A/N: My writing muse has apparently left me for greener pastures recently. I have a bunch of things/chapters half written that I can't seem to finish up despite my desire to do so. I thought maybe writing something angsty would help. We'll see if it does. Please note the triggers for self-harm and depression. If I keep going with this story, it will be a happy ending, but this first chapter is most definitely not happy. Also, no smut. This is more of an emotional exploration. The rating is for language and dark themes. If you keep reading, thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: Seek

"There's someone here to see you."

Cullen chucked to himself. He was almost in more demand these days than he used to be at Skyhold. "We're running out of rooms, Rylen. We'll have to start doubling up, not that anyone would mind."

The former Commander of the Inquisition, and former Templar, had hoped his project to aid other former Templars find a new path would be successful but he never dreamed so many would come so quickly. It filled him with satisfaction knowing he was helping his brothers find a future without lyrium. It made all of his past struggles worth it.

"It's not a Templar, it's…"

"It's a very important, very handsome old friend who has valiantly braved the rough reality of backwater Ferelden in order to speak with one equally handsome ex-Templar. Now step aside."

Dorian pushed past Rylen loudly announcing his own arrival. The newly minted magister looked down his nose at his surroundings. Cullen's office was small but comfortable and it was all he needed. He spent most of his time in the fields or attending to the endless chores in and around his new farmlands and helping his 'charges' do the same.

Every man and woman who sought sanctuary here eagerly contributed to the work that needed doing. Ultimately it helped them find their way back to themselves and away from their Chantry chains in the solitude and solace of what Cullen considered an idyllic pastoral setting. Dorian apparently felt differently.

"Do you have any idea how inconvenient it is to visit you?" His 'old friend' helped himself to a chair across from his desk. Rylen smiled, shook his head and left them alone.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Cullen said amicably. He always did enjoy seeing friends. Most of them had come to visit him at least once already, including Cass...Divine Victoria, he corrected himself, who offered a blessing on the place that was well received by the public and much appreciated. The only person he'd yet to host in his new home was Evelyn. In fact, he hadn't seen her since the Inquisition was disbanded.

Cullen shifted in his chair and pushed away his familiar regret at the thought of her. Whether he would ever act on that regret or just let it sit for a while longer, he hadn't yet decided. If there was one thing he had now, it was time. He'd been given a clear head, a life and all the time in the world, not in small part because of the Inquisitor herself, but again he set aside the ruminating for later.

Dorian's expression changed at Cullen's casual question from one of happy greeting to serious business. "Have you heard from or seen Evelyn recently?"

There was something in Dorian's tone Cullen didn't like. Coupled with his all too frequent thoughts about her and now this unexpected visit had his heart start to beat just a few paces faster.

"No...I...I haven't." He cast his eyes downward and rubbed guiltily at the back of his neck. Things were better now. He should have contacted her. Things were calm and he'd wanted so many times to write to her or visit her and perhaps try to tell her that he felt ready now.

He was finally the man he wanted to be, free and clear, and he was ready to try. All too often he thought back to when she expressed her desire to have a more intimate relationship with him. Though it was the right decision at the time to tell her he couldn't return her feelings when he was still so affected by the physical and emotional toll his withdrawals were taking on him, it didn't make it any easier to remember how much he'd wanted to be with her, and yet couldn't. But now it was different. Now...

"Exactly." Dorian interrupted his thoughts. "None of us really have. When things settled a bit back home, I tried to communicate with her several times, but I was unable to reach her, so I decided to be persistent."

"One of your many virtues" Cullen added dryly.

"Indeed." Dorian's voice still carried an undercurrent of concern that was starting to make Cullen uncomfortable. He leaned forward with rapt attention now as the mage continued talking.

"Apparently, letters to the Inquisitor have continued to go to Skyhold via Leliana while our former spymaster continues to pack the place up in mothballs. The good Sister, however, has had nowhere to forward them too. She told me Evelyn took a few of her things and left very shortly after the healers assured her arm was as healed as it was going to get. She told The Nightingale she was going to visit her family on a short trip but when she didn't return after a few weeks Leliana sent word to Ostwick and found out that not only had Evelyn not returned there for a visit, but that the Trevelyans hadn't seen their daughter since they sent her to the Circle and despite having saved the world etcetera, etcetera, they had no desire to communicate with her. And thus, I find myself here."

It was Dorian's turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat. "She always had feelings for you Cullen, I don't think that was any secret, but she respected your boundaries. I thought perhaps now that things have slowed down, she might have tried to contact you…?" His words drifted off, the answer to his question already obvious on Cullen's confused face.

"Are you saying no one knows where she is?" Somehow, it was The Commander's voice that escaped Cullen's mouth, direct and firm, anxiety starting to descend over a missing Evelyn that he'd willfully avoided contacting all these months because of his own stupid hesitations.

Dorian sighed and sat back. "We know where she is, Cullen. We've all tried to see her since I found her, but she didn't want to be found you see. She's not…" Dorian searched for the right words. "She isn't herself. And it's...well, it's just...we thought you might be able to speak with her more effectively. You need to try."

Whether Cullen wanted to or not, whether he felt ready or not, something was wrong and he found he now couldn't get to her fast enough. Dorian rose and slipped a small piece of parchment onto his desk.

"She's not very far from here, ironically." He murmured softly and pointed at the parchment. "Those are the best directions I can give you. I'll be staying in town for a few days. I'd like to hear if you manage to get through to her." And with that Dorian left in the physical sense but he left behind a horrible feeling of finality and resignation.

Cullen set out the following day.

The "directions" Dorian provided proved mostly worthless. It appeared Evelyn had relocated near a small town very close by. It took Cullen only two days' ride to get there but once he arrived no one could direct him to where she was staying. The village was friendly and welcoming but no one knew Evelyn by name nor did they seem to know that the former Inquisitor had settled among them. After another two days of searching in what was increasingly becoming an exercise in futility, Cullen decided to try a different tactic.

Business in the outdoor market of the little hamlet was dying down on the fifth evening after Dorian's visit to Cullen's farm. He stopped at each of the merchants and specifically asked after a dark haired woman missing her left hand.

"Oh! Right dearie, I've seen her now and then." An old woman with a youthful smile looked up at him from behind her stall. "Frail thing she is. Said she lost her arm in the war. I told her my grandson could help her round her house if she needed anything, but she's never taken me up on the offer. I'm usually the only one still open when she comes by."

The woman didn't know specifically where Evelyn was living but directed him into the woods saying that she would buy her necessities and then venture back into the forest away from the village proper.

It was getting late but Cullen wasn't about to wait until morning. By moonlight he walked a narrow winding path through the trees on the outskirts of the inhabited areas. It almost wasn't a path at all, just a bit of clear space where the brambles had yet to spawn. Eventually he saw a dim light in a clearing up ahead. A tiny shack came into view.

Cullen would have expected to find wards or protection spells around an otherwise unprotected dwelling if this was truly where Evelyn was living. She'd always been careful and conscientious. Yet as he slowly approached not only were there no defensive spells hindering his progress, the rickety door was ajar, not locked or bolted, not even shut. The weak burn of candlelight slipped out from the cracked open entryway.

Cullen drew his sword. He was now certain Evelyn was not the occupant of this place but he needed to at least assure whoever was bold enough, or dangerous enough, to ignore simple safety in the dark woods at night wasn't going to be a problem for the villagers.

He tapped on the door with his weapon, and when there was no response he pushed it open with his boot. He wished he would have found a bandit lair. It would have been much less unnerving. What he found chilled him to his bones.

Evelyn was sprawled on her side in a small cot facing the door. Her eyes were closed and she didn't stir when he entered. She'd cut her hair. Her hair with a scent he could recall on memory alone from the few times she stood so close it would waft towards him. Her long hair that had featured many times in his fantasies, tangled through his fingers and strewn across his chest.

The once abundant tresses were trimmed close to her scalp in some places and in other spots there were longer pieces, ragged and careless. He wondered how much time it had taken her with only one hand to do even that much. Her full and healthy figure, that he imagined he might be able to hold in his arms one day, had wasted away. She was nothing but sharp angles covered by too big clothes.

The arrest of speech he suffered at the first glimpse of her was nothing compared to the clenching pain in his gut at the sight of her remaining hand hanging loose over the edge of the bed. A thin trickle of blood traveled down her palm slowly following a path to her fingertips and then dripping onto the dirt of the floor in a growing stain. The blood came from a deep cut on her wrist, a fresh one among what looked to be many older ones in various states of healing.

Too shocked to move, he just stood there in the doorway, his sword having fallen sadly to his side. There were no enemies to fight here. Unless pain could be considered one.

"Go away Cullen." Evelyn whispered from dry lips, her eyes still closed. The words were devoid of any emotion. Her affect was flat. Dull. Empty. "I'm trying to sleep."

"It looks like you're trying to die." The terrible thought popped in his head and found its way to his mouth before he could hold it back. He didn't want to think it. He didn't want to say it. But the truth of it, the sight of it, couldn't be denied.

"The Maker isn't that kind." The shadow that used to be the Inquisitor finally sat up. Their eyes met. Hers were hollow, his were still wide with disbelief. "Now leave." She ordered him, a small measure of her former authority echoing through the strain of...of living.

Fucking Void. It hit him all at once, the realization that he intimately knew what she was feeling. Or what she was desperately trying not to feel. He'd felt it when the lyrium call was still so strong in his blood he could almost hear nothing else. It was she who had helped him through that. She, who had once been so strong, now looked done. Hopeless.

But how? Why?

She continued talking but turned away from him, lying back down on the bed, this time facing the wall. "The Templars need you. And tell Dorian to go back home as well. Tevinter needs him. I'm officially through with being 'needed' so please go the fuck away."

"Evelyn…" What was he to say? Where was he to start? What was going on? To say that she wasn't herself was an understatement of massive proportions. She had been a rock, a force, a Herald. Now she just looked broken.

"Go Cullen! Go!" Angry now, she shouted and moved faster than her feeble form should have allowed. Rising from the bed, she lifted her good but bloodied hand at him. Never had she used magic on him. Never would she have dared. He wasn't expecting it when she threw out a shock wave so powerful it flung him off his feet and hurled him backwards into the woods. The wind was knocked out of him and consciousness left him when he collided with a tree trunk. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Evelyn slamming her door shut. The last thing he felt, the last thing his damnable persistent Templar senses felt, was the lingering taint of blood on her magic.

A/N #2: I want to give credit and thanks to KuraNova who suggested that I should have Evelyn use the cutting involved in blood magic as the means for her self-harm. It seemed to fit with the idea I had for this story, so thank you so much for the inspiration friend!