to feel some resentment. There will always be the Isolationists and Libertarians, but most have the Aequitarian viewpoint, myself included. I admit that there was a time when I used to think that most men who became templars did so because they hated mages."

Surana looked at him, her eyes guardedly hopeful as she searched his gaze. What she wished to find, he didn't know, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. "You made me rethink that, Cullen."

Heart already pounding hard in his chest, he felt his mouth go dry with those words. From his sudden realization that she actually cared about him to her confession that she was glad that he was there for her Harrowing, Cullen wondered if it was possible that he was living an illusion – if he was still being held hostage to the desire demon.

He knew he wasn't. There was no bitterness in this, no sickly aftertaste that made him feel hollow and used and anxious for death. He felt very much alive and energized, albeit nervous energy mixed with a forbidden hope that he dared not – dared not – entertain. Until now.

She was standing just a few feet away, her eyes bloodshot and puffy with cheeks flushed all the way up to the tips of her ears. She was real and breathing and beautiful, Maker help him, concerned for him.

Him.

It felt beyond surreal and he had no idea what to do. The only thing he knew for certain was how he should react as per his training, and that route was the easiest and least frightening path to take. Reverting back to his lifetime of Chantry discipline, he squared his shoulders and gathered what was left of his resolve.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, doing is best to sound as confident and sure as any seasoned templar. "As you can see, I'm fine. Now please leave, before we both get into trouble."

He felt his insides cringe at the way she instinctively reacted to his words. Her entire body drooped and she suddenly appeared even smaller and more petite than he'd ever seen her. Then she gave him a single nod, curt but polite.

"Be well, Cullen," she said, moving toward the door. "May the Maker watch over you."

"And you, Neria."

She paused at the sound of her given name, her hand resting on the door handle. He hadn't meant to use her name so casually, but it passed his lips before he even realized he had spoken it. Cullen watched her hesitate, her lips pursed together thoughtfully. Then, expression hard with determination, she turned and faced him. He knew at once that he was looking at the Grey Warden -– the warrior-mage that the Knight-Commander tried to tell him about. This was the woman who bore the weight of protecting all of Ferelden upon her gentle shoulders. This was the woman who would end the Blight.

Without a word or a moment of hesitation, she crossed the room until she stood before him. Cullen, with his back still against the wall, had nowhere to go and he could only watch her, completely mesmerized, as she reached up to him. Delicate fingers touched his jaw and cheek, curling as they silently urged him down while she rose up on the tips of her toes.

Before he could think about what she was doing, he felt her press her lips against his.

The kiss was gentle and sweet, but firm, and it lingered far too long to be considered chaste. Training demanded that he push her away, but his yearning for her wouldn't allow him to do so. Some part of him, still aware of what he was doing, justified his actions by reminding him that he was already damned and this was trivial in a long list of sins. Pulling her to him, he deepened the kiss and allowed himself to enjoy the crux of both his self-loathing and joy.

Just as the desire demon had not been able to emulate the sincere concern he felt from her just moments ago, it could not emulate this. And it wasn't for lack of trying. Cullen had kissed the lie that the desire demon had created for him. Kissed it and more. But even in his weakest moments of temptation, the desire demon could not craft an illusion that felt quite so wonderful.

Surana was real and heavenly and soft and comforting and warm and, Maker help him, intoxicating. When the kiss finally ended, her palm and thumb gently caressed his jaw in a way that sent shivers of want skittering down his spine. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with an emotion he did not recognize but selfishly craved. And then she retreated. At some point during their kiss, the determined Grey Warden had reverted to Chantry-conditioned Mage again.

He heard the door groan as she pulled it open and stood in the doorway that defined the boundary between mage and templar. Cullen wanted to tell her to wait, to stop, to stay, but his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. Feeling the weight of the moment press in around him, he swallowed hard, clenched his fists, and opened his mouth to speak, only to hear the familiar sounds of plate armor boots echoing up from the stairwell.

Knight-Commander Greagoir was coming.

"We are going to Redcliffe tomorrow," she said in a rush. He didn't know what significance that had, but he sensed it was very important somehow.

"I will keep you in my prayers," he told her as the sounds of heavy footfalls grew louder.

"Thank you," she smiled, her expression seemed strangely relieved. "I... I will miss you, Cullen."

His mind stumbled over her words, sensing far more meaning in them than what she actually expressed out loud. A million words crowded his mind, each dancing about his lips with half-formed thoughts and disjointed meanings. He didn't want her to walk away not knowing. Not again.

Peering at her from within the emptiness of his room, a sense of calm washed over him. She would understand. She already did.

"And I you, Neria. Always."

AN: Favorites and alert subscriptions are nice, but reviews are better. :)