The whiskey was strong, Cullen's tunic still looked absurdly sheer, and Avery wasn't sure which of the of the two things were going to her head more. She'd begun to feel almost cautiously giddy, having ridden the strange emotional wave up from the depths of her grief and into the exhilaration of attraction and possibility. That Cullen, poor sleep deprived Cullen, had chosen to stay awake and talk to her rather than gain a much needed night of guaranteed sleep was still more than she could quite believe. But the momentary good mood and the glimmer of drunken hope seemed fragile, ready to crumble under the slightest pressure.

In its usual fashion as of late, the nagging voice in the back of her head had begun trying to talk her down from the spurious height, warning her against too much optimism. It reminded her that it was possible that he wasn't really staying awake to talk to her. Probably he just hadn't wanted any part of her magic, an idea supported by the fact that every time she failed to feel the familiar hum of mana within her, she was reminded of his knee-jerk reaction to her upset. Part of her knew she couldn't blame him, given everything that he'd seen and dealt with. But she couldn't deny the depressing reality that it was possible to be attracted to someone without trusting them. It was possible to want to take someone to bed, while still fearing the essence of what they are. It was possible that while under incredible duress, one might accept comfort from a person they'd never otherwise consider and might even normally despise.

Her own insecurity was tiring even to herself, but she knew she could expect little else, considering what had happened between her and the only two men she'd been close to in the past six years. She'd been rejected by both of them and twice now by Fenris. Despite Cullen's kind words, his other mixed messages reminded her that he had every reason to reject her too. Even if he showed an interest now, it could all fall apart once circumstances changed. It was enough to temper her giddiness before she let it become too apparent, to him or herself. It seemed safer to keep her hopes and expectations low.

Though she also couldn't deny any longer that she really wanted to touch him. That shirt, barely hiding the sculpted muscle beneath, the creamy skin that she had lain against to get warm, was all a cruel tease. His very existence seemed like it was taunting her. His face, his gold eyes, the curve of those lips, the strong jaw… it was all saying here is yet another beautiful man that you probably can't have. Maybe for a little while, maybe for tonight, but not truly. Not for real.

She was tempted to just drink more, drown out all those little voices of dissent, and just let happen whatever was going to happen. He had kissed her first after all, and back before they'd really tried to get to know each other. She could be completely way off base about everything. Maybe shutting her own brain up was the best possible option. Maybe thinking was the very last thing she should be doing.

The sips of whiskey continued to burn her throat and stomach, but they traveled up to her head and fuzzed out the world a little more, slowly edging out all the stupid doubts that were clawing for attention.

"Why do I never see you with your friends anymore? Where are they?" he asked quietly. He'd filled his own glass again, apparently welcoming the heady indulgence with the same abandon that she was. The light of the fire shone through the warm caramel fluid, making it look like liquid amber. The same color as his eyes.

She'd been noticing that color everywhere she went lately, much to her dismay. The day before she had a cup of tea that was the color of his eyes. She'd seen a bronze belt buckle on a man in the markets that was the color of his eyes. She'd seen a pie made of pecan custard sitting in a window that was gold flecked with brown and she had laughed like a maniac. Had she been thinking of him so much because she'd been seeing it everywhere, or had she been seeing it everywhere because she'd been thinking of him? She'd been trying not to think of him. Trying not to imagine wrapping her arms around him and easing all his considerable pains and worries away, trying not to remember their one kiss in greater detail, calling up how he tasted and how perfect his lips were.

"That… is an excellent question," she began. "The short answer is that we still don't know where Isabela is. Things with Anders are… complicated. Same with Fenris. Merrill and I were never really close. Avy is up to her eyeballs in new guard recruits last I heard and barely has time to breathe. Varric is still where he's always been and any divide there is all my fault." She sighed. "I should probably go visit him soon."

Cullen nodded, swirling his whiskey around in his glass. "It seems like things are a mess everywhere."

She agreed.

"Is your family far away?" she asked.

He nodded again. "They are. I don't write to them like I should. I am not really sure what to say."

"Do you… not have any friends within the Order?" He shook his head.

"Fraternization with subordinates is discouraged," he said simply.

"But surely you made some friends before you were Knight-Captain?"

"Well, I haven't always been stationed here in Kirkwall. I was transfered in. Everyone I knew before that are… gone.." His eyes grew dark and his lips drew together tightly, signaling quite clearly that that line of questioning would probably lead to something heavy. They were supposed to be leaving the heaviness outside. Perhaps that would be a better conversation for another time, if he wanted to have it at all.

She nodded and sat quietly for a while, trying to think up something that might not lead to the topic of magic or death or any number of other horrors. Maybe something a little more relevant to… whatever it was that they were doing.

"I see. So then there probably isn't anyone… special in your life, then?" she began, feeling almost deliriously emboldened by the whiskey. "I mean I guess, if there were, you'd probably be with them right now and not me."

He shook his head again, confirming her assumption, his eyes still trained on the contents of his glass.

"I'm surprised."

He snorted, his eyes glowing gold again, replacing the darkness she'd just seen there. His lip curled slightly, and she was glad to see that she'd steered the conversation out of rough waters.

"No time?" she asked.

He nodded, his lip curling higher, becoming an almost half-smile. "No time," he confirmed. "And there hasn't really been anyone who's caught my interest. At least not in a long time."

"How long has it been?"

He met her gaze for a moment, and then looked away again, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Years," he said. "Quite a few of them, in fact."

Avery was taken aback.

"No friends and no… anything else, for years? That sounds very lonely."

"I stay very busy for the most part. And I haven't been in a good enough place to really get close to anyone, even if I had the opportunity. But yes. It is." He sighed, and emptied his glass again in a single gulp. His eyes were glossy, his reddened lids drooping low, and she could feel a vast sea of thoughts churning around behind them. If she hadn't been there, prodding him with questions, he probably would have been completely lost to it. Or he'd be trying to sleep, but fighting nightmares.

"Why are you surprised?" he asked, his gaze flicking over to her. She couldn't meet it, afraid she'd give too much away.

"Why wouldn't I be surprised? You're handsome and sweet and good…" she said.

"I am not always very sweet. Or good."

"Well you're always handsome," she said. Maker, she couldn't seem to help herself.

He gave a little laugh, and she looked over just in time to catch the smile on his face before it fell away again.

"I was a very angry man after my transfer, because of some of the things I… endured. It's only very recently that that has changed. Ironically it has taken being faced with some of the same extremism that I used to espouse, to show me how ineffective it can be."

She was quiet again.

"So you and Anders…" he began, the words left hanging there.

"There is no more me and Anders." For the first time she realized he didn't know that Fenris was a part of that little experiment too. What would he think if he found out?

"Yet you said it was complicated. Forgive me for saying so, but that doesn't sound complicated," he said. "Either you're together or you're not, right? And now you're not?"

She gave a sad laugh. That was how things were supposed to be.

"Yes. You're right. It was complicated for a while there I guess, but now it's pretty simple," she agreed. Simplicity. She might have had it for a fleeting moment, but she was managing to fall back into complication again. She seemed to have a talent for that. She sighed, her head feeling foggy and heavy.

Spurned on by an aching in her back, she sat up straight to try to stretch out, wishing she had something to lean back against. Sitting on the floor meant hunching over crossed legs, and constantly switching up positions to head off cramps and sore joints. First order of business at the next opportunity would be to get some kind of actual seating. She rubbed at the back of her neck, and considered just lying down.

"What happened?" he asked. "You don't have to tell me, I just…"

"What?"

"I don't understand why anyone would leave you." His cheeks were still pink, and he kept his eyes cast down.

Avery blinked numbly, trying to process the words. Had he really said that? She felt a warm flush spread over her body, beginning in her belly and working up to her cheeks. She tried to stifle a smile and for a blessed moment, all the insecure little voices in the back of her mind were quiet.

She laughed softly. He couldn't imagine? She almost asked 'A Templar can't imagine leaving a mage?' but realized that would just take them back to that same place they were trying to avoid. She was trying to avoid.

"He… preferred someone else." A flash of Anders and Fenris darkened her mind for a moment and she flung the memory away.

"So he hurt you? Is that why you go to the ledge? Is that why you were crying when you came to the door?"

"Part of it. On top of everything else we're all dealing with right now," she said. Anders. Stupid beautiful Anders. Stupid beautiful Fenris. Sitting there beside Cullen, she finally felt truly glad that they were gone, at least for the moment. "And then also my…" she stopped. She hadn't said the words yet, but her mind was already there. The one place that could instantly and profoundly destroy any feeling of happiness.

"Your mother?"

She nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath and pouring herself another glass of whiskey. How many was this now? Five? Six? She certainly felt it. She was wobbly and loose, and like she was surfing a rough, emotional sea, never sure whether she was going up or down.

Cullen's hand fell onto her back again and she looked over to him. His face was open and kind. She'd seen flashes of his anger a few times since they'd first met that day, but despite all they'd talked about there was none of that visible now. She wouldn't have blamed him for being an angry man. He had every reason to be. She was pretty angry herself, somewhere underneath all the other stuff.

"Is that how you like to be comforted?" she asked him.

"Oh, I'm sorry if it bothers you…" he said, pulling his hand away.

"No, it doesn't. It's very nice actually. I was just wondering," she began. "Since it's the first thing you do when I get all... melancholy. I appreciate it though. Very much." And yet he'd had no one to do the same for him, despite whatever hardships he dealt with on a regular basis in the Circle? No one to offer a simple soothing touch in years?

"Actually, now that you mention it, my mother used to rub my back whenever I was upset or not feeling well as a child… I guess it's just what I know to do."

She studied his weary features, and felt that deep ache of sympathy for him again. Her gaze traveled openly along the lines of his face, to those bruised looking shadows that nestled around his tired eyes. At least in focusing on him, not as a Templar but just as a person, someone clearly troubled and in need of a friend, she could seem to leave her own pain in the dark. He arched his back and she heard several loud pops as he stretched. This blighted floor.

She had an impulse, a blurry, drunken idea and before she could think the better of it she found herself sliding behind him, positioning herself directly to his rear and rising on her knees so that she was eye level with the top of his head. He twisted around, trying to figure out what she was doing, but she gently prodded him back to where he was.

"My father would rub my back too, but he'd do it a little differently. I'll show you," she said as she laid her hands on his shoulders. "It might help if you're starting to get sore. Sorry again for not having anywhere proper to sit."

"Please, there is no need to apologize for being hospitable," he teased. "You're giving me a free place to stay for the night. I certainly can't complain."

She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin linen, and the body beneath was firm, swelling with the curves of muscle. Would he mind? Being touched so much by a mage? If he did, she supposed he'd let her know. He certainly didn't seem terribly averse to touching her, moving on his own to rub her back when he felt she needed it. She took a deep breath, and began at the top of his shoulders, kneading and massaging the deep tissues on either side of his neck. She pressed gently at first, squeezing slow circles into the tense flesh. His hair smelled like leather and seawater, and she felt shaky, nervous, and more intoxicated than ever.

Cullen responded immediately to her touch, twitching slightly at the pressure and then bearing into it, bracing himself against the ministrations of her hands. Slowly he began letting his body yield and sway with her movements. She worked patiently, pulling all the knots that she could find loose, lingering in place until she felt them slowly begin to give and then melt away. She worked her way down to the thick cords of muscle along his spine, and the thick pads of flesh over his shoulder blades. In a few places he yelped as she circled knuckles into the tense spots. Since she was feeling a slight restoration of her mana, she followed up some of the more troublesome knots with a gentle pulse of healing.

After several minutes, his head slumped forward, hanging loosely as the occasional groan rumbled in his throat. The sound sent a peal of arousal through her, pooling low in her belly and rippling down between her legs.

Maker, he felt so good under her hands, and he hadn't protested at all. She relaxed a little bit herself, beginning to feel more confident.

She already knew that his back and chest were a marvel to behold, but under her fingers he became something else; his graceful curves burned with warmth, and all that effortless strength proved to also be soft and gentle. It took great control not to lean forward and brush her lips across the back of his neck. He looked so different than Anders and Fenris, he smelled different and Maker did he feel so different. He was uniquely, deliciously Cullen, and she felt herself consumed by his presence while she worked on him, letting the rest of the room fall away as she traveled and explored the landscape of his musculature. She put all her focus into her hands, rubbing out every twinge of discomfort she could locate, and slowly he gave up all his tension, his arms and neck hanging looser, his shoulders slumping toward the floor.

With another satisfied groan, he began to lean backward until his body was resting hot and heavy against hers. At first she thought he might not have meant to do it, until his head came back and settled comfortably on her shoulder. She suppressed a shudder, wanting to nuzzle into him, to open her body and let him in completely. She parted her legs a little wider, allowing him to sink further back against her.

"Have you ever had anyone do this to your hands?" she whispered into his ear as she rubbed at the sides of his narrow waist. It had been a long time since anyone had massaged her hands, and she resolved to show him that too once they were in a better position. "It feels amazing."

"I don't remember the last time I was touched at all, that wasn't just being hit. Until lately."

Avery couldn't fathom a life completely devoid of touch. To go years without a simple hug? A comforting caress? It only made her want to do more, to make up for all the years he'd been lacking, wanting.

She released his waist and ran her hands down his arms, squeezing and massaging along the way, pressing into the corded meat of his forearms. His face turned slightly toward her, coming closer into her neck and she glanced down at him, seeing his brow finally softened and his eyes closed. She was glad to see him look so relaxed and at ease.

It was difficult to continue the massage with him leaning up against her, but she was not ready to give up her explorations. She shifted from deep massaging to lighter caresses, trailing her fingers lightly back up his arms. One of her own arms slid under his and brought it around to rest on his chest, thrilling at the firm definition she felt. It was a cruel irony that the act of fighting and killing could carve such beauty from the human form. And he must have spent an inordinate amount of time fighting to feel as sculpted and solid as he did. His temple brushed against her cheek and she heard his breaths, his chest rising and falling in long, slow waves. Her other hand traveled back up his shoulder, sliding over the exposed skin of his neck and threading through his hair. He groaned again and let his head fall back further as she rubbed at his scalp. One of his hands reached behind him to rest firmly on her thigh.

"I can't imagine what it might be like to go that long without being touched," she said softly. "I hate the thought that you've never had anyone there for you. With everything you must go through…."

"I guess I… just didn't know what I was missing."

Maker he felt so good, so warm and solid and real. Avery kept her touch gentle, enjoying the velvety softness of his skin under the strokes of her hands, the way his body melted back into her, completely relaxed but still responsive, moving with her. She tried to keep from staring down his cheek at his parted lips, lips that she could probably take that very moment with little resistance. She wanted to, wanted to climb around until she was on his lap, and completely wrap herself around him until they were melded into one being. But despite the desperation of the impulse, she held back. The bottle of whiskey was sitting in front of the fire, emptied completely, and he'd had considerably more than her. The last thing she wanted was for him to come to in the morning and regret… everything. She'd had enough of that sort of thing already.

"Let me help you sleep, Cullen. Let me take your nightmares away. I want to give you some peace," she said gently into his ear, conjuring up all the self control she had not to take his earlobe between her own lips.

"You already have," he breathed.

His head turned more and his eyes opened, the deep amber pools landing first on her lips, then dragging up to meet her gaze. He wanted to kiss her too. She could see the spark desire there, could feel the pull of his parted lips to hers. But she was stopped by the quiet crisis of conscience she was having. If he was going to kiss her, if they were going to do this, she wanted him to be sure. She couldn't handle another heartbreak so soon. She wanted him so badly, Maker, she was positively aching for him. Her body was singing with sensation in every place that they were joined. It was overpowering, sweeping all her thoughts and feelings into a big, confusing jumble. But her recent experiences were too sharp in her memory, piercing straight through her fog of drunkenness and desire with the knowledge that it would hurt so much more if she had him tonight, only to find out tomorrow that he'd changed his mind, or had too many doubts. He wouldn't always be able to ignore the fact that she had magic, especially with the current trajectory that the city was on. She need him to be sure. And if he had gone back to the ledge to retrieve the letter, if he was proceeding through their little… whatever it was, with such caution, then he obviously wasn't.

She decided to finally stop torturing herself and she pulled back, propping herself up on aching legs and taking his hand. He obeyed quietly, padding behind her as she walked him up the stairs to her bedroom. Before they entered she felt his other hand come up and land on her back again, slowly trailing down to her waist, giving rise to swarms of goosebumps on her skin.

She pulled the blankets down on the bed and he climbed in, moving groggily, as though he were already partly asleep.

"There's only a few more hours until the sun comes up, but at least it's something," she said.

He collapsed heavily and burrowed into her pillow.

"It smells like you," he crooned. She settled on top of the blankets beside him, her face level with his. Not too close, but within touching distance.

"In the letter…." He began just after his eyelids drooped closed, "I said that Anders was a lucky man. But now I see that he is just a fool."

She felt herself smile, warming blissfully from the inside out. But it was still the letter he didn't want her to read. It was nice to hear, but it wasn't enough.

His hair was soft under her fingers, and she combed through it as he sighed into her pillow. Her fingers lingered for a moment and she opened up the veil, taking a slow sip of mana. She began weaving the energy into a gentle sleep spell and then pushed it down and into her fingertips.

"Goodnight Cullen," she said as she felt the spell leave her hands, flowing into him. His brows softened again, and his body seemed to sink slightly into the bed. When it was done she brought her hand down to caress the stubbled line of his jaw and to brush gently over the curve of his lips. For the moment at least, she felt at peace too.

The sky outside her window was a deep blue when she was jolted awake. Cullen was whimpering and beginning to thrash, and for a moment she wasn't sure where she was or who she was with, feeling herself seized by a cloudy streak of irrational fear. The sounds of his voice broke through her sleepy fog, and she remembered that Cullen was beside her, and apparently caught within the throes of a nightmare. She'd thought her initial spell would have been potent enough to keep his brain in the deeper levels of sleep and staying out of dream production, but his mind was apparently much stronger than she'd anticipated. She pulled herself closer to him and gently stroked his head, pulsing another dose of the sleep spell into him.

"Cullen," she whispered, "everything is okay. You're safe."

He quieted back down immediately, his body falling still again. She lay in the dark for a moment, her heart pounding in her ears as she waited, listening for any sign that the dream might be fighting to continue through her spell. Whatever haunted him was very strong indeed.

The minutes ticked by with only stillness, and her own lids drooped closed, but she kept her hand resting against his cheek, ready to respond again at the first sign of a dream.

The second time she woke, it was him jumping awake, sitting bolt upright and looking around wildly. She laid a calming hand on his arm and he startled a moment, then looked at her numbly as the memory of the night before came creeping back.

"Avery?" he asked, and then he was out of bed, walking briskly out the door of her room.

She followed to see him putting on his armor beside the fireplace as Bodahn stood in the corner of his room, offering a nervous greeting.

"I'm sorry, I've got to get back." He called to her as she approached, "I'm probably already late for my morning meetings."

Her head was pounding, the sunlight through the window harsh and unforgiving. Each movement of her neck caused her to wince, and she pushed a wave of healing over herself, sighing once the hangover began to drain away.

When finally he was fully composed, he stopped for a moment and regarded her quietly.

"Thank you Avery," he said. Despite the use of her first name, it sounded uncomfortably formal. She wondered if it was due to the presence of Bodahn, or if he had woken with regrets, just as she'd feared.

She stepped forward with a hand up, intending to send him a wave of healing to help any hangover he might have, but she froze when he flinched noticeably at her approach.

She push a wave at him anyway, and saw relief bloom on his face as it hit, presumably clearing up the pounding headache he must have been feeling too.

"Cullen," she nodded and turned away as he left, feeling the old familiar sadness resume its residency in her stomach. While she'd awoken several times in the night wishing she'd just kissed him when she had the chance, she was now grateful that she had exercised what restraint she did. She could only imagine how much worse she'd feel in the cold shadow of his departure if there'd been anything more.