Sera was never an agreeable girl,

Her tongue tells tales of rebellion.

But she was so fast,

And quick with her bow…

That her enemies… hm-m…

Maxwell took a sip of warm bitter tea and slowly put the mug back on the table, eyeing the woman that was standing a few steps away with a lute and a thoughtful expression. Her name was Maryden, and it was partially thanks to her that the taverns both back in Haven and now in Skyhold had been able to lure people in and make them regulars. Hearing her sing wasn't a rare thing, but it was the first time the Inquisitor caught her creating new songs. Maybe if he took a habit of visiting the tavern in early mornings, he'd be able to witness this more often.

But she was so fast,

And quick with her bow,

That no one knew where she came from…

Maryden trailed off and frowned, and Maxwell briefly wondered why she chose to sing about one of his companions rather than the newborn Inquisitor himself. Maybe creating a song about the Inquisitor was too much..? Maybe the bard needed more practice before she would feel confident enough to start singing about him?

"Ugh…" The woman groaned quietly and sat down on a nearby chair, placing the lute on her knees. She looked frustrated.

Maxwell took the mug to his lips again.

"Quite," he said.

Maryden raised her head and glanced at him.

"Excuse me?"

"No one quite knew where she came from," he explained. "If you put it that way, the mood of the line will change. You try it."

Doubt flashed in the bard's eyes, and she bit her lip. Offering help in such an intrusive manner was probably a little too much: creative souls never liked it when someone interfered with their business. Even now the Herald could almost hear the gears in Maryden's head move uncomfortably as she was considering his advice. It was only a minute later that she finally decided, and her fingers touched the strings once more.

Sera was never an agreeable girl,

Her tongue tells tales of rebellion.

But she was so fast,

And quick with her bow,

No one quite knew where she came from.

The bard stopped singing with a slightly puzzled face, and Maxwell chuckled.

"How did you know?" Maryden asked, her fingers still playing absently.

"I'm the Inquisitor. I know everything," he answered with a smug grin. Not like I need to tell her about all the things I had to learn about singing…

"…right," the woman muttered.

Maxwell leaned back into the chair and took another sip while the bard busied herself with writing down the finished lines. Food arrived several minutes later and made him too occupied to further assist Maryden with her song, though it didn't look like she needed help anyway. Words were flowing out of her mouth freely now and mixed into smooth sentences that praised the Herald's elven companion.

Sinking his teeth into freshly baked bread, the Inquisitor found himself wondering yet again if something was bothering him. Yes, he'd assumed Maryden chose to sing about his companion only to sharpen her skill; to prepare the rod for a bigger fish, so to say. But he also did know that she was skilled enough as she was. And if so, then why wasn't she singing about him? Why did she choose Sera instead? Questions were gnawing at him hungrily.

She would always like to say,

"Why change the past,

When you can own this day?"

Maxwell dropped his unfinished bread on the plate where it sank into the steamy porridge. Somehow, the food didn't look so tempting anymore, not with all the thoughts that were flooding his head. Was Maryden maybe just shy? Maybe she thought she was unworthy? Or maybe…

Maybe she thought he wasn't good enough?

Today she will fight,

To keep her way.

She's a rogue and a thief,

And she'll tempt your fa-

With a piercing sound the mug hit the floor and shattered, the remains of bitter tea splashing out. The song broke, and Maryden gasped mid-sentence, startled out of her work. Her quick glance slid from Maxwell's raised hand to the floor, and she frowned, bringing the lute down. The Herald cleared his throat nervously.

Not again…

"I… I er…" He stuttered, lowering his hand back to the table. Anger was evaporating already, leaving nothing but empty confusion behind, and most importantly, the Inquisitor had just lost his temper in front of both Maryden and the tavern keeper.

"Are you hurt, Inquisitor?" The man stepped away from the counter with a dry rag in his hand, and Maxwell was grateful he chose not to ask about the reason.

"No, I just… My hand slipped," he lied and got off the chair to help pick the broken fragments. The Herald's heart was thumping loudly in his chest, and the fact that no one was hearing it could only be described as a miracle. "I'm so sorry."

"Do not apologize," the keeper said. "Things like this happen, and it is only important that you are not hurt."

"Yeah…"

The Herald finished with the pieces and threw them into a bucket that was left nearby for such purposes. Despite having food left, all he could think about was getting out of the tavern as soon as possible: the day had just started, and Maxwell had already been unable to keep his emotions at bay. It bothered him to no end, but at least he hadn't lost it in front of a crowd… That would be completely awful.

He looked around to make sure everything was in order and then turned to leave. The tavern owner raised his head and frowned, possibly wondering why the Inquisitor chose not to finish his food, but said nothing, and with a brief 'thank you' Maxwell walked out in quick and wide steps.

As soon as he reached the courtyard, breathing became so much easier. The Herald inhaled and tried to calm down. It had been a week since he'd decided to become a templar, and his special physical training had already begun, but not lyrium. Maxwell knew the risks of mixing the dangerous material with his unrecognized illness, yet he wished they'd go on with it already; just physical training wasn't enough, and his illness was progressing. It had already started to overpower Solas' help, and that could only mean one thing: they were running out of precious time. Maybe he needed to start pushing.

But as for now, it was too early to do anything except for continuing with the training. The sun had just begun to rise, and most people were still asleep, save for those who had important matters to deal with. That was why the tavern was almost empty, with only Maryden and the keeper standing on their feet. The keeper was up only to feed Maxwell when the man was taking a break from his early training, and the bard was a woman of creativity, so it wasn't a surprise she was doing her thing already.

I should probably start moving, Maxwell sighed. The training won't continue by itself.

He did a couple of exercises to warm up again and started running. Doing that was an absolute 'must' in the Herald's list, especially after he'd had to stay down for almost a month. Physical activities turned out to be a very good relief, and it made Maxwell regret he hadn't come up with this sooner.

"Hold it!"

The Inquisitor halted, surprised to hear the voice, and looked up at the top of the stairway. Then a smile appeared on his face, and he waved his hand.

"I don't have the slightest idea why you're up so early, but good morning!"

The Commander smiled and waved his hand in return, and Maxwell would be lying if he said Cullen wasn't looking better these days. It was obvious the return of the comfortable relationship was doing a good job at lifting some of the pressure they both were under. Maxwell hadn't forgotten things Cassandra had told him, and he wanted to know what the Commander was going through more than anything, but he also didn't want to rush things. Not when they had only began rebuilding what had been lost.

"I need you up here," Cullen said. For some reason his smile faltered and was suddenly replaced by a serious look. "There's some news."

"News?" Maxwell repeated quietly and hurried up the stairs without waiting. As soon as he reached the top, the Commander nodded his head at the entrance of the castle.

"Let's go," he said. "It's time."

"It's time?" The Herald repeated again. "Time for what?"

"For lyrium," Cullen answered, and his voice sounded somewhat colder than before… which could be expected. Lyrium, however, hadn't been expected at all.

"Really?" The Inquisitor gasped.

"Yes." The Commander didn't look pleased with his reaction. "I insisted on teaching this to you myself, and yesterday it was decided we can start."

Why didn't you tell me? And why now? Maxwell wanted to ask, but he supposed it didn't really matter right now. All that mattered was that today he would finally start fighting against his illness for real, and if he succeeded, there would be no more nightmares, no more anger and no more creepy visions. He was beyond ready.

"Where are we going?" The Herald asked.

"To your chamber," Cullen answered. "Everything has been prepared."

"Yeah, okay."

They entered the nearly empty main hall, crossed it and then pushed the door that led to the Inquisitor's wing. Unlike the hall, the corridor they had to get through before actually reaching the chamber was half-destroyed and poorly lighted: the building was under construction, and some rooms needed proper fixing and furnishing. Yet seeing as rebuilding kept getting faster and better, soon it wouldn't be a problem.

There were things, on the other hand, that couldn't be fixed that easily, like all the chunks of flesh that were showing through the minor holes in the wall. Maxwell had gotten used to it already, and wasn't cringing anymore whenever his eyes saw gory visions. During the past week, after having overcome disgust and uneasiness, he'd learned that none of his illusions could be touched or interacted with by any other means. The Herald couldn't order them to disappear and he couldn't make them pop up. None of his visions ever responded to his actions or words, and their appearance was always chaotic and absolutely unpredictable. They were, however, harmless.

Cullen pushed the door to the chamber, and Maxwell passed him and walked in, taking in the surroundings of his place. There weren't any illusions here, only dull sunlight that was rising from behind the horizon and barely making it through the clouds. The air was fresh and cool.

"There it is," the Commander said, closing the door behind him.

The Inquisitor took his eyes away from the balcony and followed Cullen. The man came to a stop next to Maxwell's working table and picked up a small wooden box that was easily recognizable. At least for Maxwell, it was: he'd spent a fair part of his life among templars, after all.

"I'll need you to sit down on something," Cullen said, looking around. His glance stopped on the Inquisitor's bed as there wasn't much of a choice in the chamber yet, and Maxwell went to rearrange the sheets. He'd left in a hurry, and servants weren't allowed to touch his belongings; it helped him feel like he had some private space all to himself.

Once everything was done, the Herald sat down and waited for Cullen to approach, but the Commander hesitated to leave his place at the table and was just standing there, holding the box quietly. A long moment was given to silence, and then he sighed.

"Are you absolutely sure there is no other way?" Cullen finally asked. "No mage can help you, no templar, nothing?"

He's hesitating again.

Maxwell leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together.

"We've talked about this," he said in a calm voice. "According to Solas, every possible medicine and ritual has already been used. Corypheus is probably the only one who can make the illness go away, but he disappeared after Haven. And I don't think he'll be willing to make my life easier, to be honest."

"Well, maybe there's another mage who-"

"There isn't," the Herald cut him off. "I trust Solas. Among the mages that we were able to grasp, only he knew about the Breach. Only he could tell what we were fighting against. I can't see why I should not listen to him this time… And I really don't want to make my condition a public matter."

"Yes, I figured," Cullen muttered. He, Solas and Cole were still the only ones who knew the entire story, more or less. "You… are completely sure there is no demon?"

"Yes. Whatever Corypheus did to me, it made Envy disappear. That's what Cole believes in, anyway, and he's been inside my head. I'm certain he knows what he's saying."

The Commander nodded reluctantly, and Maxwell expected him to come closer now, but the man didn't move at all. He was watching the box secured tightly in his hands, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. The Herald shifted slightly on the bed.

"Listen, I know now what happened at Therinfal Redoubt," he started slowly. The Inquisitor had had a lot of questions about the mission after making up with Cullen that day. Things he'd learned weren't pretty, but they had nothing to do with his decision. "I'm going to take the blue one, okay? And I know about the addiction, but it's either that, or getting worse. You know that."

"I know…" The Commander breathed out, closing his eyes in defeat.

"We don't know what we're fighting against. Boosting my natural resistance to magic can be the only way to keep me safe. If not for good, then at least for some time," Maxwell continued. "Solas is searching, and I know Cole is helping him. We're not stuck."

Yes, we are.

"We'll find a way out. But right now I have to take this chance, and I need you to support me. There's no one else..." The Inquisitor trailed off for a moment. What he was saying here seemed a little… out of hand. But it wasn't a bad thing, was it…? "Not even Solas. He's my healer. You're my friend. I need a friend right now."

That seemed to pull Cullen out of it. The Commander opened his eyes, and though his hesitation was showing pretty clearly, there was also something else. The man spared the last look at the wooden box and took a step towards Maxwell.

"Alright. Let's get this over with."

Beth seemed overwhelmingly busy cleaning her feathers on a sunlit windowsill, yet sometimes she raised her small head to stare at Maxwell curiously. The man was lying sprawled on his bed, motionless, and didn't rush to get up even though the bird probably wanted to get rid of a small piece of paper that was attached to her leg.

Lyrium was working; the Herald could feel it with all his being. It wasn't a physical thing, but on a mental level he knew something was changing to the better. There wasn't any pain, and there wasn't any pleasure - just this knowledge, and it felt wonderful.

"Stay there, girl, I'll be up soon. It's a promise," he promised to the bird. Beth cawed quietly and returned to her business.

The Commander had already run off to deal with his morning duties. He'd been hesitating to leave Maxwell alone at first, but it wasn't like he had a real choice there: duties were important, after all. It took several minutes of convincing and a couple of promises to see each other later to make him more willing to get out. Maxwell didn't want to stay alone either, of course, not with all the lyrium moving through his body. But he knew what had to be done, and besides, he didn't plan on staying indoors for the rest of the day anyway. He was the Inquisitor now, and that meant he also had duties.

"Right," he muttered, moving to sit up. As soon as the Inquisitor settled, he beckoned Beth with his finger. "Come here, girl. Show me what you got there."

The bird flew off the windowsill immediately. She landed on one of Maxwell's knees and then kept still so he wouldn't have much trouble taking off the paper. The Herald had always liked this in her and tried to be as careful as possible in return.

"There," the Herald got the piece off and patted the messenger. "I'm sorry for taking so long. You can go now. Have some breakfast with others."

Beth cawed again and obeyed, soon disappearing from the view. After following her out with his eyes, Maxwell unfolded the paper, and as he had already guessed, it was from his elder brother. He'd contacted Kain several days before, leaving out a lot of things but promising he was doing okay in general. The reply wasn't long.

I can't believe it. You never wanted this.

"I know," Maxwell said to the empty air. No surprise his brother had doubts; it would be strange if he hadn't, considering all the frustrating memories.

I can't possibly imagine why you decided to become a templar, especially now, the letter read. I won't stop you, of course, but it's just weird… Anyway, please keep me informed. We were both scared when you disappeared, and neither Oscar, nor I want to experience that ever again. Take care of yourself.

That's where the letter ended, and the Inquisitor sighed, putting it aside. Part of him wondered if it was a good idea not to tell anything about his illness.

No, letting them know won't make things better, he shook his head. They'll just start worrying, and I can't allow it.

That was what Maxwell always told himself whenever a desire to share his worries with somebody crossed his mind. It wasn't like his brothers could give him a helping hand right now. It wasn't like Cassandra or Varric would do better than Solas at determining and healing his illness. Therefore, the Inquisitor didn't need to tell them the truth. Cullen and Cole knew, sure, but they were different. Cole was a spirit, and it was next to impossible to keep secrets from him, and the Commander was his close friend…

Deep inside Maxwell doubted.

Someone knocked, and the Herald flinched. He wasn't expecting anyone so early; Cullen had left not so long ago, and these days Maxwell insisted on visiting Solas on his own if such necessity occurred. Cassandra, maybe? Well, only one way to find out.

"It's open," he said loudly.

The door opened, and Varric entered the room cautiously, slightly confusing the Herald. He'd never been in here before.

"Hi," Maxwell greeted him. "How are you doing?"

Varric looked around briefly and then turned to face the man. "Can't complain," he said, smiling, and then pointed at nothing in particular with a nod of his head. "Nice place you got here. Mind if I walk around a bit?"

"Go ahead," the Inquisitor shrugged. It only got to him a few seconds later that the dwarf was probably memorizing things for his future book. What other reason could he have? Thinking about that made Maxwell feel better: if Maryden didn't want to tell people about him, surely Varric would be glad to do it.

For the time, all worries were swept away. The Herald kept silent, watching the dwarf wander about in his chamber and then leave to the balcony. For half a minute all was quiet, and then Maxwell's ears caught a loud noise.

"Someone dropped a bag with potatoes!" Varric shouted from outside. "And it wasn't me!"

The Inquisitor sat back down on his bed and relaxed.

"Do you like it there?" He asked after a short while, rocking back and forth slightly.

"Absolutely," Varric answered. He returned to the chamber and looked a bit pale for some reason, but was wearing a small smile nonetheless. "Do you?"

"Of course!" Maxwell beamed.

"And what about that? Does it help?"

"Does what help?" the Inquisitor followed the dwarf's stare and met the wooden box. "Oh, that. Yeah, the Commander came by this morning and taught me how to use it. I'm sure I'm getting better. It feels that way, at least..."

Varric frowned, and for a moment Maxwell clung to that detail, mirroring the expression without noticing. Was something wrong?

"If you say so," Varric said. The frown disappeared, but the uneasiness in his eyes didn't. "Actually, I didn't come here only to see where you live now," he said. "I want you to meet someone."

Maxwell felt his eyebrows rise.

"Who?"

"A friend of mine. He's outside, waiting for you."

"Oh? Oh… I guess, I should go see him then," The Inquisitor moved to the edge of the bed and grabbed his boots. As soon as Maxwell was done, he stepped towards the door, curious to find out who was standing behind it.

The dwarf cleared his throat.

"Not that outside," he said, grinning. "This outside."

He pointed at the balcony. The Herald frowned, lowering his head in confusion, and then it suddenly dawned upon him that there were actually two ways out of his chamber. Climbing all the way up, though? That would be insane… Nevertheless, Maxwell turned around and went out, and as soon as he was standing on the balcony, he saw…

"I know you!" He gasped. "You're the guy that bumped into me!"

With a yelp, the black haired man jumped away from the railing.

"Gaah! Careful, what if I fell down!" He exclaimed nervously, instantly making Maxwell uneasy as well.

"I'm so sorry! I was… wait…" The Herald trailed off. Hadn't that man just climbed up the wall? How came he was scared now, standing on solid floor?

Behind them, Varric started chuckling.

"Inquisitor, meet Garrett Hawke," he said. "The Champion of Kirkwall."

"What-?" Maxwell breathed out. "You are? But you… you…"

You don't look like the Champion at all, no way he'd say that aloud! But really, no, really, all the heroic handsomeness aside, that man had bumped into him and into the elf girl back then, and he certainly hadn't looked all that dangerous. Or powerful, to that matter…

"I wouldn't believe in that either," Hawke smiled, pulling Maxwell out of his thoughts and making him stare wide-eyed. "As for our first meeting, I… I'm not very… attentive, at times?"

"All the time," the dwarf corrected his friend lightheartedly, and a memory clicked in the Herald's mind.

He usually ends up in trouble everywhere he goes. Can't even make himself a cup of tea without creating a mess... The most unlucky person I have ever met. But no matter what happens, he always manages to stay alive somehow.

How on Thedas had he managed to climb all the way up to the Herald's balcony? If Varric had told the truth, then there was no way Hawke could do such a thing without messing it up somehow. Maxwell scratched the back of his head, trying to solve that puzzle. Then he thought back, replaying Varric's request to look around in his chamber…

Wait. The balcony… He exited to the balcony. And then there was that noise.

Everything cleared up.

"You didn't climb here on your own, did you…" The Inquisitor sighed.

"Damn it," the dwarf snorted. "Thought you wouldn't notice…"

"I didn't really touch the wall, I was on the roof," Hawke continued smiling, though there was a bit of embarrassment to it now. "But… yes, Varric did help me to get down."

I can't believe these two. How can a dwarf help in such situation? Moral support?

"Why did you do it? Why not just enter through the door?" Maxwell asked, confused, and pointed back at the room with his hand. "You wanted to impress me or what?"

"Well, that too," Hawke admitted. "But mostly because I'm hiding. Or, to put it correctly, Varric is trying to hide me."

"To hide you? From what exactly?" The Herald felt like he'd entered a dark forest and was now getting more and more lost with each step. What could possibly represent danger for the Champion of Kirkwall here, in Skyhold?

Varric chose to answer first.

"The Seeker," he said. "You see… the story of our past isn't really happy."

"How so?" Maxwell asked.

"As far as I know, she wanted me to lead the Inquisition," Hawke answered, frowning. "Not the best choice, if you ask me."

Yeah, for sure, the Inquisitor agreed silently. He felt slightly offended for some reason, but decided to put it aside for now.

"Hawke was already through a lot by the time, and becoming the Inquisitor would only make things worse," the dwarf continued, sounding a bit frustrated. No, quite a lot, actually. "Cassandra only saw the results of his work, and, well… that turned out to be enough for her. So I hid him. Told her he disappeared."

"And you're avoiding her now," Maxwell guessed and then looked directly at the Champion. "Does that mean things can still become worse for you?"

"If I-" Hawke started.

"Of cour-" Varric cut him off unintentionally and then abruptly fell silent. Both stood there quietly for a moment, looking at each other, and then the Champion nodded, letting the dwarf continue. "Yes. Some things may be covered, but believe me when I say he's had enough. If Cassandra, or any advisor for that matter, finds out Hawke is here, they'll try to get him to do things. Dangerous things."

"Okay, I understand. You're trying to keep him safe," Maxwell nodded. And he did understand, in a way, even though he'd never had to protect someone like that. "Hawke seems healthy enough to me, but I won't push. And I won't tell anyone."

Varric let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

"Thanks," he said.

"Though I'm curious why you've decided to come here at all," the Inquisitor continued. "Why didn't you stay hidden?"

"Ah. Well…" Hawke folded his arms across his chest, and Maxwell instantly recognized the defensive gesture. "This whole Corypheus thing… might be my fault."

There was a long moment of silence. The Herald glanced from the Champion to the dwarf and back.

"What?" he asked, his eyes reflecting utter disbelief. "How so?"

Hawke bit his lower lip. "The Grey Wardens had him imprisoned with my father's blood," he said, his voice bitter. "But he, somehow, managed to take them under some kind of a mind control and sent them after me."

Maxwell nodded; the rest of this story was predictable. The Wardens must have found Hawke and gotten the blood to release the Elder God. How they had managed to do it remained a mystery… or maybe not. With all the luck that had its back turned to the Champion, the Inquisitor wouldn't be surprised to learn that he'd just slipped and fallen down, and then the Wardens had picked his blood and simply gone on with the Elder God's plan. And that's how it had probably happened because Hawke didn't rush to throw light on that episode.

"I'm sure I killed him, he was lying dead on the floor right in front of me… In front of Varric, too!"

"Yeah, that I can confirm," the dwarf agreed. "He was obviously dead."

"Well, he's alive now," the Inquisitor said, shaking his head. "How could he return? And how did he get this power over the Wardens?"

"Now this is why I came here," the Champion unfolded his arms and placed them on his hips instead. "Corypheus either has some tie to the blight or uses Tevinter magic – I'm not really sure, which. But whatever it is he uses, I suspect he tried to take the Wardens under control again. That is why they all disappeared."

Of course, Maxwell remembered. Cassandra had mentioned something like this. It had happened before Blackwall's arrival, and the Warden had been all damaged at the time. And he'd stayed ever since…

Why is he still around? Does Corypheus only use his tricks on Wardens that he knows?

"I don't want to interfere with the Inquisition," the Champion said, and Maxwell snapped out of it. "But Corypheus is my responsibility, and I can't stay aside and watch you struggling to correct my mistakes. I have a lead, and we can start following it as soon as I gather enough information."

"Yeah, we'll do it quietly," Varric added. "And when we're done with this, Hawke will be out of here. Speaking of which, the sun is getting high. If we're planning to get you out of here unnoticed any time soon, it's better to do now."

The Herald nodded reluctantly as there still were questions he wanted to ask. About how Hawke had managed to kill Corypheus, or how he'd entered Skyhold without being seen. Why he'd entered the fortress at all and why hadn't he come earlier, seeing as they'd actually met before. Maybe Hawke hadn't known he was the Inquisitor? And most importantly, did he really think it possible to act behind Leliana's back? She had agents all over the place, and it was a miracle the Champion hadn't yet been discovered… There were a lot of uncovered holes in here.

But Hawke really had to go now, otherwise he'd definitely meet someone up here in his chamber; people had a habit of visiting their Herald from time to time.

"We need to discuss a lot of things," the Herald said, watching Hawke move to the railings. His eyebrows went up. "…are you sure this is a good idea? There are people down there now. Even if you pull the hood up, they'll definitely notice you, and they know who this balcony belongs to."

"Yeah, maybe it'll be easier to guide you out through the castle," Varric added. "It's not that crowded at this time, and I think I know a way."

Hawke turned back to look at his friend. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," the dwarf nodded. "We just need to be quick and careful. Follow me."

The three of them left the balcony and entered the Herald's room. Hawke looked uncertain; he was probably wondering if he needed to push the hood back down to seem less dangerous in case he and Varric bumped into someone. A stranger always looked less suspicious than a man who tried to hide his face. Here, in the heart of the Skyhold fortress, home of the Inquisition, it would be wiser not to stand out. Hawke seemed to get this idea as he took the hood off and tried to flatten his stubborn hair.

"He's ridiculously good looking, I know," Varric chuckled, and Maxwell instantly looked away from the man and cleared his throat, realizing he'd been staring.

"I wasn't really looking at anything…" He muttered.

Hawke joined the chuckling as they reached the door, and the dwarf pulled it open.

He froze on his spot.

Maxwell was starting to question the Champion's luck even more. Maybe the man had just forgotten to grab its tail on his way to this world? Because that's what had to be happening now, pure lack of luck. Nothing else would explain Cassandra standing on the other side of the door with her hand raised and ready to grab the handle.

She looked so shocked Maxwell thought she'd faint.

"I can't believe this happened…" Cullen put the chess pieces away. Maxwell was sitting at the other side of the table with his exhausted eyes glued to the board and his back pressed to the chair. He had found the Commander playing chess with Dorian and ended it swiftly by just appearing.

He'd used to think that Cassandra was the scariest thing alive when she was mad, but it had been the first time he'd seen her furious. The Seeker had lost control over herself right there, and no one, not even Hawke, could stop her from raging. So it hadn't been a big surprise when the Herald appeared in front of the chess table as pale as if he'd seen a horde of ghosts. Cullen had jumped up from his chair, lost the game, too, but neither he, nor Dorian seemed to care as they both had been too busy finding out the reasons.

Then Dorian had left in a hurry. Maxwell had been too out of it to ask why, so he'd just landed on an empty chair and let the Commander take care of him.

Time had passed, and finally the Seeker's shouts started to settle down, becoming less and less harmful to the Inquisitor's skull. But he could still hear her words clearly, as if she was present.

You knew where Hawke was all along!

You conniving little shit!

And you, you're taking his side?!

I trusted you, and you're no different!

He wanted to forget.

"It's going to be okay," Cullen was saying somewhere. "Cassandra is a strong, wise woman. She'll get over it, no matter what."

Maxwell nodded absent-mindedly. Somehow, it was becoming difficult to think as not only Cassandra's shouts were getting quieter with each passing second. His mind was trying to shut down as well.

"Cullen…" He called weakly. "I think I need to lie down…"

"Inquisitor-?" The Commander jerked up from his chair and rushed closer. He pressed one hand to the Herald's shoulder and the other one to the man's cheek. "Inquisitor! No, wait!"

Maxwell's body was becoming heavy, and he leaned forward, ready to lose his hold over it. Cullen's hand tried to prevent him from doing so, and then he felt something warm and solid- the Commander must have pressed him to his chest so the Inquisitor wouldn't fall down. Maxwell raised his trembling hand and stroked Cullen's arm in gratitude.

"Thank you…" He whispered.

"Inquisitor, wait-"

"No, this is no good, you can't do this," Cole's voice came from somewhere far. "You can't sleep now, it is too dangerous, the thread is thin, it will snap-"

"m… sorry…"

"Maxwell-!"

Everything went black. There was no reality anymore, and Maxwell was floating in darkness and silence, alone. No voices could reach him here, and he was absolutely free, the sole godlike power of his own realm... Except there was nothing to reign over.

He opened his eyes to see nothing. The Herald couldn't even see himself because there was no light in this world.

What happened? How did I get here? Thoughts surfaced one after another, and Maxwell thought he had to be scared, or at least concerned, but he just couldn't bring himself to feel anything.

Was that death? Had he finally died, unable to resist his illness?

What illness?

There was a spark of blue in the darkness, far, far away. Maxwell had almost missed it, but miraculously, he didn't. There wasn't much he could do about it, however, as his body wasn't listening, and he couldn't even move his fingers.

"-ne more," A familiar voice echoed softly in the distance, and for some reason the Herald wanted to reach it.

There was another blue spark, and it was closer this time. The Herald tried to take his body under control once again, and he thought he'd managed to do so, but the light died too soon, and in the end his efforts were pointless. Maybe he just had to let it go…

"One more!" The voice repeated, louder this time. "Grab it! You should grab it!"

"Cole…?" Maxwell realized, and his body began gaining weight. The lock on his emotions wavered as well, giving way to fear.

Where am I… What's going on…

"Grab it!" Cole shouted, so close, and then a blinding blue spark appeared right above Maxwell's floating form, and it hurt his eyes so much he thought they would simply explode. But the Herald still reached out and touched the spark because that's what Cole had told him to do. He trusted the spirit and needed salvation…

Pain rushed through the Inquisitor's body like a thousand of sharp needles, cut through his flesh and bones and then started to worm its way into his brain. Maxwell's entire being twisted, and he tried to scream, but no sounds left his mouth because he was burning and numb. Something was going so horribly wrong, and pain was so unbearable, so slow and agonizing; the Herald wanted it to disappear, was ready to do anything to make it go away.

"It's okay, you have to be strong," Cole was trying to soothe him. "You're hurting, but don't push it away, it will calm down…"

Maxwell wasn't listening, he simply couldn't. He was no spirit and no mage, just a simple warrior, and he had never felt so much pain before. He wanted it gone, and so he started to force his mind, and it listened to him and obeyed, rearranging his emotions and nerves and reconnecting them all over again. It was all messy and wrong, and the order was destroyed, but it was the only way. The pain started to subside.

Maxwell opened his eyes.

"Maker's breath! You're alive!"

"Oh, thank the Maker…"

The Herald couldn't determine where the words had just come from, but he was quite certain they belonged to the Commander and the Seeker. They were somewhere close, so that had to mean he'd survived the darkness. The room was unclear and seemed to be vaguely familiar.

"Don't force yourself," Solas warned him. The elf was also present, and sounded as calm as ever. "You have nearly died. We had to use lyrium to help you fight the illness."

Maxwell didn't bother to answer. Someone squeezed his hand, and the man turned his head slowly to see Cassandra sitting beside his bed. Her eyes were wet, and she was breathing heavily. It was her trembling fingers that held his hand.

Cullen stood behind the Seeker with his face covered by his hands, and there was also Cole who paced impatiently and was obviously invisible for everyone else. Except for Solas, maybe, but the elf seemed to be busy with the contents of the wooden box. His face was focused.

"Inquisitor, I… I…" Cassandra tried to say, but she couldn't make herself finish anything. It didn't matter, though, because Maxwell knew exactly what she was trying to say. If he had died this day, she would have never forgiven herself for what she had done.

Somehow… he didn't care. At all.

Hello. Firstly, I would like to apologize for such a delay. This chapter should have been ready a long time ago, but life happened, and I simply had no opportunity to write faster. Do not worry about future updates, though: this story is very important to me, and I will finish it no matter what.

Secondly, this story is unpredictable. Most of the time I'm just sitting here and writing down whatever The Plot tells me, so some of you may get an idea that it's not really about the Inquisitor's and the Commander's relationship. It is. Just you wait (wink wink).

And lastly, thank you for still staying here :3