Cullen felt unwell. He hadn't slept in months. Not since that night in tower, when his dreams had become nightmares, images of what he wanted and could never have. He'd told her, blurted everything in front of her and those with her, stupid stupid Cullen, he thought it was more torment. How could he have known?

And she'd looked so shocked, so hurt when he cut her with his words. When he said they all deserved to die. Surely she didn't think he'd meant her? Maker, he'd have given his life to take those words away and remove the look in her eyes. She'd bit back, hurting in return. Is that who she was now? The Neria Amell he'd known - and loved, if this was a moment of honesty - was soft spoken and sweet, never not smiling and radiant in everything she did. Or had he been so blind that he never noticed the true Neria.

She'd told him to sod off, told him she should have left him to die in that cage. When she left with her friends, he wanted to follow. Wanted to tell her he didn't mean it, that it was the demons talking, the agony he had endured. Wanted to tell her he loved her.

But she was gone, she'd blown through like the wind, his savior and tormentor in one.

The Tower was rebuilding. Slowly. Wynne has assumed the job of First Enchanter in the wake of Irving's failing health. Too many had died and it seemed a hollow place now, the halls dark and empty. The screams of the dead still echoed in each step.

If sleep was impossible, waking hours were no better; he would drift off on watch and see visions of blood and gore everywhere.

Gregoir had cut his duties to a minimum, sending him to the boat dock for hours of pointless watch. Who was coming? No one wanted to be at the Tower, not even those that lived within it's walls. Cullen stared out over the water and let his mind wander.

He'd seen her through the cage, that version of Neria would be eternally burned into his mind. The demon had come to him, tormented him with promises of things he could never have. Amell in his arms, in his bed, his mage to love. She'd whispered sweet affections in his ears, then poisoned him with her touch. He'd seen her burn, bleed, die a thousand ways and come back to bring him to the edge of madness. But he had resisted; he knew it wasn't her. She felt wrong, and smelled wrong and her voice was hollow compared to the real thing.

And then she'd been real, there, blushing as he gushed the truth. She'd looked into his eyes and promised she would save him. He'd wept for her. This would be the same, she'd feed him lies until he was at the edge and then let him fall over again Let him die a little more inside. And then she had returned, just as she promised; because, after all she was real. Flesh and blood, his Amell. She'd saved the mages, and him. She'd saved the Tower. And then left him to his own madness.

Something stirred in the bushes behind him, drawing him from his painful memories. Cullen jumped to attention, drawing his sword as he approached the noise. Two young apprentices stumbled out, eyes wide in fear as they ran into the knight. Cullen lurched forward, grabbing the one by the arm as the other stumbled back. What are you doing out here? You know no one is allowed outside the tower right now. Especially not at night!

The girl stammered, trying to pry his fingers from her arm. They dug in deeper, reddening her pale skin as he hauled her to her feet. We were just collecting elfroot for a potion. I swear Ser, we didn't mean to get in trouble. The other girl was gawking, eyes wide and mouth open. Her eyes, they bored into him. Cullen couldn't think straight. She looked like the others, the ones with Uldred.

There was blood on her arm, he glared. A long cut down the inside. She stammered something about it not being what it looked like, but all Cullen saw was the blood. The other girl was trying to explain something about rose bushes. Both girls looked very very frightened.

"Blood mage!" Cullen scowled, shaking his head. She was trying to trick him. They both were. How dare you! I will not let you take any more lives! A scream pierced the air, Cullen felt something warm and sticky on his hands. On his face. Someone was crying and whispering. He looked down. At his feet, a crumpled form lay bloodied and still. His sword was bloodied too, still drawn.

You killed her! You killed her! It was just from the thorns, she didn't cut herself. We weren't doing anything! The other girl was screaming, running and then she too lay on the ground. They were so quiet, so still, Cullen couldn't stand the silence. It screamed in his head, threatening to drive him mad. His sword forgotten on the ground, he backed away, shaking his head. No..no no no no...oh Maker no. What have I done? Stumbling on his feet, he rushed away, headed for the boat tied at the shore.

-o-o-o-

Neria felt unwell. She bent over the edge of the chair, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. Her chest was too tight, not enough air in the office. Alistair was looking at her strangely, she was pretty sure she was an unpleasant shade of pale. She was also pretty sure she might being throwing up in the immediate future.

"Dear, I know this is upsetting but I thought it better you know. At least this way you can be prepared." Wynne gently rubbed her back in a small circular motion, her motherly nature familiar and comforting. Alistair was still frowning.

"I think - I think I am - oh yeah, definitely gonna be sick." Neria lurched from the chair, stumbling across the room to barely reach the large flower pot there before breakfast made a swift reappearance. Funny, she didn't remember eating eggs.

Alistair groaned, making an unpleasant face before crossing the room to kneel beside her, pulling her hair back from her face. "See what you've done? Haven't you taken enough from her? Is there still more pain she should endure?"

Neria stared at the wall, trying not to look at the contents of her stomach currently in the soil of the planter. It might make things worse. The smell was bad enough. And oh dear, some got in her hair. That was disgusting. She wretched, trying to keep it down, and then lunch joined breakfast. Alistair sighed, holding her as she emptied her stomach of every meal she'd had in the last few days. Andraste's knickers, but those Wardens ate alot!