This story was written for "Cheeky Monkey's Gift Exchange". I pulled Zevgirl's name out of the hat, so to speak, and wrote this story for her. It is quite, quite possible there might be additional chapters.

First Day

Cullen cast a guilty look around his office. He was alone for the first time all day. The sun was just starting to set and dinner would be served soon. This was also that time of the day when he rode the indigo pony. The daily cues from just normal everyday life were potent triggers. Three months now, and each day was worse than the last. He took his kit out of the drawer, opened it, looking longingly at the half-full lyrium vial. Just a little. Something to take the edge off. Get his strength back. His hand shook as he reached for the vial.

"And how is this working out for you, Cullen?"

The templar jumped up, turning, hand on his sword hilt. That he didn't draw it was proof that his reflexes were slowed. Or maybe it was because at some level he had always expected to hear Hawke's liltingly sarcastic tones again. Her voice was like a pleasantly soothing song, until you really listened to the lyrics, then it became infuriating.

"Hawke! What the…" That he stammered the words infuriated him. And now she had seen him like this! He swept the lyrium kit off his desk back into the drawer. Perhaps she hadn't noticed. He hid his trembling hands behind his back and scowled at her.

"What the Void am I doing here?" She laughed and settled herself on the edge of his desk. "I could ask you the same. But to answer you, the Inquisition seems to need my help with Corypheus."

She paused and raked him from head to mid-section with her laughing blue eyes. It made him feel exposed and uncomfortable. She always did that to him. Damn her. But something caught his interest. There were fine lines at the edges of her eyes. He didn't remember seeing them before. Well, of course, they were both older now. But those little lines seemed to make her even more attractive. Shit.

"You look good, though, Cullen."

She had to be kidding, or taunting him. He knew he looked like shit. He hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in weeks and he was pale and sweaty. Vivienne was always making snide comments about how sickly he was looking. Fiona kept touching his forehead and casting healing spells at him. Even Cassandra looked concerned.

"Do I?" he said. "Everyone seems to think I'm ill, yet you tell me I look good." A good offense was the best defense. It seemed to work, Hawke looked confounded, which was the first time he'd ever seen her look at a loss. Maybe being away from Kirkwall, where she felt strong, left her at a disadvantage.

"I mean—" she began then sighed and started over. "You do look overworked, true, but you also look good." A flush began to creep up her neck. "Sort of careworn. Like you're not taking orders from a crazy woman any longer, but now you're the one giving them." She paused a moment and her flippant smile disappeared. "Maybe they're not always orders you want to give."

"Interesting." He sat back down in his chair, tenting his fingers, and holding them in front of his mouth. It was another pose to still his shaking hands. "Last time we met you said I'd be handsome if I ever grew a backbone."

"Ah." She took a step backwards and the flush spread to her cheeks. "I did at that. I apologize, Cullen. We were not exactly on good terms, were we?"

"And now we are?" he said. He threw the words at her like little knives, hoping to stab.

"We're on the same side at least. That's something isn't it?" She walked over to his desk and leaned against it.

Sighing, he dropped his hands. Hawke was here. A little unwanted piece of his former life had shown up unexpectedly. Well, one must soldier through such moments. I would've been much easier with the lyrium. "I suppose it is. Now then, what can I help you with?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. I'm meeting the Inquisitor soon. I was wandering the battlements and got lost. Then I saw you and thought I'd say hello."

"Hello," he said curtly. "Now, can I give you directions? I'm afraid I have some matters to attend to."

"I'm not so good with directions."

"Then I'll show you." He rose from his desk and walked her in silence to the rookery. "Down these stairs." He pointed to the circular stairs that led directly to the library.

She turned and gave him a last look. He'd almost say it was regretful, or apologetic, but this was Hawke. He didn't believe those words were in her vocabulary.

"Night, Cullen. It is good to see you again."

He gave a curt nod. "Good night, Hawke."

~o~o~o~

"I don't believe we've met."

Hawke whirled and her eyes rose up to greet the most glorious mustache she'd ever seen. It adorned a handsome, chiseled face too. The body that went with it was equally impressive and adorned in a way that set it off to maximum effect.

"Oh!" she said. The man wasn't exactly the sort she expected to meet in a library, but he did have a staff strapped to his back, so she reckoned him a mage. One with an accent she couldn't quite place. It surprised the words out of her.

"I apologize. I shouldn't jump out of the stacks and ambush people. Completely uncouth. My name is Dorian Pavus, of the Tevinter Pavus's."

"Ah! I thought was having a hard time placing the accent. I'm Hawke, from Kirkwall. I'm a friend of Varric's."

"Funny, here I was thinking it was you that had an accent. But I dare say you don't have a Free Marcher's brogue, my dear. Did you study abroad?"

She laughed. "No, originally from Ferelden. My family returned to Kirkwall during the blight. My mother hails from there."

"Hawke is such an unusual name, so very raptorlicious."

She laughed again. Dorian was quite diverting. Someone she thought would be rather fun to spend some time with. "My surname. I prefer it to my given name."

"I don't suppose you'd tell me your first name?"

She shook her head. "Some names are too terrible to say out loud."

"Ha! And saying them simply gives one power, or so they say. Although, for being such a terrible name, we certainly have no qualms about saying Corypheus's name over and over."

Hawke laughed. "I'm afraid saying my name takes away my power. A Hawke is a fierce bird. I'd prefer people to think of me that way."

"Very well then, my lady Hawke. I was just on my way to the Herald's Rest. They have lately received a heady Tevinter vintage I've had a hankering for. Would you care to join me? Perhaps I can coax another name from you once the wine has loosened your tongue."

A drink was just the thing she needed. Seeing Cullen had upended a drawer full of messy memories and emotions.

"Count me in. I could use some schooling in Tevinter wines, but my name you'll never have," she said with a saucy wink.

~o~o~o~

Cold. Wet. Lumpy?

Hawke opened one eye and wished she hadn't. She was… where the hell was she? A stone wall and a lumpy bed with scratchy blankets. Wait, this was Skyhold, not the worst room at the Hanged Man. Besides even the Hanged Man didn't come with the sound of crashing water.

"These accommodations are shit," Hawke muttered into a greasy pillow. "Fuck you, Varric for inviting me here."

"Well, fuck you too, Hawke," a familiar voice said.

"Varric?" Hawke pushed herself up and was assailed by intense vertigo and nausea. Her head throbbed too, just for good measure. "Oh crap," she managed to say before she pitched herself to the floor and vomited. At least it wasn't in her cold, lumpy, damp bed.

"Dammit Hawke. I brought you here to help solve a problem, not to create new ones." Her best friend's voice was peevish.

"Varric, come on. How bad can it be? I had just a little wine with that mage," she replied. She still hadn't looked up from staring at the floor and the former contents of her stomach.

"Look up, Hawke."

With great effort she pushed herself away from the puddle of vomit and slowly edged back to a wall, just beginning to take in her surroundings: a cold stone wall at her back, the bed before her. To her right, not so far away another wall and then she turned her head slowly toward where she heard Varric's voice… bars.

"Uh oh," she said. "Prison already?"

"I thought you'd gotten off the sauce, Hawke. What happened?"

Varric could be quite the scold when he put his mind to it. His voice was dripping disapproval. "It was a lot of fun explaining to the Inquisitor that the great Hawke, the savior of Kirkwall, the mage who bested the Arishok, was in fact the recreating the battle with Meredith in the Herald's Rest, complete with fireballs."

"Seriously? Wow." Okay, what was a little historical reenactment between friends?

"Sera nearly drilled you with every arrow in her arsenal. She was convinced you'd gone abom. The Inquisitor locked you up down here for your protection as well as ours."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Varric sat down on the floor looking dejected. "He almost sent you back to Kirkwall. I had to do a lot of fast talking to change his mind. "Hawke… these people have no idea what they're getting into with Corphyeus and you need to help them understand. Don't fuck it up, okay? It's not just Kirkwall this time. It is the whole damn world."

Varric looked dejected, depressed, as if he'd just been given some really bad odds on what he thought was a sure thing. And it was her fault. She knew it.

"I'm… well, sorry. I'll do better. I promise." It was a piece of shit promise and she knew it, but she couldn't stand to see disappointment like that on his face. It was far worse than her pounding head and churning stomach, so she promised.

"All right then." Varric pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. "He said I could let you out once you're sober. You're to meet with him soon. Get cleaned up."

She got to her feet, carefully avoiding the puddle of vomit, and walked gingerly out into the prison. That's when she saw the source of the water noise. There was a huge waterfall in the prison. This place is weird.

~o~o~o~

A permanent film of sweat clinging to his skin these days. He barely recognized himself in the mirror. He looked like death. And the dreams—Maker, the dreams! Every night it was Meredith or the Ferelden tower all over again. A morning didn't pass but he wanted to either kill a mage, or all mages, or kill all templars.

And here he was stuck in the middle of mages and templars trying to keep them all from killing one another. Why not just let them do it?

Yeah, those little thoughts were so not helpful. The lyrium silenced them. Sometimes meditation helped. But other times, like this morning in the war room, he'd arranged all the pawns in neat little rows and knocked them down with explosive noises, never noticing that Inquisitor Trevelyan was quietly watching.

Now here he was, sitting at his desk, Leliana had his dinner brought up and he was eating soup. Or trying to. His hand was vibrating like a lute string and most of the soup sloshed out before it ever reached his mouth.

"Fuck this!" His temper exploded and he threw the bowl of potato chowder at the door. "I need some damn meat. I'm not an invalid!"

Of course his temper tantrum couldn't have been timed worse; the Inquisitor opened the door and received the contents of his soup bowl quite fully in the face.

"Cullen?"

The Inquisitor's voice was low and soft, like he was talking to a mad dog. "It's the lyrium withdrawals, isn't it?" He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the soup from his eyes.

Still seated, Cullen rested his forehead on his hands. "Yes," he mumbled. "It magnifies everything. My temper, my suspicions, my nightmares. I'm sorry about the… soup, and well, everything else."

"Listen, Cullen, I understand how badly you want to be free of the Chantry, of your past, but I need you at 100%. I can't use you like this. I'm sorry." He finished mopping soup off his face and walked over to the former templar, putting his hand on his shoulder. "You need to take the lyrium. Just until this is over."

And there it was, permission to do what the demons clamoring inside him were demanding. Take the lyrium.

Cullen sighed. It was for the best, yes. These months of struggle would be over and he could once again fully focus on the task at hand.

"Thanks, Inquisitor. That actually helps," he said. And it did. All the voices in his head quieted for the first time in a week. He felt almost as calm as if he'd just swallowed a dose.

Nodding, Inquisitor Trevelyan patted him once on the back and left.

He sat for that a long time until he finally opened the drawer that held his kit. He carefully slid it out of the drawer and put it on his desk without opening the well-worn box.

"Don't do it!"

A lilting voice called down from above. From his room? Oh yes, he knew it well. "Hawke, what the hell are you doing up there?"

"I uh, got lost wandering around and found this nice room with a very cozy bed. Who sleeps in a room with a broken roof anyway?" The words came in a furious stream. He could sense the embarrassment behind them. "I was tired and just laid down for a minute and well… kind of slept all afternoon."

"Until you woke up to eavesdrop." He put some heat into the words, though he oddly wasn't feeling angry. "That's my bed, you know."

There was a thumping sound from above and Hawke's tousled head poked out of the ceiling. "You actually sleep up there?"

"I do." The words were short, conveying nothing about how much he liked sleeping under the open sky. "Just how much did you overhear?"

"Not that much," she said as she began climbing down the ladder to his office. "Just from the part where you doused him with your soup."

"So…everything."

"Yeah, pretty much." She grimaced at him and looked at the rectangular box on his desk. "Don't do it. You don't need it. You never did. It's how they plant their hooks in you. Keep you in line."

"So what's your excuse, Hawke? What is it you're trying to find in a bottle? Anders? Your sister?"

She slid the rest of the way down the ladder and strode across the room. Leaning on his desk she glared at him her face just inches from him. "I'm a weak-ass coward, okay? That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

He locked gazes with her. Damn, she was every bit as impressive as she was in Kirkwall, but there was something different. She wasn't as cocksure of herself and it made her that much more appealing. There was hurt, loss, and a whole lot of self-doubt in her eyes. It made something in him want to protect her. That was what he had always meant to do, wasn't it? Protect mages. Somehow it all went so very wrong. "You're the strongest person I know, Hawke."

The smile she gave him was sad. "You've got no idea how wrong you are, Cullen. But don't change the subject. This isn't about me and my problems. It is about you and lyrium and the Chantry. I know you're stronger than all of that. Than all of them!"

"You have no idea, Hawke. It has been months now and I'm falling to pieces. I threw my soup! If that isn't falling apart, I don't know what is."

"That's bullshit!" she shouted and pounded the desk. Her dark brows looked like thunderheads on her forehead. "That soup was absolute shit and you were right to throw it."

It was her standing there telling him he was right to throw his soup when he realized that he felt free of the needling want that prickled his skin day and night. His eyes slipped down to her mouth for a moment and a different feeling tweaked him. His stomach did an odd flip. He brought his wayward eyes back to hers and sighed.

"I'll make you a deal, Hawke."

"Anything. Just so long as you don't use lyrium."

"All right then. No more booze for you."

"You jerk!" She pulled back from the desk looking almost scared. "I can't sleep without a little something."

A small smile teased one corner of his mouth. "Seems you slept rather well in my bed today."

She looked up at him again, a light growing behind her eyes and an impish smile growing. "Hey, are you suggesting we sleep together?"

It was his turn to get scared. "What? No! I mean, I wasn't suggesting that at all, it's just… Maker! I forgot the point I was trying to make. Look, is it a deal? You seem to want me to get free of the Chantry and lyrium. I'd like to see you get free of whatever you're trying to escape."

She looked down at her feet and seemed to be considering what he was saying. "Ghosts. Lots and lots of ghosts. Oh, and betrayal."

"Anders?" Cullen had heard they were involved.

"Yeah. The less said the better, all right?"

"Sure. So, is it a deal Hawke?" Cullen asked.

She watched him closely saying nothing for a long time. A smile broke across her face and she grasped his hand. "Deal."

They shook hands but she didn't let go. For a long moment she kept his hand, her head tilted to the side and a tiny smile twisted at her lip.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. Do I have soup on my face? He rubbed at his lips with his free hand.

"Um, no. Sorry. Just imagining what it would be like if—oh shit, just do it already, Hawke," she said, talking out loud to herself.

What? Cullen's confusion increased and then he panicked ever so slightly as she took one more step, tilted her head up, and softly placed her lips on his. His stomach made that funny flip again as his hands hovered over her back, not really sure where he should place them, or if he should kiss her back. He wanted to. Maker, yes. But perhaps that was the lyrium withdrawals. He shouldn't. This could end badly. And it certainly was awkward.

She stopped kissing him and took a step back. "Um, sorry. Look, you need your rest. And I um, should go." She fled his office before he could even think of anything to say.

Funny thing. That night he didn't dream of Ferelden's circle, Meredith, or blood mages. When his eyes opened that morning he lay in bed listening to the birds chirping and flying in and out of the hole in his roof. The thing on his mind wasn't templars, mages or ancient magisters. Not at all. It was the feeling of regret that he hadn't been bolder last night.

His hand still shook when he ate his bowl of oats the next morning, but he barely noticed it.

~o~o~o~

The next evening Hawke was formally presented in the Inquisitor's court. Not bad really, considering that the place had been a complete wreck when they found it, or so Varric said. Hawke was fascinated by the Tevinter statues lining the banquet hall and even the throne was impressive, if a bit rustic.

Varric escorted her up the length of the hall, a broad smile on his face. "Inquisitor, I'd like to present Griselda Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall." His voice, for such a small fellow, was impressively bombastic. Her first name seemed to echo throughout the hall and she was quite sure they probably heard it in the stables.

"I'm going to kill you," she whispered to her friend. But the face she showed the Inquisitor Trevelyan was graced with a pleasant smile. "Please just call me Hawke. Everyone does."

The court ceremonies were blessedly short and informal. Afterward there was a banquet and Hawke found herself seated next to the Inquisitor and with Cullen on her other side. There was an awkward moment when wine was being poured and she watched in dismay as the red fragrant liquid splashed into her glass.

"Water for Ser Hawke, please." Cullen interceded and handed the server her glass. "And me too."

She turned to Cullen, deeply grateful. "Thanks, Cullen," she whispered.

"My pleasure…" he murmured. She felt a brief warm press of his knee against her leg. "Griselda."

~o~o~o~

Let me know what you think! Always appreciate reviews! Is this worthy of another chapter or two?