A/N: I'm excited for the next chapter because we finally get to go to the Winter Palace! Aaaahhh! It's my favorite part of the entire game.

All fan-girling aside, I wanted to thank everyone for their reviews and continued support. I appreciate you all. A very, VERY special thank you to bushviper for our therapeutic little chat. :) Also, if anyone is interested, I have a bit of fan art I've created for this story. It's just a simple sketch of the armor I envision Cullen wearing in this story. Take a gander at it over on my profile.

Without further ado, here is the 11th installment of Enduring Knight! Please enjoy, friends!


She had been restless since she had turned him away. Evelyn lay awake, tossing and turning in her bed. Of course she was furious with him, but if she knew anything about Cullen and his behavior, it was that he never took any action unless it was absolutely justified. He commanded incredible self-discipline, and so it was with this in mind that she tried to puzzle what happened at the mine out.

She was not an idiot; some empty-headed nattering fool who raged without cause and loved without reason. She was an intellectual, and demanded of herself an understanding of those around her.

Questions first, emotions later. It had been her mantra since Evan had died.

That being said, it was not as if she didn't feel anger, sadness, joy, or any other strong emotion. Obviously she did, but what purpose would raging against something already settled serve? It would serve no one. It would solve nothing.

She grumbled to herself and she rose from the mattress, swinging her feet over the side of her bed. If one wanted to understand, one had to ask questions.

She would seek out her father first. She didn't trust herself right now around Aaron.

Evelyn shuddered at the suffocating memory of his smite driving the magic from her body. Unprepared was one word to describe her reaction, though who was ever ready to be so...so violated? Magic flowed through her veins like her own blood. It was a part of her just as much as her hair and skin, and the mere thought that Aaron could cut her off so abruptly out of fear forced her to reexamine the nature of their relationship.

She loved her family, she thought as she padded down the stairwell from her quarters, but she had not seen many of them for some time. Aaron was so much older than her that they had little in common growing up. Despite the age difference, he had been an attentive and dutiful older sibling - at least until she had left for the Circle. It was strange to think that hindsight could be so vivid, as memories came to her in a rush of her first year of confinement.

She saw her father often enough, as he was then the acting Knight Commander. He had always hovered, and the others knew well enough to say not a word about it, but Aaron seemed to resent their familial ties. He would never say as much to either she or Evan, but they could feel their brother's affection drawing slowly away from them as time passed on and they came into their skills. Edward had trained elsewhere, moving to the Ostwick Circle only after their father had stepped down. He was kind, but held the firm demeanor of someone who had seen both the best and worst of magic. Peter...Peter had not taken well to the Circle or Templar training. She had heard some of the recruits saying that he was so liberal with his views of mage freedom that his trainer had nearly thrown him out on his ear for the way he defended their rights as people. Evelyn had long since come to terms with the reality of her situation, but Peter never let go of his resentment of their father for shutting away his two youngest siblings. His anger had only intensified after Evan's death, at which time he abandoned the Order before taking his vows and had gone to train as a Seeker instead. As far as she knew, while Peter and her father still acted civil with one another, their difference in opinion left them strangers. They never mentioned their estrangement to her, and she was quite happy being ignorant of it and thinking that her family was still as she remembered it when she was a child.

But she had to face the reality that everything was no longer perfect. She was not the same, and her brothers were no longer the carefree, boisterous group of youths that had terrorized the countryside in Ostwick.

Then Michael…

Evelyn bit back a sob as tears welled up in her eyes. He'd only ever wanted to find his place in the world. That his quest to find himself would lead him to such a grisly death ate at her mercilessly. She knew there was little she could have done to dissuade him as they had not communicated since before she had left for the Conclave, but the guilt remained.

She had just entered the main hall, wiping the tears from her eyes when she heard a voice she was not prepared to listen to at present.

"Evie, it's late. What are you doing up?"

Aaron stood quietly near the door to the under-croft looking for all the world as if he hadn't assaulted his own sister. She scowled at him through her tears, ignoring his question as she moved to brush past him. Where was her father?

"Evie?" He reached out to pull her back, the gentleness of his touch belied his true feelings for her.

She quickly stepped away from him, heart beating in her ears. "Do not touch me!"

He looked almost taken aback by her reaction before he pursed his lips in a thin line. "Are you still angry?"

Still angry? Still angry? She couldn't take it anymore. Everything this week leading up to this exact moment had finally culminated into some kind of massive, unalterable wave of hatred. The unease of Michael's affiliation with the Red Templars, the horrible situation at the d'Onterre mansion, Cullen's kiss, those poor people in Sahrnia who needed their help, her brother's death, Aaron's betrayal, and then her guilt over pushing away the one person who could have given her answers had she been level-headed enough to ask, welled up inside of her like a great storm and she could not hold it back.

Aaron, sensing the sudden call of her magic had attempted to smite her yet again, which only fueled her anger. One could only imagine his surprise when she blocked the voiding spell with her barrier - something she did not think she could do until now.

Very quickly her brother's look of consternation morphed into that of fear as she reached deeper into the Fade for even more power to fuel her rage.

"Evelyn." Her father's voice rang out from beside her with a gentleness that did not align with the charged atmosphere inside the room.

The tapestries on the walls shuddered from the force of her power, chairs rattling on the floor loud enough to wake all of Skyhold.

She narrowed her eyes on Aaron, unable to decide how exactly she wanted to punish him for his complete lack of feeling.

"Evelyn," Lord Trevelyan spoke again, placing a hand on her shoulder. The gentle touch jarred her somewhat, but it was enough that she saw - really saw - the terror on her brother's face.

Maker, this wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't who she was at all.

Slowly, the furniture stopped moving, the tapestries stilled, and the storm of magic she had stood at the center of faded. She and Aaron stood still a moment, just looking at one another before she blew out a tense breath and turned, walking pointedly away from the scene.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry, she chanted to herself, breaking into a run for the Chantry as tears began to fall. When she had vanished, Lord Trevelyan turned on his eldest son with wrath in his eyes.

"Leave her be. She's dealing with enough without your paranoia rearing its ugly head."

Aaron had the indecency to look offended. "Paranoia? Did you see what she was going to do to me?"

"No. I saw someone who was emotionally overwrought and attempting to give you no less than you deserved. A fellow Templar would have broken your damned nose over that, Aaron."

"She could have killed me!"

He took a threatening step toward his son, hand on his sword grip. "Save it, boy. You've provoked me enough for one day."

Thoroughly chastened, though still a little irked by the censure, Aaron bowed stiffly to his father and made way for the barracks.

That was one reason Adair had passed his eldest over for the position of Knight Commander in Ostwick. The boy was simply too hot-headed and irrational to hold such power over so many lives.

Pushing his annoyance for Aaron aside, he quickly focused on finding Evelyn. That outburst had been extremely uncharacteristic for her, though she was completely justified in her anger. If she wanted to take a shot at Aaron he would be more than happy to stand by and let her, though judging from what he'd sensed moments before he doubted the boy would be able to defend himself very well.

All anger aside, he was finding this strife difficult to bear. It seemed as if his family was falling apart, and he'd no one to blame but himself. If he'd been a better father perhaps Michael and Evan would still be alive.

He quickly shoved that guilt down, unable to deal with it now. The horrific pain of losing a child was bad enough, but to be the cause…? It was a wonder some days he could look in the mirror let alone live with himself. As a Templar he did not take his responsibility lightly. He had sworn his heart and soul to the Chantry to protect the innocent from harm, but at what cost? How many more of his children would he have to kill before the Maker was satisfied? His god's silence was cruel.

Adair found Evelyn in the small Chantry. Upon seeing him she launched into a swathe of apologies. She didn't mean to frighten Aaron, she didn't want to disappoint him, she had been remiss in her duties and was a terrible daughter. He didn't want to hear any of it. Enough was enough.

Lord Trevelyan simply wrapped his daughter in a tight hug, holding her against him like he used to do when she was a child and he wept silently with her at how screwed up everything was, had been, and probably would be.

Puffy-eyed and grumpy as a wet nug, Evelyn wandered over to Cassandra in the training yard after the sun had risen. She and her father had a long talk - about Michael mostly. Lord Trevelyan had found Michael after the fighting had subsided only by identifying the small pin of the Trevelyan coat of arms on his armor and his family ring. By then her brother had been beyond help despite the Red Lyrium that had begun to take over his body. Speaking of it was painful, but necessary, and by the end of it they'd both felt emotionally exhausted. He looked old, she thought as she managed a smile for a soldier she'd passed on her way. It was with some dismay she realized she would not have him with her forever.

"You did not sleep. Again." Cassandra observed when Evelyn came into view. She sheathed her sword, turning on the Inquisitor with a frown, though it was borne of concern quite unlike the frowns she bestowed upon Varric.

Evelyn sighed, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. "No. I didn't. It's been a long week."

Cassandra's eyes softened, though the frown was still in place. She knew Evelyn's feelings precisely in that moment. She'd felt them herself after Anthony's passing.

What the Inquisitor needed was something to take her mind off of it for a while. She needed a purpose.

"Come. I need to sort through Cullen's things. I believe he was in possession of a notice from Grand Duke Gaspard."

"Cousin to the Empress of Orlais?"

Evelyn's innate curiosity was already shifting her thoughts to the task at hand, Cassandra noted with approval.

"The same. I believe the Inquisition may benefit from an alliance with him."

A short while later the two women found themselves inside Cullen's office sifting through a ridiculously high stack of parchment.

"How he manages to go through all of this in a timely fashion is beyond me," Evelyn observed while leafing through one stack.

Cassandra began to move another when she knocked a book off of the laden desk. Moving to retrieve it from the floor, she was surprised when a bit of parchment fell from between the pages adorned with Evelyn's name.

Really thinking nothing of it, the Seeker handed the paper to Evelyn who stiffened immediately upon reading its contents.

The letter had said nothing her father hadn't already explained, Evelyn reflected when she had finished, but it was very kind of Cullen to try and set matters straight and try to elaborate on matters he thought she would find most important. Considerate as always.

At first she hadn't understood why Cullen would keep her away from her brother. She had been angry with him, furious even, but after she had finally worked everything out between her father's explanation and Cullen's letter she knew he'd held her interests at heart.

She was still nursing a bit of upset over his role, but how could someone fault such sincere motives? She'd much rather keep the focus of her ire on Aaron anyway. He was the true perpetrator in this mess. Everything else...everything else had been the result of horrible timing and circumstance - and that was no one's fault.

"What did it say?" Cassandra asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

Evelyn's smile was small and tired, but it was genuine. "It's an apology."


She devoured the book Cullen had left her with the letter. Evelyn had always hungered for knowledge. She'd forever been fascinated with history as well. Curiously, though, the Circle libraries she'd been to had never contained many volumes on Thedosian history. There had been plenty of books on Andraste, commentaries on the Maker, or excerpts from journals of those who had seen or experienced His divine will. There had never been anything at all on Chantry history aside from the few passages about Andraste herself.

Now having finished the book about the second Exalted March, she could well understand why. Reading this - an almost glowing report from a Templar on the front lines - made her feel sick to her stomach. While the elves certainly were not entirely innocent in the affair of Red Crossing, did they really deserve such blind persecution? Was that the Maker's will? Did he accept the cruelty dealt out with frightening efficiency to innocent men, women, and children?

Evelyn frowned to herself as she placed the book back on its shelf in Cullen's office. There was another beside it, the title informing her that it was a continuation of the first. She ran her fingers along the worn leather spine, hesitating to pick it up.

Did she want to know more? Already she had begun to doubt the sincerity of the Chantry's motives over the last few ages. The timeline for this book was more recent. Would she find herself as equally disappointed? Moreover, what did Cullen think of it? The book was his, after all, and he'd deliberately set it aside for her to read.

Perhaps she should ask him. They had always enjoyed candid discussions on a myriad of topics, and if anyone would give her a straight answer or an unapologetic opinion, it would be Cullen. The man did not pull punches with his beliefs, and she supposed that was one of the reasons she had grown so fond of him. They could have a difference in opinion and want to shake each other silly, but in the end they would always respect one another.

Surely he would understand her desire to discuss the subject with him.

Plucking the second volume from the shelf, Evelyn flopped down into the Commander's chair and searched for his writing implements. Cassandra, by her own admission, was terrible at writing reports and orders, and had left the majority of her written communications in Leliana's capable hands.

She stared at the parchment before her, frowning as she tried to decide on how to begin. Idly, she turned Michael's ring around on her thumb. The weight of the iron and the etching of running horses along the band served as a comfort to her just as Evan's phylactery did. Two brothers lost now, and although she could still taste the sorrow bitter on her tongue, she was glad that she had something to remember them by - even if they were only trinkets.

Again she thought of Cullen, a smile forming unconsciously on her lips. Her humble, thoughtful, and kind friend was as close to perfect as any mortal had a right to be. While he could lose his temper, and was more often grumpy than not, the Commander was an old and gentle soul. And then…

She brushed the feathered end of the quill against her lips, remembering the feeling of his mouth gently leading hers in a kiss. The feeling of it still lingered as if it were branded onto her skin. Had she snuffed out the possibility of more before she'd ever gotten the chance with her behavior? Would he forget about that night by the time he returned?

Leliana had mentioned that it may take their forces several months before the Inquisition had secured the Western Approach. There was so much to be done that Cullen had needed to go out with them despite Hawke's insistence on his presence. The thought of having to wait to see him for an indeterminable length of time caused her to fidget nervously. There was so much she needed to say.

Deciding that nothing could be done about that for now, she began to scrawl the beginnings of her letter to him in earnest, desiring to keep at least one avenue of communication open between them.


...and so I find myself removed from my previous notions regarding the Chantry's military might. While I respect the Templars and their sacrifices - you know this - I cannot help but think that the upper echelons of our world are ignorant of those beneath them. Is a peasant's suffering not equal to that of a nobleman? What does a tithe or an indulgence have anything to do with eternal salvation? Last I checked one could not simply buy their way to the Maker's side, but it seems the Chantry is doing nothing to quell these blasphemous institutions. Instead they worry themselves sick over the stability of the Circles and tax the life out of their believers to fund their lavish lifestyles.

I did some research into this matter with the help of Dorian and Leliana. Needless to say that my concerns are founded, but this is all so much to take in.

I feel impossibly sheltered from this political side to my faith. Have things always been so backwards? I need your insight on this matter. If nothing else, it will make me feel a little better having your knowledge at hand should I approach my father about this.

I wish you were here so I could speak more in depth with you, but I fear this will have to do. Please don't allow Hawke to drag you into anything unnecessarily dangerous. Varric has been telling some rather impossible stories as of late, and I cannot tell what parts are embellished and which are true.

Evelyn

Cullen snorted at the last part of Evelyn's letter, not finding that surprising in the least.

"Something funny, Altar Boy?" Hawke's voice drifted over from where she rode beside him.

"Will you never cease with that moniker? Even Curly is better."

She grinned. "Quit bitching. It's too early for your bad attitude."

Amber eyes rolled as a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "It's always too early for you, Hawke."

"Clearly because I'm just too much fun."

Although Cullen had resigned himself to being perpetually exasperated around her, he couldn't help the small chuckle her words elicited from him

"That's certainly one way to say it, I suppose."

She didn't say anything else for quite a while, regarding him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"You hardly slept at all last night, Cullen. Is doing this today wise?"

The old crumbling fort was coming into view now. Anticipation threaded through his veins at the possibility of learning what the Wardens were up to out here - the Venatori, too. Oddly, enough reports had been laid in his hands speaking of the two somehow working together that he'd decided to make tracking down the Wardens a priority.

"I've been living with this for a while now. I will be fine." His clipped reply only caused her to narrow her eyes at him.

He knew that look.

She wasn't finished with him yet.

"Cullen-"

"Leave the man alone, Hawke. You're not his mother." Peter interrupted her, but his voice was gentle.

Surprised, Cullen looked up to meet the Seeker's pointed gaze. Was there anything Peter didn't know? Well, perhaps he didn't and simply thought Cullen was ill. Still…

"I'm fine. Let's just find Stroud and see what the Wardens have been up to."

His tone left no room for argument. The Commander of the Inquisition was done talking.

"He said he'd be up in this direction," Hawke replied, passing a furtive look toward Peter.

"So Erimond is a dick." Peter groused between mouthfuls of water as he, Hawke and Cullen sat on top of the battlements back at Griffon Wing Keep.

That was the understatement of the year, Cullen thought, still trying to scrape demon bile from between the metal scales of his armor. Magister Erimond was working with the Venatori in an attempt to take over the Grey Wardens of Orlais. Apparently the first step was ensuring that all of the Warden mages were sufficiently bound to demons. The very thought made his skin crawl.

The shudder that wracked his body preceded a cold sweat which, given the intensity of the setting sun, was actually welcome. He tried his hardest to keep his hand steady as he made to scrape the scales again, but the implement he was using skid off the armor and lodged itself in his opposite hand

"Maker!" He growled, quickly placing the wound in his mouth to keep more gore from splashing onto the plate.

Peter pressed a clean rag into Cullen's hands with a small smile. "I hear the tremors can be really irritating," He said conversationally.

Truth was, Peter had known Cullen was off of Lyrium since the moment they'd met. In fact, it was because of his intentional distance from Templar control that he'd even allowed the Commander near his sister. He didn't trust the Templars, and he trusted blessedly few Circle representatives. If for some reason Cullen had still been affiliated with the Order, he would have persuaded Evelyn to leave the Inquisition after Therinfal.

Much like Cassandra, Peter's talent dealt with manipulating the Lyrium inside of a person's body - mage or Templar. Though he'd only used it in emergencies, he had been more than prepared to unleash it on Cullen were he a threat to Evelyn. That was until he discovered the man had barely any Lyrium in his veins to justify using his talent. The discovery was jarring at first, but he then recalled something Edward had said about the Inquisition's Commander being a Templar who'd broken away from the Order. In hindsight, that alone was probably when he started liking the man.

Cullen blew out a frustrated sigh, regarding Peter with a mix of irritation and resignation. There was no point in dancing around the issue now. "They are. Especially when I'm in the middle of writing a report."

He nodded. "So it's been what, a little over a year since you quit?"

"Yes. My last dose was on the day Cassandra recruited me to the cause." A fond smile passed over Cullen's features as he said this. The man clearly enjoyed his work, and if Peter didn't know better he would have said the Commander was in love with his job rather than the Inquisitor.

"What does it feel like?"

"Shit." Cullen stated simply, checking his hand to ensure the bleeding had stopped before resuming the work on his armor. "It doesn't appeal to everyone. Maker, it doesn't even appeal to me, but I said I was going to do it so I will endure." Though he didn't know if there was going to really be an end to the perpetual want that bullied his body day and night. "I don't go back on my word."

Hawke smiled a little at Cullen's vehement explanation and at the missive she had just received via Josephine from Skyhold. "Ah yes, well the Inquisition's Enduring Knight is going to either love or hate his ambassador when I explain her plans for him regarding a certain ball for a certain empress."

Cullen blanched, winced, and the pleading look in his eyes only made her grin widen. "What has she done?"

"Tell me, Commander, do you know how to dance?"

"No." He narrowed his eyes in a frown. "And I refuse to learn. It's a waste of time. Why?"

Hawke straightened away from the wall, a wince betraying her still damaged behind. "Josephine is requesting that you make a concentrated effort on learning at least one dance. Apparently the Inquisition has been called to the Winter Palace by invitation of Grand Duke Gaspard."

"Why is Josephine telling you this?"

She snorted. "I imagine she assumes I know something about it already, since you should have opened your mail from her earlier. Instead you were too busy reading Evelyn's letter."

Her eyebrows wagged suggestively.

"Enlighten me then, oh deductive one."

Cullen was curious now, though his tight-lipped smile belied his stiff posture. Idly, she wondered why he was so adverse to the idea of learning a waltz or two. Was he so afraid of being embarrassed?

"She would like me to teach you while we are here, because she wishes you to be Evelyn's escort. I don't think your ambassador or spymaster are quite comfortable with the idea of letting the Grand Duke parade the Inquisitor around like a prize. You know, high opinions, the game, all of that other bullshit I can't be bothered with."

He sighed. "Why does that even matter? People know how strong the Inquisition is by our deeds."

Peter nodded, seeing his point. "But consider that Gaspard may have ulterior motives inviting the Inquisitor to such an event knowing full well that he is in the middle of a civil war with Celene over the throne. Do you remember the plot we discovered at Therinfal? This might have something to do with it."

That seemed to get the Commander's attention. "If it means keeping Evelyn out of harm's way, then I will do it."

Hawke laughed, placing a hand over her mouth to try and conceal her mirth when Cullen shot her a withering glare.

"Don't look so put out, Altar Boy. A lot of women find dancing with a handsome man awfully romantic."

"And how would you know that?"

She punched his arm, which actually smart quite a bit, before thrusting the letter Josephine had written on top of the armor in his lap. "I'll have you know I'm a pretty good dancer, and I had Sebastian Vael as a teacher so that definitely puts me one up on you, mister."

"Ha!" Peter guffawed. "A Starkhavener taught you to dance? Maker have mercy. Your waltz must look stiff as a dead nug."

"Oh?" Hawke bristled at his tone, but rose to the challenge he posed. "Care to show me how men from Ostwick take a turn about the ballroom?"

She faked her best simper to which Cullen rolled his eyes. Nearly three months with her and he was glad they hadn't gotten stuck he'd employed the maneuver so often.

Peter grinned, the expression rather wolfish. "I accept your challenge, Serrah Hawke."


When she had awoken that night she expected to hear the same words she had grown so accustomed to this past year. Evelyn did not expect to see the inky black mass hovering over her bed, the dark shape undulating and floating formlessly in the air. It would make her a liar if she said she wasn't surprised by it. In fact, she had been terrified.

They watched each other for a while, and though the thing didn't have any eyes that she could see she sensed it was paying very close attention to her. Spirit, demon, something else - she had no idea what this thing was. She had never encountered it before, but it felt dangerous despite not having harmed her for quite some time.

"Hello?" She tried, finding a strength in her words that she did not feel.

A flurry of sound surrounded her, whispering words she could not discern until those three words found their way into her ears once again.

Let me in.

Absolutely not, she thought, and in a moment of anger and resolve she pushed away from her mattress and fled her room to the main hall. She'd eventually ended up in the library rotunda with Solas where he had convinced her to finally confront the problem.

Now she stood in the middle of her chambers with the travel-wizened elf while her father walked slowly around the perimeter of the room. They had both decided it would be wise to have him close at hand should they encounter a demon, though Solas had always been more than capable deflecting their assaults in the field. She suspected he knew more than he let on about this situation, but at the same time not enough that he would trust his own skills alone in dealing with such a matter should it get out of hand.

It was a mystery to her. He never divulged any of his secrets. Maybe she was still a bit miffed that he'd refused to teach her how to really see the Fade as he did. While she could manipulate the dream world easily, she did not possess the knowledge to view memories and feelings trapped in the Fade. She could only perceive what was immediate and present, which usually led to many an enlightening encounter with a spirit and the occasional demon.

"How long has this been going on, did you say?" Adair interrupted her reverie, snapping her attention back to the present with an embarrassed flush.

"Longer than I'd like to admit. Since before the fall of Haven."

He frowned, beginning another circuit around the space with his hand placed on his sword grip. It was a nervous gesture of his - of most Templars, actually. Cullen had a habit of it as well, though she suspected the Commander was completely aware of how intimidating it looked in the middle of a heated conversation or while giving orders to his men.

"You are correct, my friend. This feeling I have does possess the hallmarks of a demonic presence, but as for why it is in your room and why we cannot physically see it is beyond me."

Adair paused a moment, passing close to the bed and making a small disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

"That would be because mages are not familiar with this kind of summoning," the ex Knight Commander spoke quickly, kneeling down and disappearing beneath the bed.

Evelyn blinked, leaning down to peer under the four poster to see what on Thedas her father was doing. Solas mirrored her actions.

Adair emerged a short while later, holding up a small, flat silver medallion. Turning in about in his fingers as he stood.

"This," he began, "is a form of demon summoning unique to the Templar Order. It's the same kind of calling we place when a mage is to take their Harrowing."

Evelyn blinked. She'd always assumed the demons came of their own accord. "What?"

"Before a mage is taken into the Harrowing chamber the Knight to stand vigil over the apprentice must call forth a demon so it is present at the proper time."

"Ensuring that a test will always be taken," Solas elaborated, a hard edge to his voice.

"Maker." Evelyn breathed. "It's summoned into the fount isn't it? The one we drink the Lyrium from before…"

"Yes. The same. It's so mage and demon have a proper connection for the trial. No outside interference."

"So the Templars…"

"Are hypocrites? Absolutely. This is a fine example." He held up the medallion between his thumb and fore finger. "This trinket has a demon attached to it. The reason you only seem to encounter it in your sleep or while you're in bed is because it was placed beneath the mattress."

"And the reason I can't confront it in the Fade is because it doesn't actually inhabit it anymore."

He nodded, expression growing grim.

"What enemy have you made in a Templar, love? This is very strictly confined to the Templar Order."

She could think of only one person.

"His name is Teague. He is no longer here, though. Cullen tossed him out."

"Just as well," Solas commented. "That man was a danger to all mages in the Inquisition."

Evelyn couldn't help but agree. The man was dangerous.

"You're sure he wasn't working with anyone else?" Her father pressed. "This was intended to stay here for a long time. It's not to simply scare you. Long periods of exposure can lead to possession."

Evelyn blanched. "They were trying to feed me to a demon?" She shook her head, a chill skating up her arms. "I think he was working on his own."

Adair nodded, some dark emotion passing across his features before he tucked the trinket away within the folds of his robe. "I will destroy this. If the nightmares persist there may be more, but I'm fairly certain this is the only one."

She nodded, turning to Solas who looked like he'd just eaten something particularly bitter.

"Trust the Chantry to adopt an Elvhen ritual and pervert it so they can better persecute mages."

Adair ignored his words, not wishing to argue the truth of that statement despite his personal feelings on the reasoning for such actions.

That night when she retired Evelyn had noticed the change in the atmosphere. The space felt lighter and less oppressive. Ferelden had even deigned to join her in bed, now at ease in her rooms.

She was ecstatic at the prospect of getting a good night's rest in a proper bed. As it happened, she could only get particularly restful sleep when she was out on the road.

Unable to suppress a squeal of delight she jumped onto the bed and rolled over onto her back. Ferelden regarded her with thinly veiled exasperation.

"What?" She said to the Mabari. "You've been sleeping cozy in the throne room for weeks while I've had to share this room with a demon. Excuse me for feeling a little liberated."

A soft whuff escaped him before he curled around himself and settled in for the night.

While she was pleased to not have anymore interrupted nights, Evelyn was too excited to sleep. She reached over to the nightstand and took up another of Cullen's books, intending on learning a bit more about siege tactics before the night was out.


Cullen was fairly certain he'd not fallen asleep in a sunny field of dandelions. In fact, he was pretty sure the oak leaves he was staring up into were also a figment of his imagination. Strange, he thought. He didn't recognize this place from his dreams. He was never so lucky to dream something so pleasant.

He could vaguely remember that the withdrawals that day had been particularly trying, and so it was under Hawke's order and Rylen's insistence that he take a day to rest. Cullen was, by his very nature, not the restful type. Sitting idle had nearly driven him to wits end, but not before he had poured over his armor three or four times to check for damage, dirt, the odd grain of sand that would make that horrible noise when he walked.

He had paused upon inspecting his gauntlets, as he always did, brushing his fingers against the enchantment there. A contented sigh left his lips at the feeling of Evelyn's magic brushing across his senses. Through the worst of his symptoms away from Skyhold, this had become his vice - almost a ritual of sorts to calm his nerves and clear his head.

"Oh...hello."

The familiar voice had him sitting bolt upright.

No. No, no, no, no.

If this was a nightmare like all of the others, he needed to wake up now. He refused to have them pervert her too.

A whimper nearly escaped him when amber eyes fixed on blue, and he saw her there sitting in the sunlight like some kind of ethereal being. Maker, she was beautiful.

Please don't ruin her too, he thought desperately.

Evelyn cocked her head, curious at Cullen's wide-eyed expression - or at least what appeared to be Cullen. She didn't sense a spirit or a demon, and yet sharing one's dreams was a very rare occurrence. Even among mages it was incredibly rare. Could this actually be…? No...

"Stay away from me," he bit out, expression shifting from one of fear to one of anger.

Immediately she held up her hands. "I'm sorry. I will not touch you."

She, it, whatever it was sat some distance away, looking at him with curiosity. This was normally not how these kinds of dreams began. It threw him for a loop and intensified his unease. He did not want Evelyn's image to be brought into this realm of fear and hate. He wouldn't be able to look at her in the same way.

Very slowly he drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees while leaning back against the tree. He was hiding, protecting himself.

Evelyn was terribly curious. "Would you feel better if…" She thought a moment, grasping blindly now. "...if perhaps we exchanged information? I'll tell you something I'm sure Cullen doesn't know about me."

Diplomatic. Whatever this was had done some digging around in his head. Still, the offer was tantalizingly straight forward, and it hadn't made a move yet. Patience was not something desire demons were necessarily known for.

Seeing no immediate way out, he would acquiesce for the moment. "I'll bite. I will not offer the same in exchange." There was no way he would feed it more information.

"That's fine." Her voice was calm and soothing, like she was speaking to a frightened child. She let the silence hang around them for a moment, choosing carefully what she would say lest this image be some form of Fade trickery with which we was not yet familiar.

"I love your hands."

The utterly perplexed look that crossed his features caused her to laugh. Oh dear, she didn't mean to make him uncomfortable.

"What?"

"I love your hands." She gestured to where his bare hands clasped together in front of his knees. "Sometimes, at the war table, I'm tempted to ask you to take off your gloves so I can see them." She blushed at that admission, having a feeling that perhaps that was going too far. Again, she didn't sense that what was before her was a spirit or a demon. It felt distinctly Cullen.

He hastily pulled his hands out of sight and hid them in his lap, pinning her with a glare.

Alright. Definitely not the right thing to say. Maker, she'd never had to convince someone she was herself before.

"What could I do to get you to trust me - to believe that I'm, well, me?"

If possible, his glare deepened. "You'll get nothing from me. If you know me so well, you will figure it out. Evelyn is intelligent enough to come up with something, if you really are her."

He absolutely did not sound convinced.

They sat for a long time looking at one another. His angry eyes bored into her curious ones, and it took some time before she got the spark of an idea.

"You're the only person I know who doesn't get uncomfortable when I do this," she began. Then, slowly, she relaxed her hold on her power, allowing it to surround her as she had all those months ago in the ballroom at Skyhold.

His recognition showed immediately in his eyes, though he was still anxious by the looks of it.

"How?" It was her! He would know her magic anywhere. If it was a demon he would sense something different altogether. Wouldn't he?

She shrugged, looking a little sheepish "I don't know. This," she gestured between the two of them, "happens so rarely that it is very poorly documented. I've only experienced it once before with Evan."

"What does it mean?" He asked, beginning to relax somewhat, though he was still wary.

She couldn't really blame him. Did anyone fully trust what they dreamed?

Evelyn blushed. "That I've just thoroughly embarrassed myself in front of you."

"Wha-oh. The hands."

She groaned, smacking her palm against her forehead. "Can we forget I ever said that?"

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "Why would I want to do that?"

"To show mercy on me, clearly. I was in a hurry for something convincing to say." She made to move toward him, but she stopped when he visibly tensed. He still didn't trust himself. This was so strange. "This has something to do with what happened at Kinloch Hold, doesn't it?"

Cullen blew out a sigh. "Yes. It does. A, ah...desire demon tried to tempt me with someone that I..." He hesitated. "...Someone that I cared for very much." Did a pretty damn good job of it too, he remembered bitterly.

For some reason that lame explanation caused a tentative smile to grace her pretty features. What for, he wondered? Mentally running over his comment in his head he suddenly froze at the implication he hadn't intended, a furious blush staining his cheeks.

"What I mean is-. I meant to say-. Maker." He sighed, bringing up a hand to rub absently at the back of his neck.

Evelyn flushed. "It's alright, Cullen. I know you didn't mean it like that."

What? No! He absolutely did mean it like that! If she was even real, he mused.

"Didn't mean it like what?" He asked, trying to regain some of his equilibrium by feigning ignorance. He knew exactly what she was referring to. Perhaps he just wanted to hear her say it.

She looked sheepish, uncomfortable, and impossibly attractive as she struggled to answer. "That you care for me."

Well, demon or sun-induced insanity, here it went.

"I do care for you."

To his surprise, all tension seemed to drain out of her and she bestowed him with a smile that made his lips twitch in response. No...this couldn't be a demon - not with an infectious smile like that.

"Come here." He may regret this, he thought as he leaned forward to take her hand and tug her closer to him. She settled down beside him, leaning against his shoulder with another infectious grin.

"I have so much to tell you," Evelyn began excitedly as the pair fell back into their comfortable dynamic.

She told him everything: what she'd done to Aaron the night after he had left, the medallion her father had found, how they thought Teague might have been responsible for its presence. She'd also spent a fair amount of time out in the field recruiting more agents for the Inquisition. The relief work had nearly been completed in the Hinterlands, she told him, and the villagers there had sworn themselves to the Inquisition's cause. Apparently she had also met a dragon.

"Met a dragon?" Cullen asked with some skepticism. This was a dream, after all.

She nodded emphatically, excitement brightening the impossibly blue color of her eyes.

"It was the most amazing thing! You see, earlier in the day Bull wasn't paying attention to where he was walking and stepped right on me. I had the most awful muscle pull of my life. So here I was trying to walk off the worst of it once we'd made camp. I was headed down into this shallow cave, intending to turn around and walk right back when it opened up into this secret valley. Curious, I looked around for a bit before I realized I was being watched. All I felt was this really hot wind blast down from above me. When I looked up, I saw her."

Evelyn's eyes practically sparkled.

"She was beautiful! All different colors of scales, and this huge head with horns bigger than Bull's. She just perched there on the ledge above me and watched. I was so nervous I had froze, but she didn't seem too aggressive. I imagine she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her. After a while she settled down on the rock, and I hurried off to tell Cassandra."

"Let me guess," Cullen spoke, scratching the stubble on his jaw with a grin, "she was angry you wandered off on your own."

"Oh absolutely!"

He laughed at her complete disregard for their poor Seeker's wits.

"But I would do it again, even if it meant listening to another of her overprotective tirades," she said.

He raised one pale brow at her statement, a smirk evident at the corner of his mouth. "I think she deserves the overprotective tirade, Evelyn. I probably would have done the same."

She grinned. "Still completely worth it. I've never seen a dragon before. I've only read about them in books."

Cullen lifted a hand, brushing the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. "You're positively incorrigible." And he admired her endlessly, he thought.

Her eyes flew to his, her expression unreadable before her mouth softened into an adoring smile which he could only mirror as they sat there in the strange dreams cape, his thumb brushing idly over her cheekbone.

"I get that a lot," Evelyn breathed, gaze flitting down to his mouth. "Cullen, about that night you left. I'm sorry I-"

The pad of his thumb brushed against her lower lip.

"Don't apologize. I understand."

"Do you know when you're coming come?"

He smiled at that. Home. With her. That was definitely something he was looking forward to.

"After the ball at the Winter Palace. That's the earliest I can return."

She frowned. "So long? That's several months away."

Evelyn was already being fitted for a suitable gown. All the while she'd been threatened by the seamstress and Josephine to not overindulge lest she be unable to fit into the garment when the time came. She hated fittings, she reflected with a grumble.

"Disappointed?"

"Obviously. I miss speaking with you. I miss you."

Cullen pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I miss you too." He ghosted his lips against hers as he spoke, sending a pleasant shiver down the column of her spine.

"Cullen!"

He pulled back with a frown, unwilling to remove his hands from Evelyn.

"Cuuullleeennn!" The voice said again, distorted inside this place.

Gradually the dream scape of the Fade gave way to the canvas top of his tent and Hawke's concerned face hovering far too close to his own.

He raised a hand to wave her off of him. "Maker, what's wrong with you? I was sleeping."

"Yeah? Well you've been sleeping for the last ten hours."

He blinked. "What?"

"Yeah. Here." she shoved a water skin into his hands as he sat up. "You need to drink."

Cullen frowned, eyeing the light of dawn beginning to brighten the sky.

"Good dream? You haven't slept that soundly since you've been out here."

He regarded her out of the corner of his eye a moment before smiling in a way that surprised the Champion. It was honest, boyish, and made him look years younger. "A very good dream."