Skyhold was being vacated. The Inquisitor decided to disband the organization that ended the Mage Rebellion, chose the Divine, and sewed the sky. As such, all that had been built so quickly after that nightmarish day the Temple of Sacred Ashes was ripped apart by the ambitious magister was being dismantled just as quickly. Commander Cullen paced about the small office he had used to coordinate the Inquisition's armies for almost three years now, hesitantly tearing down banners and packing away old logs. He kept staring at a note Leliana had brought several days ago.
"Dorian en route from Tevinter. Will arrive soon. You should talk to him. Make sure the desk is sturdy first."
Cullen loathed Sister Nightingale sometimes. But, she was right. He desperately needed to speak with Dorian. He just needed to see him one more time before retiring to Ferelden. After that night a year ago, when Cullen had fallen for the magister's charm, his mind had been seized by the thought of Dorian. The brightness of his smile, the softness of his skin. Cullen tried so hard to blot out those memories. It was improper, perhaps even unnatural, for a former Templar to fall in love with a mage. Even more so for a devout Andrastian to love a Tevinter. But, no amount of guilt he placed upon himself would excise the thought of Dorian's gentle, warm embrace.
"Cullen."
The sound of the voice brought a chill to the now barren room, save for the old desk.
"Dorian."
The two men stood in silence, gazing at each other. While the mage's face was warm and inviting, the warrior maintained the same blank expression that had graced his face ever since the Inquisition seemed to fall apart under his feet at Halamshiral.
"I spoke with Leliana," Dorian said as he started to walk the perimeter of the austerely decorated room he had always loathed, "She says you've been moping about for quite some time."
Cullen walked forward as he felt the other man draw closer to his back. He shut the door to block the draft of the swiftly coming winter. With his forehead pressed against the wooden door and his tightly shut, Cullen spoke.
"I'm not moping. There is a great deal of work to be done before we leave Skyhold and go back to normal life."
"I don't believe normality suits us well, Amatus." Dorian said with a grin.
"Do not call me that, Dorian," Cullen practically yelled at the other man as his body snapped from its slumped position.
"Oh. Well, you certainly didn't mind that moniker when I was screaming it that night," he strode over to the desk placing his hand on it, "Such memories."
The silence returned. Tension in the room thickened as Cullen tightened his fists and allowed a scowl to deepen on his face.
"I don't know what you believe we have, or ever had, but I can assure you that night was a mistake," Cullen said indignantly, "I was a Templar, if you remember. And Templars do not easily fall in love, especially not with your kind. Not with mages."
Those words were uttered with such vitriol. They were bathed in such potent poison. Dorian was hurt, but he would not dare to show it.
"How fitting," Dorian sneered, "I aid the Inquisition defeat Corypheus, help seal the Breach, acquaint myself with the Herald of Andraste, do everything in my power to help you move past your history, but I am still victim to the same Chantry stereotypes against mages and the Imperium."
It felt as if all time had stopped around him. Cullen was clinching his fists, grating his teeth. Such a powerful anger and frustration had overcome him.
"Well, Commander, are you going to rebut? Or should I just escort myself to the nearest Circle so your precious, Lyrium entranced, Order can police me and make sure I'm a good boy lest I be made Tranquil."
Still, Cullen remained silent.
"What a fun lot the Templars were. In one breath, they decried blood magic. In the next, they hunted down Apostates with those Maker forsaken phylacteries. And that armor was just atrocious."
"Stop," Cullen whispered.
"Stop? Oh, but I am only playing the game you began. I know how to push all your buttons, Amatus. What more should you expect from someone hailing from the land that burned Andraste? How it must pain you, a noble knight, to have to share a room with a filthy, heretical mage! How are you to know I did not draw you into the Fade? Perhaps, at this very moment, you under my spell?"
Cullen finally allowed himself to speak up. He raised his gaze, but not towards Dorian, he wasn't able to.
"Well, what else am I to think?" his voice had become raspy in tone, "Ever since the night, I have not been able to think of anything but you. What I feel, this ache and desire. It-it's how I felt about lyrium. The shame I felt as I tried to shake off that addiction, the strain it put on me, it impaired my ability to do my job."
He finally worked up the nerve to look Dorian straight in the eyes.
"I will not let you do the same to me."
The stone chamber was frigid, but the two men felt as if it were a sweltering hut in the Western Approach. Dorian met Cullen's grimace with a face devoid of emotion. The magister walked to the other side of the Commander's desk and faced the cold, stone wall.
"That is your problem, Cullen. You always have to be addicted to something. Whether it be lyrium, your duty, or me. After the Exalted Council, you had none of those three left to satiate you. Now all you are is a sad, lost little puppy who wants to disappear into this dark room and feel sorry for yourself."
With a sound Dorian could only compare to the booming sound of a dragon's roar, Cullen had stormed across the room and pinned him firmly against the wall. Their gazes locked as their faces drew closer together. Dorian felt the enraged man's hot breath on his neck. He saw the Commander's brow unfurrow, the scowl softening. Cullen stared at Dorian's face with his mouth agape and his eyes filled with conflict. The warrior's gauntlet covered hands rose from the other man's shoulders, pressing him against the wall, to his neck, caressing the tender skin. He appeared to forget all the cruelties just thrown at him as he closed the gap entirely, brushing his lips against the magister's.
"Cullen," he said, breathless.
"I-I shouldn't have done that," he paused, "Leave. Please."
With that, Cullen retreated up this ladder into his private quarters. Dorian remained in the lower chamber thinking about what had just occurred. Regret gnawed at him. He had read Nightingale's reports about what Cullen had been through during the Blight, in Kirkwall, and during the crisis with the Breach. He noticed a fallen basket that Cullen must have knocked over during his charge. Dorian picked it up and set it on the desk, but a small book had fallen out and was opened for him to read.
"I still feel the pangs of withdrawal. Some nights I can hardly close my eyes without the nightmares stirring around in my mind. I speak with the Inquisitor, Josie, and Leliana about it often. They all tell me I'll weather it like I always have. But I am not so sure. My old dreams of what happened at the Circle or Meredith's meltdown in Kirkwall have been replaced with horrible thoughts of Dorian being killed by slimy Tevinter bastards. Some days, I wonder if I could ever go join him. Someone needs to protect him from those magisters, why not me? I am his 'Amatus' after all."
It was Cullen's journal. Dorian closed it. He had already hurt the Commander so much, violating his privacy would only bring more guilt. After setting the book back into the crate, he decided to climb up the ladder to check on Cullen. There, Dorian found his trademark fur vest thrown to the ground, his metal gauntlets tossed towards the wall, and the Inquisition Commander sat in the dark corner of the room.
"I told you to leave."
As Dorian approached, he could see the other man's face drenched in tears, his eyes red from weeping.
"Leave, Dorian, please."
"I will. Just let me say one thing. Please?"
Using a match, the mage lit a group of candles. He felt as if using magic was not the best course of action right now. After grabbing a heavy blanket from the bed, Dorian lowered himself to the floor next to Cullen, wrapping the Commander in the quilt.
"Amatus. Cullen," he said breathily, "I didn't mean anything I said down there. I admire how strong you were when you fought the lyrium addiction. I should have never brought that up in our…spat."
"No," Cullen shook his head, "you were right. I've always used something as an emotional support. I had to stop using lyrium before it killed me. I wasn't strong, just realistic."
"You're wrong. I watched you fight it. That's real strength. Demons and darkspawn are easy, but fighting your own urges, now that's hard."
Dorian drew a slight chuckle out of the other man, a minor success.
"I know about your past, Cullen. Maybe not all of it. I'm sure even Leliana had the mercy to spare me all the details, but I know enough. I am so sorry for all I said," tears began to well up in his eyes, "So many things have hurt you in life. I should have never let one of those things be me."
"Dorian."
Cullen looked up towards the other man. The flickering candlelight illuminated his face only partially, but the Commander could see the soft frown.
"I am sorry too," he removed his arm from under the blanket and grasped for Dorian's hand, "Your hardly the devious caricature the Chantry tries to paint all Tevinters as."
"Oh?" he smiled, "I can be quite devious when the situation calls for it."
Cullen beamed and brought Dorian's hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly.
"Dorian?"
"Yes?"
The commander rested his weary head on the magister's shoulder.
"What exactly does 'Amatus' mean?"
Dorian smiled then kissed Cullen's forehead.
"Amatus Meum: My Heart"
A breeze swept into the room and snuffed out the candles. In the darkness, Cullen rose his hand to set on Dorian's heart.
"Amatus Meum"
"Amatus Meum."