Note: These are my own head canons and as a result, are likely to end up being rather AU post Inquisition's release. I'm havin' fun... just roll with it.
All characters and locations are the property of Bioware; I'm here to provide David Gaider with more tears.
/+++/
"My lady Inquisitor?"
Isabeau Trevelyan wearily raised her eyes from their gaze upon the map stretched beneath her. Ever the poor sleeper, she had paced agitatedly in her quarters for some time before finally deciding to walk the familiar halls back to the war room. She had lost track of time scrutinizing her current troop movements and secured Keeps, straining to determine her next course of action for the powers she now commanded.
She slowly ground the heels of her hands into her heavy eyelids, blearily focusing on the stunning Antivan diplomat before her. Too many late nights; she's here to chastise you again.
"Josephine, is something the matter?"
The raven haired woman graciously bowed before striding towards the expansive table, "If you would follow me Inquisitor, I believe it more prudent to show you than waste time with explanations."
Isabeau sceptically quirked an eyebrow but dipped her head in assent all the same, swiftly rounding the corner of the table before following Josephine's brisk strides out into the halls of Skyhold. The towering window arches revealed a clear skied night, the mountains and their snow-caps illuminated by the full moon. Since arriving at Skyhold, Isabeau had taken great joy in walking the keep's soaring walls and long corridors. The windows of her own bedchamber looked out upon a great waterfall, its steady but muted roar having soothed her to sleep some nights. At the end of the hallway, Josephine extended a hand before her, directing the Inquisitor towards the stairs which lead to the keep's private bed chambers. Isabeau's own quarters were only a few doors down and to the left of the stairs, but it was to the right which Josephine led her.
At the door to her military advisor's solar the pair had come to a stop, the young diplomat standing dutifully at the threshold as Isabeau entered. There was a soft creaking behind her as the door was gently closed, Isabeau finding herself now alone in Cullen's solar. The fire to her right was burned down to glowing embers, two over-stuffed leather arm chairs facing the hearth. A pile of parchments sat precariously atop a nearby footstool.
"Ah, it is good of you to have come, Inquisitor. My apologies for the late disturbance," Solas appeared from behind a pair of double doors, crossing his arms over his chest, a rueful smirk troubling his lips, "At least the disturbance was not to your sleep."
"It is no trouble Solas – by now my routine is hardly a secret," Isabeau strode over to the hedge mage, following him as he turned and made his way through the double doors into Cullen's cabinet. "That being said… why am I finding myself in my advisors quarters at such an hour? Josephine seemed… vexed."
"Indeed, I sent her to you. Ser Cullen is… unwell."
The pair approached the rather impressive bed along the far side of the room, Isabeau absently admiring the bold, red drapes that hung upon the intricately carved tester. Truth be told, she had never entered any of her companions quarters, more than oft entertaining visitors she may have either in the great hall or the solar of her own apartments. There were several rather tall bookcases lining the walls and on either side of the hearth, most of which were tidily stocked though she could not help but notice many were not; scraps of vellum and parchment had been haphazardly filed amongst the tomes and assorted trinkets. An armor stand caught her eye in the corner and Isabeau slowly stepped before it, her hands moving on their own accord. She appreciatively ran her fingers through the soft fur of Cullen's mantle, her eyes scanning the contours of his impressive helm.
She turned to face Solas, embarrassed at her impulsivity, "Define unwell..."
"I'm sure you're well aware of certain… limitations Templars must contend with?" Solas asked pointedly as he stood at the foot of the bed, Cullen's large form lying before them. Isabeau winced as she took in the sweat soaked man, the sheets of his bedding were twisted around his form; his coverlet's long since kicked to the floor. At the sight of the viciously dark circles discoloring the man's eyes, her hands gripped the edges of the bed frame so hard her knuckles went white.
"I am aware Solas. What I was not aware of was any Lyrium shortages amongst our supply lines. Let alone within Skyhold itself."
Solas raised a hand to cup his chin between his thumb and index finger, his brows furrowing. "That's because there are no shortages. We have enough Lyrium stores now to see us through a siege six months long."
Not a chance. Cullen was always one of the last to retire for the evening from the war room and this night had not been any different. Was it possible she had been so consumed to have missed any signs of fatigue or distress? Isabeau rounded on Solas, tearing her eyes from Cullen's sweaty and distorted face, "I need Cullen at optimum capacity, and he hardly strikes me as the type to jeopardize his and my responsibilities casually."
"Agreed. It is… most peculiar behavior for Ser Cullen."
"Then let us give him some Lyrium and be done with it," Isabeau didn't want to be callous but her urgency to return Cullen to some semblance of stability was leaving her words harried and curt. There was an uncomfortable tightness settling in her chest that she wasn't keen on examining too closely as she looked upon her Marshall. In the time since Cassandra had found her listlessly wandering the ruins deep in the Frostbacks, Isabeau's entire existence had been torn asunder. Since becoming acquainted with the stoic templar, combined with their days and nights shared analyzing strategy, Cullen had become somewhat of a beacon of stability. There was an honesty to the knight that Isabeau had found refreshing, a blessed temperance that had rescued her from the worst of Cassandra's verbal onslaughts in the early days of the Inquisition. Cullen's candor could occasionally borderline boorish, sometimes to the chagrin of his fellow advisors, but Isabeau's resume was warfare and it usually had her agreeing with him.
Yes, that's entirely your reasoning.
She scoffed at her own bitter musings and raised her piercing eyes to her Elvhen companion, her stormy grey orbs meeting his hooded hazel, "You seem reticent Solas. I would have you speak your mind, if you would be so willing," she said as she slowly made her way around the end of the bed, her fingertips gliding over the damp and wrinkled sheets before pausing at Cullen's own callused digits. They twitched restlessly before her, his whole body jerking at random as muffled whimpers escaped his twisted lips.
"Surely a dose of Lyrium would have been my first course of action," Solas sardonically drawled as he pulled an empty bottle from a pouch secured to his hip, holding it up to show the blue remnants at the bottom of the glass. Isabeau silently cursed as her eyes trailed over Cullen's clammy skin, watching as beads of sweat heatedly cascaded over the contours of his muscles. Biting her lip, she reached for the wash basin and wrung out the soaked cloth before turning to press it to Cullen's feverish forehead.
Solas came to stand at the Inquisitor's side, his own hand reaching down to feel the pulse at Cullen's neck. "I remained to watch and ensure Cullen stabilized. When my wait was not satisfied with results, I sent for you. Lucky me - lucky Cullen, that Josephine seems to share your schedule. Perhaps this is self-inflicted… perhaps not?"
Isabeau gave Cullen's large, clammy hand a squeeze. "Speak to me plainly Solas."
"If I were to hazard a guess, its likely Ser Cullen was gradually weening himself to lower dosages of the substance. It is possible tonight was… a misjudgment of his bodies readiness to be purged completely. I have exhausted most of my options available to wake him," he paused and crossed his arms again, his face darkening as the light from the hearth shadowed his face, "I believe Cullen is in a form of withdrawal-induced coma… and a coma is but another form of sleep."
She narrowed her eyes in apprehension. "You would have us enter the Fade."
It was not a question.
"We can summon Vivienne and Dorian. You are in a state of constant connection to the Fade, Trevelyan. With the three of us, it should be relatively safe," Solas implored, moving to meet her on the same side of Cullen's bed. "If we do not lift him from this state, his body could go into shock and we may very well lose him. Once he is out of the woods, so to speak, we can determine what happened… and not from a cadaver."
A strangled cry erupted from Cullen and Isabeau squeezed her eyes shut.
"Do it."
/+++/
Familiar green haze clouded the edges of Isabeau's vision as she silently made her way through the odd halls of ancient stone and blood. Distorted screams danced teasingly at the edges of her earshot, fading to little more than unintelligible whispers whenever she attempted to focus on the voices. Each time they flittered around her like eerie birds, she strained to catch a hint of Cullen's tangled amongst them.
Maker, where is this hell?
For what felt like hours Isabeau had been literally going in circles. With every floor she climbed of the tower she came upon more staircases, more grotesque piles of unidentifiable gore and limbs. While she had marveled at what appeared to be a magnificent library, the charm wore off quickly when she reminded herself books were meaningless and empty in the Fade. The chambers and halls were filled with bodies, desks and other manner of furniture, nearly all afloat at every possible angle. Isabeau would have almost found it comical if she wasn't so disturbed otherwise. Besides, where are all the demons looking for a tasty morsel?
It was the distinct lack of the malevolent spirits that was causing her skin to itch uncomfortably. Had the breach allowed so many to cross over and pollute Thedas that the Fade was nigh on still? Her hand instinctively tightened around her bastard sword, her marked hand glowing brightly upon the grip and cross guard. While the thought offered some modicum of hope that her current endeavor would not be as trying as she feared, she'd also dealt with enough of the vermin to focus that hope into a swift stride and steady hands. If Solas' lessons had driven anything into her for preparation, it was understanding that faith and determination were of more use to her here than her trepidation.
Oh look, another staircase.
As she climbed the steps before her, she began to recall the precious few details she'd known of Cullen's past. Ooh Maker... that's right; he had been at Kinloch Hold when it nearly fell into oblivion. Given Isabeau's current surroundings, perhaps in Cullen's mind it had. And let's not forget the debacle that was Kirkwall. Maker's breath, the man has abysmal luck. While the opinion was a gross understatement, she couldn't help but feel a swell of admiration for the man it apparently shaped Cullen into. The city's Champion had fled, evidently leaving Cullen behind to pick up the pieces. Reining in a city rampant and in ruins, while also trying to maintain some semblance of peace, was not a feat to be scoffed at.
When Isabeau found herself at the top, she entered another chamber that was not unlike the previous ones below, this one also lined with upturned bookcases and other items of bizarre make and purpose. One was a giant globe of soft blues and violet, the numerous and delicate golden rings that encased it finely carved with various runes. As she approached it, tilting her head in curiosity, the rings began to spin rapidly around the pale globe. A faint, high pitched whir was emitting from whatever it was; Isabeau decided it was best to leave it alone and turned for the door at the far end of the hall.
This was certainly not her first willing foray into the Fade, but Isabeau had never trusted to investigate anything beyond a glance when in the bizarre world. They were still far from surmising exactly what her ability to close rifts meant within the Fade itself, Isabeau deciding its uses outside the Fade were enough to sate her curiosity for now. Maybe here I can use it to summon some sweet cakes. Maybe some lamprey pie…
Isabeau rolled her eyes at herself as she reached for the latch on the heavy wooden door, lifting and pushing it open. Immediately she brought a hand up to her mouth and nose, covering them in disgust as the sickly, sweet smell of decay assaulted her senses. Across from her, bloody black and rotting heaps of corpses were piled nearly half-way to the ceiling. Oddly, she couldn't recall smelling anything while searching the previous floors of the tower, the sudden onslaught to her senses almost making her gag before she turned around and was struck frozen in place.
Encased in dated Templar armor, kneeling and shaking, was Cullen. Isabeau sheathed her sword as she approached the strange light barrier that appeared to surround her advisors trembling form. As she extended her fingertips to touch the shimmering light, she thought better of it and quickly pulled her hand back, opting to kneel before him instead.
"Cullen!"
Slowly he raised his head, his eyes meeting hers briefly before darting around the room anxiously. "This trick again?"
The man before her was without a doubt her Marshall, but Isabeau noted the subtle changes in his features. Whatever manner of torment that had befallen him here was evident enough in his sunken and red rimmed eyes but... It's Cullen… different though; where is his scar?
She shook her head of the curiosity.
"No tricks Cullen, just me… Isabeau. It's time to leave this place my friend," Isabeau spoke gently and carefully, not wanting to frighten the man any more than he already was. Cullen's face slowly began to soften, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her crouched form. You can get out of this big guy. Before Isabeau could reach out her hand however, his eyes snapped to something behind her. A pathetic cry escaped his lips as he again buried his face into his trembling hands, sobs wracking his body.
"You will do as I command, Cullen."
Isabeau whipped around to find two women standing before her. One was clad in a provocative form-fitting robe, long tresses of dark hair cascading past her shoulders. The other woman was as fair as the previous was dark. Blonde hair and piercing blue eyes bore into Isabeau's, the shimmering of Cullen's cage and Isabeau's own hand glimmering off the diadem gracing the creature's forehead. While Isabeau and Cullen had certainly nurtured a promising rapport over their shared tasks for the Inquisition, in no way had she dared to pry beyond the business at hand. The dark haired woman was a mystery to Isabeau… The blonde though. Kirkwall…
Isabeau rose to her full height, blithely sliding her bastard sword from its scabbard, the finely crafted blade outstretched between her person and the demons. "You are not Meredith Stannard… nor do you command this man."
Eyes that were firstly striking blue and dusky brown morphed to a glowing purple haze, perverse grins spreading across both women's faces. The unknown woman sashayed towards Isabeau, hips seductively rolling with each step, before stopping a foot away from Isabeau's blade.
"Have you forgotten me sweet Ser Cullen? Would this one please you more now?"
Revulsion grated at Isabeau's poised stance as she watched the robes practically melt from the demons body, her own naked form taking shape in replacement. No sooner had the raven haired woman disappeared than did she reappear in replacement of the false Meredith, coming up behind the demon imitating Isabeau's form. A hand faintly shimmering of violet snaked up to cup a supple breast. Vulgar moans escaped their lips before the dark haired demon's hand slowly trailed its way between the doppelgangers' legs and pale blonde curls.
"Does Ser Cullen desire us both?" Their voices became one singular purr, somehow moans of ecstasy simultaneously enveloping the room, "Does Ser Cullen desire to fuck us both?"
Isabeau couldn't help but stare in sickened fascination at the scene that was unfolding. While the demons predominately had the appearance of the human women, Isabeau could see more of their true form the longer she looked. Cullen must have dared a glance as she heard a desperate and half-hungry groan slip from his lips
"Oh Maker…! Y-you... cannot use my, my shame against me... now be gone!"
Isabeau suddenly snapped to attention, shaking her head in an effort to rid it of the visions of desire. Bearing witness to the deeply personal needs and fears Cullen endured, in such a twisted and depraved display, left a bitter taste in her mouth. She buried the waves of pity that were threatening to crash over and consume her.
"Enough! You will die!"
She leapt at the demons, feinting to bring her sword down from a high arc before she swept gracefully behind the fiends at the last second. She pivoted on the balls of her feet and in one fluid movement her sword slashed across one of the creature's shoulders, her blade cleanly slicing off the head of the dark haired demon. Even severed, the wretched thing shrieked as it returned to its usual demon form, its headless corpse collapsing to the floor in a heap. The second had narrowly missed the edge of the blade and though Isabeau attempted to leap from its advancing grasp, she felt a sharp yank and pain in her neck as the demons claws tightened around her throat.
Isabeau's feet quickly shot up, planting themselves firmly against the demons torso, her thick and powerful thighs releasing a heaving kick; both demon and Isabeau sent sprawling from the awkward and sudden release. With an echoing clatter her sword was knocked away from her immediate reach, Isabeau faintly acknowledging its whereabouts before the demon leapt at her again, its razor-like claws raking across her leather and plate bodice. As the Inquisitor dodged another attack and dove for where her sword lay, the wind was suddenly knocked from her lungs as she felt something slam forcefully into her back, hurtling her to the floor face first. An all-encompassing heat licked at her flesh, the demon attacking her with its spells of Fade flame. A scream erupted from her as she hastily tried to simultaneously roll away and extinguish the flames, but the demon was too quickly upon her, grabbing her ankle and yanking her back. Isabeau's fingers just brushed the pommel of her bastard sword when an unnatural scream exploded from behind her, the demons grip on her ankle instantly released.
Panting, Isabeau quickly rolled over onto her back, her fingers finally gripping her blade before swiftly thrusting its point protectively out in front of her. The barrier that had previously contained Cullen was gone and before her stood the Cullen she recognized, a sword held in both hands that was buried deep between the demons shoulders. The scar that graced his lips had returned; his hair disheveled but less unruly. As he savagely kicked the demon to the side, his hand reached down to help her up, a mixture of shame and shock clear in his misty green eyes.
"Inquisitor… I…"
Clasping his hand in hers, Isabeau allowed Cullen to pull her back to her feet, the pair both breathing in quick shallow gasps from the aftermath of the ordeal. Isabeau planted her hands on her knees as she sucked in deep breaths of the Fade around them, the searing pain in her flesh dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. She tilted her head to look up at Cullen through the wavy and ashen tresses of her hair. Before another word could leave either of their lips, Isabeau watched in relief as Cullen began to fade, the stonework beneath her own feet lurching before her vision went dark.