Welcome to the sequel for my three part ficlet called 'Blame the Herald!' While it's not precisely necessary to read that fic to understand this one, I would still recommend that you do. That being said, I let my close friend read this yesterday and her exact words were 'Way to fuck with my emotions! You made me laugh and then you made me ugly cry.' I don't claim this this to be an... accurate representation, but I do recognize that this fic is full of romance, fluff, humor, and angst. So, tread carefully? I guess?

This fic is rated M for mature themes, to include sexy times. If such matters offend thee, I would recommend that you stop reading riiiiiight MEOW.

Also, as per my previous story, I took liberties with the story arch because, as stated, it's insanely boring to merely rewrite events that already happened. Hope you all enjoy and reviews are lovely and worthy of great honor, because positions. Or something. It also jumps around a bit, hope it's still clear and easy to follow.

Behold BioWare, you claim all and I claim nothing other than my twisted mind.

Absolution

Escape is in my blood
Fear is in my bones
But I don't wanna walk that road
Please, help me?

Hold my hand,
I can hear the ghost calling.
Help me stand,
Even if the sky is falling.
And I want you to know,
I can't do it alone.
Hold my hand, my hand, my hand.

This is the burden that I carry
And it goes back a hundred years
But all the shit I did,
I am done with it
You've got every right to leave
But stay with me.

Hold My Hand, The Fray

"Is there any point in my asking you to be careful and not take any unnecessary risks?" Cullen said into the Inquisitor's hair as he held her firmly in his lap. His office was quiet, tranquil even, possibly for the first time ever. Everyone seemed to have conspired to give the two of them a few moments alone. Cullen considered it a dammed miracle.

Irisel nuzzled her face into his neck with a contented hum and he could feel her smile against his skin, "Probably as pointless as my asking you not to worry too much or work too hard."

He tightened his arms around her and she tilted her head, mouth grazing like fire along the column of his throat. Cullen met her questing lips with an answer from his own. It was a slow, languid kiss, full of promise and an ever present desire that had been building between them since that first day on the battlements. He didn't want to rush things, didn't want to push things too far too fast, but Cullen wanted her like he'd never wanted a woman before in his life and it was slowly eating him up inside. As the Inquisitor she belonged to them all, to the entirety of Thedas, but in the privacy of his office she was just Irisel. And she belonged to him. Or maybe it was more that he belonged to her.

She pulled away and pressed her forehead to his, sharing his air for a timeless moment that seemed to slip through his fingers before he could grasp hold. Eventually she rose and Cullen reluctantly released her. He gripped her hand briefly in his and she gave him a sad, reluctant sort of smile before hurriedly leaving him without another word. She hated goodbyes, he knew, and he understood. Saying goodbye to her was like saying goodbye to the best pieces of himself.

An hour later he watched her leave the castle with a small company, Cassandra, Verric, and Dorian at her side. The Inquisition's banner fluttered brightly in the afternoon breeze and the cheers of those watching from the courtyard echoed in the valley. He hadn't been able to bring himself to join them and he suspected she hadn't wanted him there. It was easier for them both this way. Cullen lifted his hand when her face turned toward his tower and she lifted hers briefly in turn.

As he watched, Dorian nudged her and the former Templar could all but hear his drawling comments from across the distance. Irisel turned away and swatted at the mage who dodge the blow. Cullen smiled despite himself, but it faded quickly away. He tried to ignore the building pain between his temples as her figure receded further and further into the distance. Her presence had become a crutch, a means of keeping him grounded. With the Inquisitor gone, Cullen was alone with the demons in his head.

Cullen stared at the lyrium kit laid open on his desk, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The sun was setting over the mountains and his office was cast in long, deepening shadows. It had been a very long, very difficult day. There were new troops to be trained, forces to be moved and delegates to entertain. All of which had served to distract him but with dinner over and the castle settling down for the night, he suddenly had nothing to do. Nothing to keep the past at bay.

The pain wasn't bad, just a dull ache at the base of his skull, but persistent enough to be occasionally distracting. When he'd made the decision months ago to stop taking the damned stuff he'd known it was going to be hard. Not just hard but maybe impossible, which is why he'd asked Cassandra to keep an eye on him. The Inquisition was important, too important to be left at the mercy of his addiction, but he couldn't remain a slave to an order and a past he no longer wished to be a part of. No matter how selfish, he just couldn't take it anymore, even if it did lead to his eventual replacement. He knew Cassandra suspected such an outcome would destroy him, and maybe it would, but his life and sanity were not more important than the destruction of all Thedas.

But things had changed. Everything was different now. The Inquisition had taken on a new face, a new importance to him that made failure all the more terrifying. It was a face that was never far from his mind, a face that made his heart and head feel light, a face that promised him absolution for a past of terrible mistakes. An absolution that he didn't deserve but that she offered to him again and again without grudge or hesitation. She was offering him a second chance at life whether she knew it or not.

Her scent lingered in the room and his office carried the little nuances of her presence. His desk was tidier, the residual mess the reconstruction had left behind removed and replaced by cabinets, more book shelves, and a statue of Andraste. He'd initially appreciated the thoughtful addition of the Maker's Bride but now he almost resented the way her stony eyes seemed to be judging him. For a moment the statue wore Irisel's face and he pinched the bridge of his nose to banish the image.

With a slight tremble in his hands, Cullen closed the lid to his kit and stowed it away in one of his desk drawers. He sighed and went in search of his Captains. They had strategy to discuss.

"Alright Commander, it's time to get you the fuck out of this office," Iron Bull said as he barreled his way into Cullen's office.

His scribe was so startled that the poor man fell off his stool in a shower of parchment and quills. Cullen blinked, his eyes watering from too many hours spent staring at an endless stream of reports, and a dull headache beat against the front of his skull. He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Uh, well, I'm rather busy-"

"I don't give a fuck," the Qunari said, towering over him like a giant horned mountain. Not many men made Cullen feel small. He swallowed and sighed. Iron Bull, without another word, yanked him to his feet and all but dragged him down to the tavern before he could formulate a proper and coherent thought.

He was bullied into a chair and surrounded by the strange mismatched Chargers as Iron Bull ignored every single one of his protests. An elf woman with a terrifying smile, and more daggers than teeth, shoved a mug of ale into his hands. Her name was Skinner, he discovered, and something about her eyes told him that her name was more than fitting.

"To the fucking Inquisition," Iron Bull bellowed when they all had a drink in hand. The rest of the tavern quieted, listening intently. Cullen hunched his shoulders over his cup, feeling dozens of eyes directed at his back. "May that asshole Corypheus's dick fall off!" Iron Bull continued, and then added, "If the sick bastard even has one."

"Here, here!"The entire establishment chorused. One hard look from the Qunari and Cullen took a long swallow, resigning himself to his fate. The reports could wait a few hours, he reasoned.

Two hours later and a few mugs in, Iron Bull leaned across the table with a leer.

"So, spill Golden Boy, what's she like?"

Cullen shook his head, which was feeling very fuzzy and pleasant, "What's who like?" It had been years since he truly sat down to drink, and at present he couldn't seem to recall why.

Iron Bull rolled his eyes and Krem snorted into his wine bottle.

"Your horse," he sneered mockingly. "The fucking Inquisitor you idiot."

Cullen shook his head again, taking a healthy swallow of ale. The stuff was actually pretty good when you got used to it. "What do you mean what's she like?"

"I told you he was a blushing virgin bride Chief, " Krem cackled with amusement.

Understanding dawned and the Commander flushed deeply and sputtered into his cup. Rocky, the grumbling dwarf, helpfully swatted him on the back so hard his ears rang and Iron Bull laughed long and loud, shaking the entire table with his mirth.

"I don't think so Krem, I think what we have here is a bonafided gentlemen." The Qunari said and pretended to pluck something daintily out of the air and fan himself with it. This brought on more laughter at his expense.

"So, what, he has to ask her daddy's permission first before getting into her small clothes?" Stitches asked, confirming to Cullen that everyone was, in fact, enjoying his misery. At least Dorian and Verric had gone with the Inquisitor, he reasoned. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

"That's not the case-" He protested feebly.

Iron Bull sighed wistfully, "If I had a woman like the Inquisitor I'd have fucked her in every room of the castle by now, maybe twice. Redheads, mmmm, don't have them back home."

Cullen slammed his mug down on the table in a sudden flash of rage, "You will not talk about Irisel that way-"

"Oh, it's Irisel now is it?" Iron Bull teased, nonplused by Cullen's outburst and the other men cooed and fussed at him. "Take my advice here Golden Boy, sign that treaty before some other alliance steps in and fucks it up."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," Cullen growled, concluding that the only cure for his mortal embarrassment was more ale. And fast.

Four more hours later, at least ten mugs in, and Cullen swayed on his feet with a knife in his hand.

Skinner leaned into his side and rearranged his fingers around the hilt. "Alright Shem filth, aim for the middle," she said cheerfully.

As the rest of the tavern watched in varying degrees of drunken amusement, Cullen peered blearily across the room at a rudely drawn picture of the Elder One, courtesy of Sera, which was complete with a tiny penis that Cullen was meant to strike with his dagger.

"Thass it?" He slurred, "Jus aim for the middle? No vera helpful."

He swayed dangerously but Grim was there to hold him up looking very… Grim. He grunted at Cullen in what he chose to believe was encouragement.

"Just throw the damn knife Golden Boy!" Iron Bull bellowed from his seat at the bar and Cullen glared in his general direction.

"Come on Cully Wully! Hit 'em in the pisser!" Sera called from the rafter's, perched like some insane type of bird.

"But, it's just a picture… how will stabbing it with knives help?" Cole asked Dalish, who merely shrugged and patted him on the head. "Safer just to put all the knives in barrels…"

"You can do it Commander!" Cried one of his men, though he couldn't see who, and Cullen pulled himself together with what little pride he had left. He took a breath, a staggering step, and threw while crying, "For her Inquistorialness!"

Brief, stunned silence, and then a cheering roar went through the room. Iron Bull pulled him into a tight embrace that crushed the wind out of him.

"And the Commander of the Inquisition cuts the cock and balls off the opposition!" He bellowed to the effect of more cheering. Cullen grinned triumphantly, swayed, and then promptly threw up all over Krem's shoes. If there was more to the evening, he blessedly did not remember.

Cullen woke the next morning and immediately wished he hadn't.

With a groan that seem to tear itself from his very soul he turned over in his bed to bury his face in his pillow, possibly in hopes of suffocating himself to death.

"Chief," said a voice, "I think he's awake."

There was a snorting grumble that hit him somewhere between the eyeballs and Cullen groaned. Maker save him, someone just put him out of his misery.

"Let's get the potion in him, poor bastard," said another, vaguely familiar voice as cruel hands forced him to turn over. He batted at them as feebly as a new born kitten.

"Appears our dear Commander can't hold his ale," an evil voice remarked. Cullen tried to unfasten his eyes from his head. He got them part way open, before he gave up entirely.

Someone pressed a cool vial to his lips. "Drink up Golden Boy and you'll feel right as rain in a few hours." His jaw was pried open and something that tasted like pure shit slipped down his throat. Cullen shot up, gasping and coughing as Krem nearly fell off the bed.

"Maker's breath!" Cullen rasped, clutching at his throat. "What was that!?"

Iron Bull was beaming at him from the side of his bed, "Stitches's fool proof hangover cure. Stuff tastes like the ass end of a horse but it works every time."

Cullen groaned and blinked around his room in sudden confusion. How had he gotten up the ladder, and more importantly, why was he naked.

"Don't worry Commander, you took the clothes off yourself." Krem said with a shit eating grin on his tanned face. "The Chief quite enjoyed the show."

Cullen groaned again, loud and long, and collapsed back into the sheets. "When I can move I'm going to think of something really terrible to do to both of you. Latrine duty for a month, no, a year."

Iron Bull laughed and the sound tore his brain apart. "Whatever you say Golden Boy, but I'd be careful with the threats, we've got plenty of blackmail to feed the Inquisitor when she gets back. "

"Maker, I hate you both."

Krem smiled and patted his leg beneath the blanket, "You had a great time last night, don't worry."

"Go away?" He pleaded.

They left him, laughing all the way down the damn ladder.

A week later the Inquisitor returned just as he was overseeing the training of some new recruits. He was in better spirits, aside from the lingering bruises to his ego. Whatever he had done or said that fateful night at Herald's Rest, his men seemed pleased about it. They followed orders faster, even if they smiled knowingly while they did it. Iron Bull and Krem had wisely been avoiding him.

"Shield down soldier!" He yelled across the training yard as one of the recruits, a tough looking woman with a scar across one eye, fell to the ground in a cloud of dust.

A moment later the trumpet took up the call from the forward tower. Cullen's heart did an idiotic little dance in his chest as he turned to the Captain at his side.

"Keep them at it, and make them work for their blows," he said in a clipped tone before striding for the gates. He forced himself not to rub his sweaty palms on his tunic.

He reached the lower courtyard as the Inquisitor and her party stormed into the bailey. She caught his eye as she dismounted and smiled. She was clearly weary and travel stained, but in good spirits. He returned her smile with a broad one of his own.

She was almost immediately swept up by Leliana, however, with Josephine hot on her heels, and she tossed Cullen an apologetic look. He merely nodded at her, still smiling, just glad to have her back and safe. Though a powerful impulse told him to get in there and steal a kiss, but that was hardly seemly or appropriate. They would have time to talk later. Among other things.

It turned out they didn't have a chance to be alone until the following night. It was late, the moon high in the sky, when the messenger found him at the stables, sorting out their cavalry horses. It had been another long day for them both, and they'd only seen one another briefly over the War Table. To Cullen, it had been akin to pure torture. If Irisel's furtive glances were any indication, she'd felt similarly.

He tried not to snatch the note from the messenger's outstretched hand:

Mind meeting in my rooms tonight? I have a few important matters to discuss with you.

-Irisel

Cullen's heart lodged in his throat for a moment before he forced it down into his chest again. He composed himself before speaking to the amused looking messenger. He glared and the other man sobered a little, "Tell the Inquisitor I will be with her in the hour."

"Yes, Commander."

As soon as the messenger was gone, Cullen hurried back to his rooms to change. He was tired of having his damn armor in the way every time he kissed her.

An hour later two guards, who he'd handpicked himself, let Cullen into the Inquisitor's antechamber. Four more guards sat within, armored and alert, though a few of them were planning cards. They froze when they saw their Commander framed in the doorway. Cullen didn't truly care or begrudge them the distraction, and gave them a permissive nod. They looked grateful. Guard duty could be damn tedious work, he knew from very personal experience.

A woman, one of Irisel's handmaidens whose name he couldn't quite recall, smiled at him from across the room. She blushed tellingly as she admitted him to the stairs that led up the Inquisitor's main chamber and couldn't seem to quite meet his eye. Cullen walked with his head held high; attempting to behave as though he truly was there for a very professional meeting.

He took a deep breath as he ascended the stairs, mentally commanding himself to stop acting like such a green horn. He paused as his head cleared the railing of the chamber above and caught the profile of the Inquisitor at her desk, head bowed over something she was reading. Her hair was loose, slipping over robe clad shoulders, and her forehead was braced on one pale hand. The room was pleasantly warm and tidy and he realized he hadn't actually been inside it since before the renovations. He swallowed thickly. A cheerful fire burned in the hearth and one of the fine bay windows was open, letting in fresh mountain air. He stepped fully into the room and she lifted her head to smile at him.

He smirked at her, "You wished to see me, Your Worship."

Irisel laughed at him and rolled her eyes. She rose fluidly and stepped around the desk, plain night gown and simple dressing gown swishing around her stocking clad feet. She surprised him by rushing toward him, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Cullen chuckled and caught her in his arms, wrapping them tightly around her and swinging her about for good measure. Maker, he loved to hold her like this, where she fit so perfectly beneath his chin. She made him feel a fool, but he was a damned happy fool.

"How was your trip, really?" He asked trying not to focus too much on the press of her curves against him or the heat that radiated through her clothes. It was incredibly difficult.

Irisel grumbled into his chest, her hands tightening around his back. "Dorian whined the entire time and Cassandra and Varric only stopped arguing long enough to eat and sleep and sometimes not even then."

"Oh, so it was highly productive," he teased.

She pinched him lightly. "What did you get up to while I was gone?"

Cullen could feel the embarrassed flush traitorously spreading across his face as he considered his terrible night drinking with the Chargers, and he was grateful she couldn't see his face. "Oh nothing of consequence. Spent most of my time beating the new recruits into submission." He knew she would likely hear of it from someone sometime but, Maker help him, he couldn't bring himself to regale the whole awful event at present.

She laughed and lifted her head to look up at him and he forgot all about hiding his embarrassment. His breath caught in his throat despite himself. He didn't know if he would ever grow used to her beauty; the allure of her eyes, or the delicate trail of freckles across the bridge of her nose. And, Andraste preserve him, her mouth was enough to drive a saint to sin. She had the sort of lips, full and pink, that all those idiot poets in Orlias would have loved to write about. For all Cullen knew, they already had been.

But Cullen was no poet.

He swallowed, struggling to find the right words to say to her, to make her understand how much she'd come to mean to him. He cupped her cheek and trailed his thumb over her cheek bones, feeling the softness of her hair, slightly damp from a recent bath, brush against the back of his hand. Her eyes closed in response and her lips parted as color flooded her cheeks. Unable to resist such a temptation, he bent and captured her mouth with his.

He kissed her slowly, deliberately, taking his time about it. He caressed first her bottom lip and then the top before allowing himself to taste her fully. Her response was immediate, her strong arms reaching up around his neck to tug him closer as she stood on tip toes to press herself eagerly against him. Her tongue reached out and tentatively met his. Cullen was powerless to stop the low, primal growl that rumbled in his chest as he smoothed his hands possessively down her spine to cup her bottom, pressing her firmly against him. Encouraged by his response, she grew bolder and their tongues mated passionately until Cullen felt like he was on the verge of passing out if he didn't break for air.

He pulled slightly away and drank in the sight of her. Pink cheeks, swollen lips, and passion hazed eyes staring up at him in wonder. A heartbeat later and she unwound her hands and took a step back, a devious glint in her eye. Cullen watched, transfixed, as she reached up and began unfastening her dressing gown, her slim fingers working the ribbons with tantalizing grace. Once free, she let the robe slip to the floor, her thin night gown hanging low off one shoulder, revealing creamy skin and the swell of one pert breast.

"Maker's breath," he groaned.

Cullen took two long strides and swept her up into his arms. She let out a startled gasp but then his lips found hers, parted them, and delved within. She melted into him, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist as her fingers tangled into his hair. Cullen backed them up to the nearest wall and he braced one hand near her head as the other moved to grasp her backside. He squeezed and she shuddered with a soft moan while his mouth made a desperate descent along the slope of her neck. Everything was hot and hazy and Cullen felt the last vestiges of his control slipping away. His pelvis rocked against hers and they both groaned at the friction.

Irisel's hands slipped beneath the back of his tunic and her nails scrapped up his shoulder blades pulling a low growl from the back of his throat. He found her mouth again, claiming it with another bruising kiss and, with one eye open, angled them toward her large bed.

Cullen all but threw her across the bed, her hair vivid against the golden satin sheets, and drew his tunic and shirt over his head. She watched him with wide, dark eyes, braced on one elbow with rosy lips parted. Cullen forced himself to stand still as her gaze raked up his stomach and over his chest, then back down again to briefly center on the predominate bulge in his trousers. A beautiful flush crept up her chest and flowered in her cheeks. It took all of Cullen's fraying willpower not to throw himself at her.

Her eyes were hungry when they finally met his and she reached a hand out to him in invitation. He took it and kissed her palm, working his lips over her wrist, feeling her pulse race there briefly before trailing his mouth up her arm. By the time he reached her collar bone she was trembling and making the most delicious noises.

As soon as he released her arm in favor of other areas, she began exploring the planes of his back, kneading his shoulders in encouragement and tugging at his hair. Feeling as though he might go mad with desire, he cupped one of her breasts through her gown and brushed his thumb over her pebbled nipple.

"Cullen…" she breathed on soft whine, and bit down on his shoulder before bathing the area with her tongue.

The sudden rush off footsteps up the stairs made them freeze. Cullen turned, slightly dizzy and disoriented, to find Leliana standing at the head of the steps looking winded and concerned. She took in the scene without even batting any eye lash.

"We've had a message from Hawke and Stroud. You're both needed in the War Room. Immediately." She gave Cullen a stern look and then disappeared down the steps. Irisel pushed at his chest, her face flaming with embarrassment, and Cullen was consumed by the urge to hit something. Or, more preferably, someone.

Cullen watched from their forward camp as the gates of Adamant Fortress shattered.

A roar of victory rippled up the ranks of their soldiers as his horse stamped impatiently. He tightened his grip on the reigns, pacing the beast out a bit as their catapults released another volley of flaming tar and rock which streaked through the sky like falling stars before raining death and destruction on the castle below. The scent of magic rippled through the air, nearly choking him with its proximity and strength. His horse reared slightly and Cullen forced the stallion down again. It was a creature bred for war and the smell of blood and death seemed to call to the animal as much as it repulsed its rider. Cullen had seen enough death and horror for three lifetimes and was not eager to see more.

The Inquisitor rode up beside him, born by her favorite horse, a black mare of fine Ferelden stock that had proven itself to be a sturdy companion. She patted the horse's neck, bending over to murmur encouragements in its ear before settling into the saddle to observe the destruction before them with calculating eyes. In her armor platted leathers, bristling with weapons, hair braided tightly back in a warrior's fashion, dark face paint shadowing her vibrant eyes, and a grim expression on her face, the Inquisitor painted a formidable picture indeed. The mark on her hand pulsed gently and he could tell by the tightness in her jaw that it hurt more than she let on.

"Are you ready to ride down, Inquisitor?" He forced himself to say. The last thing in all of Thedas he wanted to do was send her in there. She glanced at him and silent understanding passed between them. He had no choice but to let her go and he looked away before his bitterness could betray him.

"I'll lead the charge, Commander," she said as Cassandra, Dorian and Varric filed in beside them, both dressed and geared for battle. The Seeker had death in her eyes and Cullen felt a slight shudder ripple through him.

"As you wish my lady," he said with a curt nod and drew his sword. If she was brave enough to go in there, he could be brave enough to let her, or so he told himself.

"Well," Dorian said lightly, shifting in his saddle, "This should be one hell of a party."

"I always did enjoy crashing parties," Varric added, but his tone was hard and his jaw was set.

They dismounted at the gates and Cullen tried not to be distracted by the dead.

His men were already moving the bodies aside and taking the injured from the field as the rest of their forces pressed their advance. Irisel looked pale but resolute as she took in the destruction. She had her bow, with an arrow nocked and ready, already in hand. He was proud of her despite himself, of her resilience and determination. She had never seen true war before, he knew, and its ramifications were often enough to send even the bravest men into a panic. But then, she was not like anyone else he'd ever met.

"Our men are having trouble reaching the ramparts," he told her as they stood in the ruined remains of the gate house. She nodded, her eyes scanning the interior of the castle before meeting his gaze.

"We'll do our best to clear them on our way."

Cullen cringed, "Please do not risk yourself needlessly." It was as close to asking her not to proceed as he could get.

"Saving the lives of our men is not needless, Cullen. But I understand that we have more... important objectives." It was not what he meant of course, but he suspected she knew that. He tightened the grip on his sword.

One of his Captains rushed forward to meet them, a little battered, a little bloodied, but in good spirits. Hawke stood behind him with Stroud at his side, both men looking battle hardened. Hawke gave Cullen a brief nod which he returned. "We've broken through the second gate Your Worship but our men struggle with the Rifts-" the Captain said. Irisel cut him off.

"Tell your men to contain the demons but do not engage, Captain. We're on our way."

"Yes My Lady!" The Captain cut them both a hasty salute and took off at a run. Irisel made to leave but, before he could stop himself, Cullen caught her by the arm. He pulled her close to him, at war with himself. Maker, this was harder than he'd ever imagined.

There was fear in her eyes he saw, leaking through the resolve. He could tell how hard it was for her to leave him then, her internal reluctance to part ways as they must. Her fear, though hard to see, gave him courage, reminding him of their purpose.

"We'll clear the castle as best we can and meet you." He promised firmly, and then added, "May the Maker watch over you.

She nodded once, something deep and unspoken in her eyes, "And over you… Cullen."

He let her go, though it nearly killed him to do it. Cassandra gave him a look.

"Look after her, Seeker," he said through clenched teeth.

"With my life, Commander," she swore, and jogged after the Inquisitor. A moment later, Cullen lost sight of them in the smoke.

Cullen took the steps three at a time, panting with the effort but driven by pure purpose. Iron Bull was just behind him, most of his men in toe. The Qunari gave a bellow of warning and Cullen ducked just in time to dodge the racking claws of the Archedemon as talons as long as his forearm passed bare inches above his head. Gasping for air he rolled to his feet again and watched momentarily transfixed as the beast landed on the upper courtyard, shaking the very foundations of the castle.

"To the Inquisitor!" He bellowed, slamming down the visor of his helm as he and his men barreled forward. Fear, which had almost nothing to do with demon dragons, was clawing its way up his throat.

They were too late. The Archdemon screamed its victory as it thundered across the wide stone bridge at a terrifying gate. With petrifying terror Cullen spotted the helpless figure of Irisel as she fired arrow after arrow at the creature with no avail. Dorian, bleeding heavily from one shoulder, worked a spell that seemed to shatter the sky, but still the beast came toward his prey.

"Dalish!" Iron Bull yelled, "See if you can get the fucker's attention."

The elven mage nodded coldly and closed her eyes for a moment before the crystal atop her 'bow' shot out a violent spell toward the dragon's flanks. Though it tore a festering wound in the beast's side, it had little to no effect.

As Cullen watched, helpless and frozen, the demon opened its great maw and made to swallow the Inquisitor whole. He made an inarticulate cry of pure rage and ran faster and harder than he ever had in his life. In his heart he knew it was pointless. He would never reach her in time, and even if he did, there was nothing he could do against such a creature.

In the end it was the leader of the Gray Warden's who, with her dying breath, managed to almost save them all. With a battle cry that ripped through the air, the woman plunged her sword into the soft belly of the beast as it passed over her. The demon roared and stumbled, its sheer weight crumbling the bridge by degrees and then all at once. Cullen was thrown aside by the force of the destruction, the wind knocked out of him as he landed on a pile of fallen rubble. He managed to crawl to his feet just in time to meet Irisel's eyes as she ran desperately toward him. Behind her, Cassandra fell into shadow and dust with a wordless cry.

Then the bridge crumbled beneath the Inquisitor's feet and she was gone so suddenly that she might never have been there at all.

Cullen collapsed to his knees in the sudden stillness, his sword slipping from lifeless fingers.

"They've gone into the Fade," Solas told them over a table in the main hall of the captured Warden's castle. He, Cullen, Leliana, and Blackwall all stood around a map held down by debris found in the hall. Iron Bull crouched in one corner, surrounded by his silent Chargers, looking defeated and solemn. They all looked grim and worn. Blackwall's eyes were dark and blank, as though the life had been drained from him. Outside the battle was dying down into an almost eerie silence as news of the Inquisitor's fall spread like terrible fire through their men.

"The Inquisitor must have opened a Rift in her desperation, throwing them all through the Veil," the Apostate continued, his tone carefully controlled but Cullen thought he heard something akin to jealousy beneath the surface.

"You're sure of this," Cullen demanded. He was holding onto his composure by the barest tips of his fingers. At the back of his mind a foul voice sang to him, calling him to the kit he'd brought with him that was back at his tent. Lyrium would make him forget. Make him forget his pain, forget his loss, forget everything-

"Yes Commander, I can feel her across the Veil."

Blackwall fixed the elf with a hard stare, his fists clenching at his sides. Cullen's heart trembled with hope, dangerous and frail. "A-and she's still alive?"

"Oh yes, very much so," the mage closed his eyes, concentrating, "I can't tell for sure where she is, though I fear it is not a pleasant place, but something guides her. Something powerful."

Leliana paced behind the mage, her face a placid mask but her eyes burned. "What can we do?"

The Apostate opened his eyes and met Cullen's stare dead on, "We can only wait, and hope."

Cullen stood on the balcony of the main hall for hours, only moving or speaking to direct men and give orders. Everyone gave him a wide berth. Even Leliana had nothing to say, though she brought him some bread and cheese as night fell. She'd placed a hand briefly on his shoulder before leaving him to his thoughts. He set the food aside and forgot it, eyes fixed on the broken bridge and the shadows beneath it.

He prayed. He prayed harder than he ever had in his life. He promised anything and everything if the Maker would just bring her back to him, if he would just grant him this one miracle, whether he deserved it or not.

Sometime near dawn, just as all hope had nearly left him, a sudden quake wracked the castle. Cullen gripped the railing of the balcony as a blinding flash of green light rent the sky, blinding him. He shielded his face with a cry. As the light receded a moment later, he dared to peer through his fingers. A rift had opened above the upper courtyard and through it Dorian, looking tattered and terrified, fell through and onto the ground.

Without hesitation, Cullen turned and took off down the hall. Leliana and Iron Bull tore after him as he leapt down steps and powered through corridors. He reached the upper courtyard just as Cassandra and Hawke turned to catch the Inquisitor as she emerged from the Rift. A spidery claw followed after her and with a shout of fury, she turned in Cassandra's arms and closed it. Everyone was accounted for save Stroud.

Cullen skidded across the cobblestone on his knees as Irisel collapsed. He pulled her blindly from Cassandra's arms and crushed her to his chest, swearing to the Maker he would do anything he had to in order to repay this miracle. He felt her breath on his cheek and thought of that day, what felt like lifetimes ago, when he'd pulled her from the snow.

"That was easily the most awful thing I've ever been through," Dorian remarked after several moments of stunned silence. Half of his mustache had been singed off and his swarthy face was very pale. "Remind me to never do that again."

Later that night, after her cuts and bruises had been seen to, the Inquisitor passed judgment over the Warden's. Cullen knew it was likely the hardest decision she had ever made, and when it was done, she could not look Blackwall in the eye.

Afterwards, Cullen found her curled up against the wall on the outer battlements weeping her heart out, her slim shoulders shaking violently with the force of her sobs. Cullen, ignoring all her feeble protests, wordless wrapped her up in his arms and settled back against the wall, cradling her against his chest.

Irisel gave up and eventually collapsed against him. Cullen stroked her hair, brushing it away from her tear stained cheeks, and rocked her gently, whispering soft, incoherent words of comfort until she exhausted herself.

"Did I do right?" She asked him eventually when she'd subsided into sniffles and pathetic hiccups. Cullen kissed her forehead and tightened his arms around her.

"I don't know, I think so. The Warden's are vulnerable and with no one powerful enough to lead them they pose a real threat, as we've seen. We haven't the time or knowledge to oversee their rehabilitation, disbanding them was likely the best course of action. At least for now…"

"Blackwall will never forgive me," she murmured brokenly.

"I don't know about that. He asked to remain, to stay with you and the Inquisition. I think he meant it in earnest."

"But being a Gray Warden meant so much to him-"

"Just as being a Templar once meant the world to me. I think Blackwall understands the failings of his own people, Irisel, but he will still hold their truths in his heart, as I do."

Silence stretched before she said, in her smallest voice yet, "I thought I was going to die in there, in that horrible place, and that I would never see you again."

Cullen's chest ached and the pain of losing her was still fresh in his mind, like a barely healed wound. " I swear on Andraste, I will never leave you to fight alone again."

"Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"I love you," she confessed, so softly he almost didn't hear.

Cullen squeezed her to him, nearly choking on sudden tears. "I love you too, Irisel. I love you so much that I thought my heart had been ripped from my chest." She snuggled up against him at this, though they were awkward in their residual armor and leather. Cullen kissed her hair, her eyes, her salty and bruised cheeks, before claiming her lips gently with his.

They passed another moment in silence, the smells of battle fresh and terrible on the wind, but Cullen felt strangely safe, shielded by their mutual confessions.

"Cullen?"

"Hum?"

"Will this nightmare ever be over?"

He forced her chin up to look at him, her red puffy eyes full of torment and grief. "I swear that we will see this through. Together. To whatever end."

"To whatever end," she whispered in agreement, the fire back in her eyes.

Then he bent to kiss her again and, after a moment, she pulled him close. For the moment, it was enough.

A/N: Next chapter, and likely the final part of this piece, shall include:

Sexy time, I swear!

Cullen fesses up about his night with the Chargers... and his lyrium addiction issues.

The end of the world almost happens and leaves a lot of unanswered questions.

Probably more abusredness, fluffyness and angsty Commander Cullen brooding. Because reasons.