There are things you can't say when you condemn men to their deaths and they go willingly, because you asked them to go. There are things you can't do when yours is the only blade between the Fade and a mage's mind. There are memories lost between the first vial and the last that will never be recovered, and nightmares that never end no matter how far you go or how much time passes. You can't be rid of the song in your head, and you can't see clear of the madness, of the lies and the danger. Your hand is always on the hilt of your sword.
Sometimes the song dims, though. You noticed it the first time when she smiled at you across the war table, and you stumbled over your words. The second time when she watched you as you worked, and you could feel her eyes on you, like the sun on your skin. But when you looked back, she was gone, her dark hair disappearing into the crowd. You found yourself watching for her whenever she was in camp, listening for the lilt of her voice somewhere near. Almost she drowns out the mad song. Almost she makes you forget.
It becomes more complicated, as things do. She asks you questions about the nightmares, the time in the Circle, and you can see yourself reflected in her eyes. Later she asks you questions that set you on fire, that turn your ears as red as hers are pointed, and you find yourself at a loss for words. Not common for you, given as you are to command and thinking on the spot. Your heart, you think, is on your sleeve. Leliana hasn't made any comments yet, so perhaps you're hiding your feelings well ... perhaps not. She just asked you if you've always had a preference for elven mages.
Almost you make it past the closing of the Breach without betraying yourself. But then the monsters come and the dragons and she's standing in front of you demanding that you let her try ... that you let her die. Maker, but this is too much. This is how nightmares are born. You know then that you are lost.
Cold in your arms as you bring her back to camp, only a little bit broken, only a little bit lost. You found her. Does that make her yours? You start a fight because you can't breathe anymore, because you know there are things you should not do. Duty calls you back to that bleak place and the song resumes until you are near mad with it ... and she distracts you all over again and your voice is lifting, pushing back the dark and you dream of green eyes beneath dark hair and the sweetest lips ...
Long cold nights in the tower, the song lilting in your head. You can ignore it when you think of her. When you imagine her face and her smile and the way she touched your hand in passing the day before she left. You wake screaming and calm yourself by remembering her. A touchstone to get you through the night, no matter how much a phantom. They patch the castle, rebuild ... and she returns, the light lifts and gleams and you find yourself fighting against the tide
Not a Templar anymore. Not bound by lyrium and vows, despite the cursed song. Nothing matters but her lips on yours and, when you finally get the chance, you take it. Damn them all. This is what you want, not your honor or duty. She is your duty now. You can lose yourself in her without fear and, waking, she drives the dreams away.
The song lingers, it will always try to overcome you, to steal your soul and your mind, but she is more powerful yet. She sets you on fire with a look and comforts with a touch. You pray and pray, knowing if you lose her now, you will break.