The Fade.

Every time he saw it he was both amazed and horrified, and each time he woke up he would forget everything. So whenever he slept and saw the Fade it was a new experience. It was both eerie, and yet at the same time, beautiful. When he awoke he did not remember this, though, and so the Fade was always a place he assumed to be dangerous and vile.

The only indication he'd get when he woke up was a feeling. Waking in a cold sweat, panting, images of the dead bodies of his fellow templars back at the Circle Tower so many years ago. A nightmare. They were always nightmares, and when he was lucky he would wake up with only a bad feeling and no recollection of the terrors he had experienced in his sleep.

He woke up that day feeling nothing in particular. Just that lurking, dark feeling he always had upon awakening. It was a sort of monotonous feeling that indicated he'd been lucky enough to have an uneventful dream, and that told him he had to start his day and get to work. He dressed himself, putting on his armor and his fur cloak. Something told him today was going to be a long day.

Training the men and women under him, making plans, sending out troops on missions, and quickly looking around whenever he thought he saw a flash of familiar, dark red hair.

That evening he, Josephine, Leliana, and the Inquisitor were all in the War Room, looking at requests and other notices that had been sent for review. Leliana handed in a report, and the Inquisitor assigned Josephine with some diplomatic task that Cullen wasn't quite paying attention to.

"Cullen?" He snapped out of his trance when he heard her voice.

"Y-yes, Inquisitor?" he said.

"You said you had a report on the situation my clan was facing with the bandits?" the Inquisitor reminded him.

"Ah, yes, of course," said Cullen, handing her a piece of paper sent by the Keeper of the Lavellan clan.

The Inquisitor read the letter both quickly and eagerly, and her lips curved into a smile that made Cullen's heart race when she read the good news.

"Thank the Creators," the Inquisitor said, and then looked up at Cullen. "Thank you, Cullen."

"Of course," he said, looking down at the map of Orlais and Ferelden to hide his blush. "It was our troops, though."

"Of course," the Inquisitor replied with a small chuckle, folding up the letter and slipping it into her pocket. "That will be all, everyone."

"Very well, Lady Inquisitor," Josephine said with a small bow.

"Milady," Leliana said with a nod.

Cullen simply nodded silently.

The women left, leaving Cullen alone in the War Room left to wonder what it was that was bothering him.

"You know, she wouldn't want you doing this to yourself."

Cullen jumped at the sound of the voice, and then turned to see the stealthy bard, a small smile of amusement on her face. She had snuck back into the room, or perhaps she'd never left at all. He shouldn't have been all that surprised to see her. As Left Hand of the Divine, she was devoted to the Chantry, but her position in it was rather... "morally ambiguous", requiring her to work in the shadows.

"What?" Cullen said in response to her comment.

"Our... mutual friend," Leliana said, leaning back against the wall.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, unsure as to whom Leliana was referring. If she was annoyed by his ignorance, she didn't show it, having been trained to hide even the slightest hint of emotion, a necessity for anyone who played the Game. The Game which Cullen had never been exposed to growing up, and frankly, found to be both unnecessary and ridiculous.

"That look in your eyes," said the bard, her unblinking stare making Cullen feel fairly uncomfortable, "I've seen it before. The first time we met."

"The first time we met?" Cullen echoed. Now when had that been? Cassandra had invited him to join the Inquisition what, a year ago? Then he had met Leliana, and eventually Josephine. He couldn't remember anything particularly significant about—

"—No, before then," Leliana said, able to read Cullen like a book. She was a bard and an Orlesian, both well-trained in the Game, whereas Cullen had never even played. Left alone in a room full of Orlesian nobles he'd no doubt be eaten alive. "We met at the Circle Tower in Ferelden during the Blight."

Cullen shuddered, and he looked over at the window, but it was tightly shut. "You mean on the brink of death and madness?" It wasn't something he liked to remember.

The bard was unperturbed by his comment, her arms still casually crossed, but her smile faded. It showed that she was no longer amused, but stoic, and she knew it. She had let off this little indicator intentionally. "Pouring out your heart. Thinking to yourself about your love, and knowing that it could never happen because of both principles and sin."

Cullen clenched his fists, not bothering to hide his anger. Maker help him, were she not Left Hand of the Divine...

"Our friend would not want you to torture yourself like this, Cullen," Leliana said.

"You wouldn't know."

"But I would. You see, you watched her from a distance for I don't know how many years. I knew her. I spoke with her, and told her things I have told no one else. I saw her make difficult decisions, and I watched her grow. She cared for you, Cullen. In what manner, I do not know, but I am certain that she cared for you."

"I don't have time for this," Cullen said, shaking his head and heading for the door, "and I don't think you do, either." But when he looked back at her, she was gone, the window now open (as she had no doubt intended), and a cool breeze brushing up against Cullen's face.

Orlesians and their petty mind games. Damned if he ever understood them.

It had warmed her heart to hear from the Keeper. It had warmed it even more to receive the news through Cullen.

She quickly pushed the thought out of her head. She was a mage. He was a templar.

Not anymore, said a small voice in the back of her head. That one part that she had been trying to keep buried deep down so that it could stop taunting her.

She argued with it, as she always had, rationalizing these intrusive thoughts away. He no longer had vows, but he still held the same distrust for mages. That was obvious. She was simply the Inquisitor, and he was simply in charge of her troops.

More important than anything, she was an elf. She was Dalish, and he was a shemlen. She was the First, and had a duty to her clan she would have to keep when this was all over. It was wrong. Whatever this was, whatever she was feeling, it made her feel ill. It felt like sin, as though she could hear the disappointed chiding of the Keeper and hahren despite the long distance that currently separated them.

Conflicted. Uncertain. It hurts. It hurts my heart. Brown eyes stare at me uncertainly. I don't know what to do to stop the feeling.

The Dale shook her head and brought herself back to reality when she realized that she wasn't just hearing these thoughts in her mind.

She spun on the spirit, glaring a him. "Cole, would you stop that?"

"Sorry," he drawled, but she could see in his face the confusion and hurt of a small child wondering what they had done wrong. He appeared twenty at the most, but his outlook on the world was somehow both wise and naïve all at once.

"No, I'm sorry," she said with a sigh. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Cole nodded, and looked at one of the wounded soldiers who was gripping his aching side. He had lost much blood despite the attempts to close the wound by healing magic.

Hurting. Pain. My heart feels weak, my head aches. Bright red hair and big, blue eyes. She smiles warmly at me and waves as I depart. Should have told her. I lost it. I lost my chance. Now she'll never know.

Gone.

The soldier's hand fell from his side, and his eyes glazed over. Cole knelt down next to the man and shut his eyes. By the time he stood up, the Inquisitor had already left. Even though she was gone, he could still hear echoes of her pain. Cole knew why she had run.

Cullen roamed the halls of Kinloch Hold, walking back and forth during his shift. He saw small children, boys and girls, sitting on the ground, looking up at the fully Harrowed mage who stood above them. She recited passages from the Chant of Light.

Magic is to serve man, and never to rule over him.

In another part of the hall were two other mages, the elder dressed in an orange robe, and the younger wearing a purple robe that marked him as an apprentice. The senior mage had conjured a magical barrier around him. The apprentice nervously stuttered the words to an incantation, targeting his teacher and summoning a burst of frost. Weak, but it was something. The young mage sighed in relief.

In another part of the library two people, one man and one woman, stacked discarded books back onto the shelves. Their faces were blank; Tranquil, then. They each gave Cullen a monotonous greeting as he passed by them.

His bulky armor didn't make a sound as he walked about the quiet halls. Templars were taught to move in their armor effortlessly. It used to weigh him down when he had first entered the Order, but after a while it seemed to get lighter until he almost didn't feel it anymore.

Then he saw her walking with a man with swarthy skin, wearing white garments and armed to the teeth. Gesturing for the man to follow, she guided him into one of the guest rooms. She exited soon after, and was approached by an apprentice. Jowan was his name, if Cullen recalled correctly. Something was off. This felt familiar. This felt wrong.

As the two mages walked by Cullen, everything seemed to move in slow motion. The Harrowed mage he'd watched from a distance for as long as he could remember smiled. Her dark, smooth skin that he had always longed to touch made her vibrant, green eyes stand out, and as she passed him, their eyes met.

Her green eyes seemed to absorb him. When he finally escaped her hypnotic gaze she was gone, and so were Jowan, the other mages and templars roaming the Circle Tower, and even the Tower itself. Kinloch Hold had vanished, as had everyone in it; even his templar armor was gone, leaving him dressed in the clothes he usually went to bed in. All that remained was the faint image of her beautiful, green eyes that had enraptured him so.

Green. The exact same shade of green filled the sky. Whirring wisps of color floating through the air, and the ground was stone. He was surrounded by rocks, some normal, and others distorted into odd shapes. Raw blue lyrium poked out of the ground, tempting him, and a tall, ancient statue overlooked it all.

Then Cullen noticed an ornate door. It appeared to be made of stone, with intricate markings carved into it. He put out his hand to touch it, but he couldn't. The door was faded, an apparition, and his hand went right through it.

The door began to glow, and Cullen stepped back in a panic, worried that he had unleashed a demon or abomination. He reached for his sword, but it was not there, and despite how hard he focused he couldn't remember any of his templar training.

The brilliant light shined brighter until it blinded Cullen, and when it faded he saw those green eyes staring back at him.

Her silky brown hair framed her delicate face and her bangs fell in front of her eyes as they often did. She brushed them out of the way just as he remembered her always doing whenever that happened, and she wore the purple apprentice robes he was so used to seeing her wear.

"You're a demon," he said, "you're here to trick me."

"Isn't that what you said last time?" she said with a laugh. Her voice echoed, humming throughout the Fade. "If I was a demon then why would I break the illusion of Kinloch Hold you conjured?"

"I... conjured?"

She nodded, her smile kind yet weary, as though she had come a long way to get here. "Demons don't control your dreams; you do. They just take advantage of the illusion by sneaking in and playing a part of the dream to manipulate you. I'm being rather straightforward, though, if I do say so myself. I'm not a demon here to trick you or ask for a favor. Don't believe me if you'd like; it doesn't quite matter. It won't hurt you to just listen."

They say the dead, on their way to the afterlife, would sometimes get lost in the Fade. The thought of that having happened to her pulled at his heart. He almost hoped that she was an illusion. Almost.

"What year is it, Cullen?" the mage asked. "It's so hard to tell once you've left."

"Nine forty-one Dragon," he said hesitantly, as if this knowledge might give her some sort of unfair advantage.

"That makes one, two..." She took a deep breath in awe. "Ten years." She laughed. "And the world's still as messed up and threatened by darkspawn as ever, apparently. That woman had better fix this or I died for nothing, now didn't I?"

Cullen was silent in response.

She sighed and put her hands on her hips. "You're not a templar anymore, Cullen," she harrumphed.

"I'm well aware," he said cautiously.

"Then why are you doing this?" she said, squinting her eyes and leering at him as though she might find the answer through intense observation.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"Torturing yourself!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. She walked towards Cullen, and oddly enough, he didn't back away. She grabbed his hands, a small gesture that had his heart racing. She held his large hands in her much smaller, darker ones. Despite being in the Fade he could feel the warmth of her hands as though it were real.

"Torturing...?"

"The... oh, what is she again?" The Warden took her hands off of Cullen's, putting one on her hip as she tapped her foot impatiently. "The new person tasked with saving the world? Warden? No, not a Warden…" She snapped her fingers when it came to her. "Inquisitor!" She grinned. "The Herald of Andraste. Impressive titles. Better than mine, I have to admit. The Warden, the Hero of Ferelden; I can't match Andraste, though." Perhaps it was really her. She possessed that same childish outlook and perpetual joy that had always drawn Cullen to her. Or perhaps it was just a very convincing demon. "And a Dalish elf, too," she noted. "Color me impressed. Not to mention she's a mage. Is that it, Cullen? Is that why you won't tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Cullen said. Whether he was actually unsure or just playing dumb was hard to tell.

"That you love her!" the Warden said.

"What?" Cullen replied. He didn't know if he could blush in the Fade. He hoped not.

The Warden groaned like an impatient child. "We're all alone here; do you really have to keep denying it?"

She turned to him, and looked at him thoughtfully before finally smiling sadly, a caring look in her deep green eyes.

"It's me, isn't it?" she realized. "I don't blame you for what you said to me back at the Tower the last time we saw one another. I know that nothing could have happened between us, and who knows, maybe you were right. Maybe it was a sin, but you aren't a templar anymore. You're not bound by your codes or your vows. Or do you still feel...?
"I'm gone, Cullen. You know that, so please don't do this to me. Don't do this to me, don't do this to yourself, and don't do it to that poor woman. I don't want to spend my time forever knowing that you didn't take a chance at happiness because of me. I don't want to ruin two lives. You're being selfish."

"Selfish?" Cullen echoed, anger rising from deep inside of him. "How am I being selfish?"

"Because you're ruining her chance at love, too," she said. Cullen stared at her curiously, and she smiled again; happily this time. "A woman can tell these things, you know." She walked up to him, closing the space between them. Cullen expected to feel his heart racing like mad, but then he realized that it wasn't. "Though it's up to you in the end, Cullen.
"Tell her I said 'ma serannas'." She kissed him on the cheek, and he felt it, but unlike her hands, her lips were surprisingly cold, like ice. Because she was gone.

The same brilliant light from when she had stepped through the door began to shine until it started to consume everything, and Cullen only caught one last look at her before the Hero of Ferelden disappeared into the light.

Cullen opened his eyes. He blinked once, twice, until his eyes had adjusted to the morning light shining through the hole in the roof. He sat up, and much to his surprise, there were no fleeting images of lost dreams he'd had the night before. Instead he recalled everything, including the one, last look he had gotten from his first love, clearly remembering her bright green eyes that seemed to smile at him before they had vanished.

He didn't think about the day ahead; of the work he had to do, the soldiers he had to train, the papers he had to sort through, and the inevitable pain of lyrium withdrawal he would no doubt have to put up with for the entire day. He just got dressed, ate, and then roamed around Skyhold, looking for a flash of dark red hair; the one that always caught his eye.

He was near the wounded, who were being tended to by a healer, scanning the area for the Inquisitor.

Dark. Cold. I'm home. Her warm embrace. Cooking all day, she smells of spices. I inhale her smell, stroke her thin, blonde hair. It's tangled, but soft. It smells of lavender. Never again. Never again will I smell her sweet aromas, feel her warming touch.

Gone.

Cullen looked at where the voice was coming from, and saw Cole, the mysterious young man of whom he knew little, save that he was a spirit who somehow took on the form of a human. Cole was kneeling down next to a man who was wrapped in blankets. The man's eyes were dim, empty. Dead.

Cole closed the man's eyes, and he stood up. He turned to look at Cullen, his eyes hidden by wisps of blonde hair. "She's with the horses," he said, as though Cullen had spoken his question aloud.

Cullen nodded warily, and then he headed towards the stables.

She stood there alone, stroking one of the horse's absent-mindedly.

"You're here."

The elf jumped, and then turned to look at Cullen, nodding. She smiled faintly. "It can get somewhat tiresome being around Cole and hearing your personal thoughts said aloud."

Cullen gave a small laugh. "I imagine it would." Silence. What to say...? "I saw an old friend."

"Really?" said the Inquisitor. "A templar?"

"No. A mage; from the Circle."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, clearly not having expected to hear this. "I thought templars weren't very fond of mages."

Cullen smiled. "Not all mages." The Inquisitor nervously looked at her feet. "She told me to tell you something."

"She?"

"Yes," Cullen said. "She used to be very dear to me, but that was a long time ago."

The Inquisitor was silent for a moment, and Cullen longed to know what she was thinking. For once he would have appreciated having Cole around so that the spirit could tell him. "What did she say?"

"Ma serannas."

The Inquisitor stared at Cullen dubiously. "Is she Dalish?"

"No," Cullen said, "but she met Dalish elves before, as I recall."

The Herald raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat skeptical. "Really?"

"Wh-what does it mean?" Cullen asked, worried that he had said something wrong.

"It means 'thank you'," she explained. "Why would a woman I've never even met be thanking me?"

Cullen couldn't help but smile. "I think I might know why."

The Inquisitor shrugged, a bemused look on her face. "If you say so."

Back near the campfire where the wounded soldiers lay, Cole stood up. This feeling. It was a different one. No pain. It was nice. Warm. He liked the change. Feelings other than pain for once.

Relief. Joy. A burden lifted. Hope. Perhaps it will work now. I can live my life now. No more regrets. No more guilt. For either of us.