A/N - This is a kink meme prompt fill, and I really meant for it to be a one-shot, but I can't leave well enough alone. This will be 7 chapters, with smut. Enjoy!

Special thanks to my friend KuraNova, for giving me ideas and fixing my errors. XD

Evelyn jogged up the steps to the ramparts, her stomach flipping somersaults as she imagined the conversation with Cullen she knew she must have. It was too much – he was too much – and she couldn't handle the pressure of trying to figure out how to be with him, and how to save the world at the same time.

Not that he pressured her, not exactly, but she could feel his growing impatience when they kissed – the way his hands slid across her body, palming her breasts through her clothes, pressing his fingers against her crotch. The other day, in his office, he had taken her hand and placed it on his erection, hard and straining under the coarse leather of his armor, and she had squeaked in surprise and done her best not to pull away. She knew that he would never want to push her farther than she wanted to go, but he had no idea exactly how inexperienced she was.

That was her fault, of course. She should have told him when he kissed her that he was her first. First flirtation, first romance, first kiss. Growing up in the Chantry didn't afford any opportunities for love – at least not for Evelyn – and at twenty-four years old, she was less experienced physically than some Ostwick girls half her age. She'd wanted to tell him, but it seemed so immature. Cullen was a grown man, and he was all man. He needed a woman, not a frightened little girl who barely knew what to do when he put his tongue in her mouth, much less what he expected when he asked her to stay the night.

Maker's breath! It wasn't that she didn't want to! When he touched her, something within her came alive, curled and smoldered in her belly, and lower. It was intoxicating, but she didn't know what to do about it, and she was terribly afraid of making a mistake and disappointing him. She didn't think she could bear it if her fumbling attempts to please him missed the mark. If he looked at her with boredom or displeasure while she tried to be whatever she thought she ought to be… no. She couldn't stand it. She wasn't ready, and she couldn't keep making excuses when he invited her to his bed. It was time to end this, and free him to be with a woman who could give him what he needed.

"Cullen?" she said hesitantly as she opened the door to his office.

"Evelyn," he replied warmly, his slow smile causing her heart to wrench in anguish. She cared for him so much and the idea of hurting him made her sick, but she knew what she had to do.

He walked around his desk, reaching for her hands, but she stepped back and he halted, looking at her quizzically.

"Is something wrong?"

Evelyn took a deep breath. "Cullen, I can't do this anymore."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This. Us." She sighed. "We need to end it."

Cullen's jaw clenched and he swallowed. "I see. I thought..." He cut off with a small sound of disgust. "I guess it doesn't matter what I thought." He glared at her for a moment, looking so angry that Evelyn nearly flinched. Then he folded his arms across his chest and looked away from her.

"Cullen, I'm sorry, I should have – "

"I'm afraid I'm quite busy at the moment. Will you excuse me?" His voice was as cold as ice.

Evelyn was startled. "That's it? You have nothing more to say?"

"Would you have me beg?" he snapped. "You've made your decision, and I suppose I must live with it. Now, I must return to my duties, Inquisitor."

Evelyn felt like he had slapped her. He hadn't used her title while they were alone in weeks. She gathered this was how breakups were supposed to go, but she still fought back tears as she ran out of his office and down to the training yard. Cassandra said nothing while she watched Evelyn attack a practice dummy with uncorked zeal, but after a few minutes, she offered to run drills with her. The Seeker pushed Evelyn harder than she ever had before, and by the end of the day, Evelyn was so exhausted, she could hardly make the climb to her quarters. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Bless Cassandra.

…

It took three days for Evelyn to realize she had made a terrible mistake.

She felt completely wretched the entire time, of course. She missed Cullen terribly. She missed his voice and his smiles and his warmth. She missed him being happy to see her, especially because now he was most decidedly not. She missed his kisses and caresses, even though they had made her feel anxious and inadequate. They had also made her feel desired and beautiful and aroused, and if only she could have figured out how to take the next step – or even what the next step was – she could still be with him. But she was so pathetically behind in life experience and it just seemed unfair to expect him to wait for her to catch up, even if she had to hurt him to extricate him from the hopeless tangle of her childishness.

So, of course she was miserable. She cared deeply for him, perhaps even loved him, and she'd had to let him go.

It wasn't the misery that made her realized how terribly wrong she'd been. The misery made sense. She threw herself into combat training from sun up to sun down, practicing with Cassandra, Bull, Blackwall, even Dorian – anyone who would enter the ring with her got a taste of her practice blade. The notable exception, of course, was Cullen, who normally would have been the first to train her. How she missed the days of squaring off against him, grinning in spite of herself when he issued cocky promises to have her on her back within five minutes. She supposed it wasn't actually cockiness, exactly, since he'd usually made good on his threats. At least in the beginning.

She'd been so embarrassingly green when she first joined the Inquisition. She'd never held a sword in her life, nor used a shield, nor fought anyone or anything. She'd hardly known what to do with herself, and Cullen had immediately attempted to rectify her inadequacies. He pushed her through a crash course in swordsmanship, desperate to help her build some combat skills so she wouldn't be a complete liability on expeditions.

He'd gotten frustrated with her at times. She could still hear his voice in her head, exasperated – Evelyn, you've got a shield in your hand. Block with it! – but overall he'd been wonderfully patient, praising her every success no matter how small, and using her mistakes as teaching opportunities. She'd begun her training in a morass of anxiety, completely intimidated by the fierce, handsome commander and sure that he would reduce her to a tearful wreck within the first hour. But she'd been surprised by his dedication and reassurance – he had high standards, but he was willing to help her meet them, and he'd tried his best with humor and encouragement to make their sessions fun. Evelyn had begun to look forward to them, and to spending time with him.

As Evelyn watched him drilling some new recruits, nearly as useless as she'd been when she first joined the Inquisition, it hit her like one of Dorian's thunderbolts. Why would she expect Cullen to be any different in the bedroom than he was in the training yard? For combat, she couldn't have asked for a better teacher. He'd never berated her or humiliated her, even when he barked corrections. He'd never treated her like she was beneath him or wasting his time. He'd shown her what to do as many times as necessary and then helped her do it, until swinging a sword and blocking with a shield felt as natural as walking.

He'd be that way in bed. He'd be the perfect teacher. She'd had the best possible opportunity to learn about love from a man she adored, and in a moment of self-conscious panic, she'd thrown it all away and broken his heart in the process. She knew she wasn't making too much of herself – she could see the pain she'd caused him on his face every time he was forced to speak with her. And over what? Stupid fears that he could have helped her move beyond, if only she'd let him.

Now Evelyn was truly miserable.

It was probably for the best that she would be leaving shortly on an expedition to the Emerald Graves. No doubt Cullen wished to be rid of her, and her new-found understanding of what exactly she'd cost herself made being near him unbearable for her, too. She considered apologizing and begging him to take her back, but every time she glanced at his closed, forbidding expression, she knew it was hopeless. She'd have better luck breaking into Therinfal Redoubt.

…

"Report for you, ser."

Cullen held out his hand and accepted the scroll, unrolling it absently as he scanned the most recent weapon requisition for the Inquisition's archers. His stomach turned as he glanced at the paper in his hand – he recognized the penmanship immediately. Evelyn. How was is that she could still affect him, all the way from Orlais? Just the sight of her looping, girlish handwriting filled him with both longing and despair.

Her letter was brief. She'd found the evidence of red lyrium smuggling he needed and had enclosed the letters that would point him to their source. He read each one carefully, a plan taking shape in his mind, although he'd have to consult with Leliana first. Evelyn had done good work, and he finally felt like the Inquisition had made progress on dealing with Samson. He was so pleased with the report, he almost forgot his misery over the Inquisitor. That is, until he turned to the last page.

He was expecting another smuggler letter, but instead it was a short note in Evelyn's hand, not quite as neat as usual, as if she'd written it hastily.

Dear Cullen,

I made a terrible mistake. I never should have ended things with you. I felt overwhelmed by my responsibilities as Inquisitor, as well as by other complications, which I would prefer to explain privately, in person. I see now that none of these issues is insurmountable, and in fact I probably panicked over nothing. I know I hurt you, Cullen, and I am so very sorry. Please forgive me. Please talk to me. I would repair things between us, if I could. If you'll let me. I know I'm the biggest idiot in Thedas and I don't deserve a second chance, but I'm asking for one anyway. I'll see you when we return.

Yours,

Evelyn

Cullen re-read her note a dozen times, torn between the impulse to crumple it and toss it into the fire, and the urge to shout for joy. She was an idiot (though he was sure there were bigger ones out there), and she had hurt him terribly, but he still loved her. Was it enough, though? He couldn't handle an on-again/off-again relationship, and her mention of "other complications" concerned him. What complications? She'd never mentioned anything – in fact, she'd always seemed reluctant to talk about personal matters, shying away from him whenever he tried to discover how she'd like their relationship to proceed. He'd assumed it was a combination of her natural shyness and her inexperience – he couldn't imagine she'd had many lovers, growing up in the Chantry. Perhaps none. But maybe he'd misread her, and her reluctance to speak frankly covered deeper issues. Could she be betrothed? That seemed unlikely, as she was pledged to the Chantry. Perhaps she had a secret paramour?

He growled in frustration and folded her letter, tossing it in his desk drawer. Trying to imagine her "complications" would only frustrate and upset him. She would simply have to explain. Cullen was willing to hear her out, for he missed her too desperately to deny himself a chance to reconcile, but she'd better be prepared to open up to him, or he was done.