III. With This Line I'll Mark My Past

It will make you stronger than you have ever imagined you'd be. The first time, you will feel as though you could shake the world in its foundations. Your body sings the song that holds the earth in place. And as the time passes, that feeling will become a little shorter, a little less intense, but it taunts you that one day, you might reach it again. Become one with that which is so much greater, beyond comprehension. Years will pass until you realize that each time you give in, you pay a price. It will take pieces of you, the smallest things in the beginning, tiny sips from the cup that is your soul. The smile of a passer-by on the street. The fragrance of flowers in the airy spring breeze. The laughter of your sister when you played hide-and-seek that summer long ago. And before you know, you will grow smaller, less, as more and more of you is chipped away. You forget your mother's name, and the grief when a brother dies by the sword, and what hope and love feel like, until you are hollow and empty and human no more. Is this truly what the Maker intended?
Scroll found in a hut near Redcliffe, Author Unknown

The week until her next departure to the Storm Coast passed much too quickly, Shenlira thought. When she had returned, all she could think about was to leave again. Now you don't want to go, hypocrite., her conscience piped. The nagging suspicion that this change of heart had to do with Cullen was like a pebble stuck in her boots. She liked spending time with him. She found all sorts of excuses to visit his tower room and go through some report or other together. Remembering how she'd found him playing chess with Dorian one afternoon made her smile. He had insisted that she stayed, and they had played until evening fell. Shenlira hovered at the door of her quarters. Dressed for leaving Skyhold already, Heartwood lay comfortingly against her back. Reluctance made her check and recheck everything twice. You are stalling. The better she was getting to know Cullen, the stronger he wedged himself into the little gaps between her thoughts, until it seemed he'd taken up a permanent residence there. Dare she hope that he cared about her in return? He smiled more often while they talked, almost fondly… But she had sometimes noticed him looking at her with guilt in his eyes, as though he had done something shameful. She could not understand it. Everything was fine. Was it? Halfway through the courtyard she met Varric, who was just exiting the armory with a colourful curse.

"They broke Bianca's handle, can you believe it?", he called to Shenlira, his voice as though he'd suffered some mortal insult. "I know you wanted to leave by nightfall. But I need to repair the damage these dunderheads did. Mark my words, Inquisitor. Never let an amateur repair your weapons. Unbelievable!" The dwarf went on complaining while she tried to keep a straight face. Her gaze wandered unwillingly to the light coming from the arrow-slits of the middle watchtower. Surely, he was still working on some correspondence, quill scratching away on the parchment as candlelight danced over his face. Shenlira could picture it so well, almost as if she stood in the study right then. He would greet her in that earnest, kind fashion of his, and inexplicably his features would lose all strain and severity… Maybe she should drop by with those scout reports from the Wastes…

"And you are not hearing a word I say, I guess.", Varric sounded amused. "I used bird droppings as shaving cream today. What do you think of that?"

"What?", Shenlira twitched as though stung by a needle and her attention snapped back to him. "I'm sorry Varric, what did you say?"

"Nothing at all. Anyway, I'm sorry to delay our next excursion, but we won't be able to leave until dawn. Maybe you should use the time to… bid goodbye to someone?", he suggested conspiringly. Shenlira felt her face burn, but she narrowed her eyes at her companion in suspicion.

"What are you suggesting here, Varric?", she asked with a drawl. The dwarf stepped a little closer and his voice was suddenly serious.

"I'm suggesting that you shouldn't deny yourself something that makes you stronger. Maybe even happy. Life is too short, Shenlira. For most of us, it is just a few fleeting moments of joy, followed by regret for all the chances we did not take. Will you be like that?" He left her there to ponder those meaningful words, wondering how this light-hearted joker could give out such profound advice at the same time. In the end, she decided to take his advice and not deny herself saying goodbye to Cullen before she left for the next mission. It was never possible to say how long she'd be gone on these assignments and after their intense conversation in the war room she knew that he worried about her.

A sort of giddy happiness had taken hold of her when she quickly exchanged Heartwood for the scouting reports and climbed the battlements with a certain verve in her step. But just at the door to Cullen's tower she stopped short. Raised voices were arguing on the other side, and it did not sound good.

"Knight-Commander, I implore you to reconsider-", a fairly familiar voice, she noted. Male, deep and disciplined… but Shenlira could not quite place it. In any case, whoever spoke was interrupted mid-sentence.

"Do not call me that! I left the Templar Order and I don't wish to go back. How many times have I told you no?" This from Cullen, brimming with agitation just short of yelling.

"The Inquisitor has given us a chance to save what is left of our Order. You could help us – help us restore what we once were!" She recognized him then: It was Knight-Templar Barris, or rather Knight-Commander now of what was left of the Templars. He seemed to be trying to convince Cullen to return to the order – as their leader.

"No!", Cullen's refusal was absolute. There was a moment of silence that seemed deafening. "The Inquisitor has given you a great mercy by allowing you to go on. I'm not even sure I agree with her decision not to disband the Order." Heavy footsteps sounded through the room, reminding her of a caged lion's nervous pacing.

"I will never return to that life. When the demons took over our mages, I saw my brothers tortured and killed. I saw Templars go mad and cut down mages they'd watched over for all of their lives. And then mages turn on those they had called brothers. The edge between protection and tyranny blurred and bred violence and contempt, until it spawned one endless bloodshed. And now? An Envy demon overtaking the order, abominations made out of proud warriors, corruption at the very heart of what we were. It just never ends. Can't you understand why I don't want to go back to that?" His proud voice was so deeply laced with pain and tortured memories, Shenlira had to force herself not to barge in on their conversation.

"What hope do we have left in this bleak picture you paint of us, brother?", Barris sounded wounded by Cullen's blunt words.

"You can do better than me. I sacrificed so much… And in the end, I could not change anything. That part of my life… It's over now. I can't go back, never. This is where I belong. Do not ask this of me again. The answer will always be no." A loud crack! startled her, like wood hitting wood, and then a scraping noise. She couldn't fathom what it was. "And take this away.", Cullen added. It sounded as though Barris had handed him something revolting. A long pause.

"No. If you are really done, then you destroy it.", the Knight-Commander spoke tightly. Shenlira heard his footsteps and bolted to hide behind the opening door, but lucky for her Barris exited the one on the other side. Absolute silence fell. Slow minutes ticked by and she found it inexorably hard to wait for a reasonable amount of time before it felt safe to knock.

"Enter.", Cullen answered after a seemingly endless moment. Shenlira stepped inside to find his tall form leaning against the fireplace mantle. His head rested against one arm, while he held out a hand to the high flames. She noted that this was the first time she saw his hands ungloved, and also that he kept flexing his long fingers in a way people did when they were stiff with cold. Cullen did not turn to see who'd entered, but instead proceeded to look into the fire. Something was very wrong.

"Whatever it is, just leave it on the table and be on your way." She bristled at the clipped tone of his voice, but there was also a bone-deep weariness in it that worried her. Some weeks ago, she might have bolted had he spoken to her like this. But now she decided to ignore his remark and make her presence known.

"Cullen?" At the sound of Shenlira calling his name, he lifted his head in alarm. Maker help him, why now? This was a bad time for her to come here. He had woken with a headache as though a drill was trying to force its way out of his skull, then his joints had pained and stung until it was hard to move without stumbling. Why did his hands just not seem to get warm? They were always cold.

And now he felt an episode coming, one of those where his temper could lash out from the pain and he would lose focus on reality. All of these things were symptoms of Lyrium withdrawal, which he had successfully hidden from her until now. But then again, this was an episode, and she likely wasn't even here. Why was she here? Had his longing to see her conjured her up? The edges around her small frame blurred and shimmered and he forced his eyes shut, unsure if she'd still be there when he opened them or if he'd find that a demon from his nightmares had taken her place.

"I thought you left for the Coast. Why are you here?" In the back of his mind Cullen knew that the comment sounded immensely callous. If this by any chance was real, he was rampaging around in the garden of their fragile, growing relationship like an idiot. But that just did not seem to matter right now. Shenlira regarded him with open concern. Sweat shone on his brow, which was deeply furrowed in an expression of pain. Dark shadows pooled under his eyes and his whole face was a pale, rigid mask. It was unsettling and she immediately knew that he was not himself.

"I got held up and have to delay until dawn tomorrow. Never mind that. Cullen, you look terrible. Something's not right – what is it?" She walked forward and boldly reached out a hand to touch his arm. He stiffened at once but didn't pull away, instead he stared at her hand as though seeing something like that for the first time. If she hadn't known better, she'd say he was drunk. But he never drank and drunks usually felt less pain, while he seemed to be in a great deal of it. Her remark was ignored as he mustered all of his concentration to bring her face into focus. The grey-blue of her eyes shimmered like an iridescent gem. A gem beneath the surface of a great glacier lake, its depths unknowable and strange, but so enticing. In that instant, he would gladly have plunged into those fathomless waters and drowned himself searching for what lay hidden there. Her hair, on the other hand, was a dancing flame in the firelight and he wondered if it would burn him if he touched it.

"You are fire and ice, both at the same time.", Cullen told her without restraint and followed it up with a short laugh. Shenlira looked at him like he'd gone insane. Disconnected as he was from reality, his mind made strange leaps with no logic or sense whatsoever.

"You left the templar order intact instead of joining it completely to the Inquisition. Why would you do such a thing?", he wondered, but she got the distinct feeling that he was talking to a ghost of her that wasn't really there. She thought about calling for help, but again, somehow she knew he would not want anyone to see him like this. Whatever was wrong, he'd never have behaved like this to her had he been in his right mind.

"Cullen, please – how can I possibly answer that when there is clearly something very wrong with you. You aren't even making sense. It frightens the wits out of me. Please-", she was cut off when, out of nowhere, his hand came up to her face. His touch felt icy cold and yet so gentle, as though he was handling a precious, fragile thing he was afraid to break. These were hands that swung a two-handed sword like a rapier, but were feather-light on her skin. Words got stuck inside her throat and she went very still, letting his fingers roam over her high cheekbones, the angle of her jaw, the soft slope of her neck. He brushed over the place where her pulse thrummed with the frantic beat of her heart. Shenlira watched his clouded eyes widen in disbelief.

"What's this?", he spoke softly. "Like a bird's wings." Tilting his head, he seemed to listen for a while. "No, that can't be right. You don't…", the words trailed away, unfinished. Could one hallucinate the scent of lilac and rosemary, or the softness of a woman's skin, he wondered? Don't truly be here. No, a pride in peril whispered those treacherous words. Maker, I wish you really were here.

"And yet, you're so warm." His expression was rueful as he lifted his hand from her throat. No! Shenlira wanted to cry out with frustration, frustration that he'd stopped, that he would not tell her what was wrong, that he was being incoherent and difficult and making her feel helpless.

"Please, if you won't tell me what is wrong, at least tell me how to help you. What can I do?" The almost desperate pleading in her voice reached something inside Cullen that had retreated to the farthest corner of his mind. He turned and pawed at the clasps that held his armor in place, but his hands were numb, unresponsive things.

"Help me take this off. It's so heavy… constricting. I can't take a breath." Shenlira only wavered for a moment before she reached for him, first removing his cloak and then loosening the straps at his side. When she helped him lift it off, Cullen gave a groan of relief that made her wonder how he endured being confined in the thing all day long. He wore a dark red tunic beneath the armor, but this was the most… naked she'd ever seen him. Focus! Now is not the time for such thoughts, she chided herself. She noted how he moved like a person in great pain, even though being able to take some deep breaths seemed to help him. With immense effort, Shenlira pushed his desk chair close to the fire and coaxed him to sit down. She offered him water or food and asked him over and over if she should send for someone, but he denied categorically. When she cajoled for the fifth time what else she could do for him, the look he gave her was quizzical.

"Sing.", he said as he leaned his nape against the back of the chair. "I don't know if you are real. If you aren't, my imagination will not do your voice justice. But still… Sing for me, please." Oh you stubborn man… How can you sound ashamed making such a simple request? She had to swallow the thickness in her throat twice before she found the power of speech again. The song she chose was one her mother had always sung while weaving at her loom. And as she sang, she walked to Cullen and her warm hands wrapped around his cold fingers. They were tiny, but she meticulously rubbed warmth back into the numb skin and all the while her song was tireless. It washed over him, bringing with it an unstoppable wave of weariness. The pain eased, the clamped-up muscles in his shoulders relaxed, and he suddenly felt tired, so very tired, as though he had not slept for years. He let her voice carry him, light and soft and gentle, over into a painless, dreamless sleep.

Only when Cullen's breathing had become deep and even did Shenlira fall silent. He'd fallen asleep. Try as she might, she could make no sense of the strange encounter she had just gone through. Careful not to wake him, she put two logs on the fire, when she noticed a bright gleam of blue on the floor. Picking it up and rolling the small metal cylinder between her fingers, she realized what it was: A container filled with Lyrium. The mineral shimmered through the tiny glass windows like a patch of cloudless sky. Suddenly, her mind was racing ahead of itself. The conversation between Cullen and Barris flashed through her head. Take that away, Cullen had said, like "that" had been something repulsive. And surely enough, Shenlira spied a wooden casket on his massive desk. She opened the lid and found what she had expected. The insides held all the items templars needed to take their daily Lyrium doses. Looking at the container closely, she saw that it was still sealed and full to the brim. It had not been used. Neither have any of the others.

Her heart turned over in her chest when the realization hit her. Everything made sense now. Little that she knew about templar habits and Lyrium, it was enough to make her terrified for his sake. She'd been briefed by Leliana when she'd joined forces with the order. Templars who stopped or for some reason had no access to Lyrium suffered severe withdrawal over months. Some went insane, others simply didn't make it. And he had stopped. In secret. How much had that cost him? Why hadn't he told her? Shame, pride, guilt? I would have been there for you. Trust me! She flung that thought towards him with a passion that should have taken physical form, if such a thing were possible. Of course it wasn't. Shenlira was suddenly sure that Cullen had gone through incredible measures not to show any sign of his pain and suffering. Possibly nobody else knew about this. No, not nobody. He would have taken care to elect a trustworthy person to watch him. That was just how seriously he took his duties. And as the last gear clicked into place in her mind, she knew who she had to find, and soon.

But every fibre of her body screamed against leaving him like this. To soothe her conscience, she sat down at the small side-table in one corner of the room and spent the time one whole candle-wick took to burn watching him. She looked for any sign of unrest, nightmares, physical discomfort while she filed methodically through some reports. But Cullen slept on, undisturbed, his face void of all tension. However she had worked this miracle, Shenlira hoped its magic would last through the night. For the moment, it seemed that she'd done all that she could for him. Before leaving on silent hunter's steps, she pulled a fresh piece of parchment from his desk and wrote a note. Then she blew out the candles so no one would disturb his sleep. Heavy sorrow burdened her heart when the door closed behind her noiselessly. And at the same time, she felt hollow, as though she'd left most of herself behind with him.

When Cullen awoke, it was from the uncomfortable stiffness in his neck and the direct shaft of sunlight that had reached his eyes. For a moment all he could think about was the stinging pain that shot through his nape as he straightened. He'd fallen asleep in front of the fire in his desk chair. Spending the night like this had made him sore, but he felt his lungs expand freely with a deep breath. Head painless?, he mused, baffled. Until the memory hit like an avalanche. His hand went to his chest – no armour. And it was warm. Warm… Like the skin beneath his fingers, the fluttering pulse reminiscent of a frantic bird. Skin that gave off a scent of lilac and rosemary. He almost choked on the shock that it had been real. No, no, no, it can't be. If she had seen him in such a state… Pacing through the room with a feeling that was just a little short of panic, his gaze caught something on his desk. The Lyrium box was still where he'd left it, the blasted thing. But next to it, report parchments were arranged into a neat little pile. The uppermost one wore comments written in a delicate, feminine hand and her signature graced the bottom of the page. A folded note had been laid right in the middle of the desk. It carried his name. The C almost looked as though done in calligraphy. Or elven script. Cullen's mouth felt dry like the Hissing Wastes. He simultaneously dreaded and wanted nothing more than to read the note and therefore spent a long time just looking at it, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that everything he remembered about last night had actually happened. You utter fool. A sigh escaped him, one that felt laden with too many emotions to name them all. Finally, he opened the note.

Cullen,

Shenlira had written.

Before you worry yourself into knots about what happened, please know this: Nothing has changed about the way I see you. I will tell you this in person to reaffirm it when I return.

Having said that, I regret that my assignment at the Coast could not be postponed and I had to leave at first light. Still, I feel the need to answer the question you asked me. You wanted to know why I left the Templar Order intact, giving them freedom over their future, when this war is done with. This, it seemed to me, was very important to you.

I do not claim to understand all there is to your Maker and the faith that is such an intricate part of your People. I admire this unwavering resolve in humanity. Such a thing is beyond my judgement. But I have to believe that the actions of one leader gone wrong cannot destroy the foundations of a belief that has endured for a thousand years. Everything gone wrong deserves a chance to be made right.

If we start wiping out the pillars of your culture left and right, what will remain of it in the end? And what would your People have learned from such an example, to avoid further bloodshed, or to fear the Inquistion?

My decision was made with the sincere hope that things might change after the shaking disaster that was Therinfal. That those who lived would see it as a crossroads and maybe, walk the righteous path this time, by taking heed not to repeat the mistakes of the past.

I bid you, when you doubt yourself, when things seem bleak, when your decisions waver, remember this:

And if rain brings winds of change,
Let it rain on us forever
With this line I'll mark my past,
As a symbol of beginning.

And then, come and find me.

My thoughts ride with you, [here a word had been written in elven script]
Until I return, I remain Yours,
Lira

"Lira.", he repeated the name she'd signed it with, testing its sound on his lips. It felt like a benediction, a soft, lyrical endearment. By giving him permission to use it, she had allowed him into a very private part of her world. He could not rightly explain why, but he sensed that this name, just as the peculiar little smile of hers, belonged to him. It had been granted and somehow, speaking it seemed to evoke a profound feeling, a spell… A promise. At least this much he knew about matters of the heart, although it suddenly made him even more ashamed, mortified about his behaviour the night before. And very nervous about seeing upon her return.

I remain Yours. Yours, with a capital Y. Cullen read and reread the note until he had committed the last few lines to memory. Then he copied the elven word he was unable to read and folded the note twice, before hiding it in the small pocket inside his tunic. He would keep her words, and the deep affection he felt radiating from them, close to his heart.