From Commander Cullen's personal journal:
The Inquisition has been at Skyhold for three days. Troop rotations are set up, quarters are being arranged for all (including special mage facilities), and training will begin again in approximately a week.
I want very badly to sleep, but I do not know if I can, or will. My stomach is in revolt, and I dread the dreams which I know will arrive should I attempt to take to my bed. I have stashed my desk and belongings in what will soon be my office. While it is situated to be easily accessible to patrols on the battlements, I still find myself with a bit more privacy than my old tent at Haven—and a chest that locks securely.
The Herald, now the Inquisitor, has previously suggested that keeping a journal can potentially combat bad dreams. When she lay unconscious after Haven, I recorded my thoughts and feelings, and admittedly felt better for the effort. While I feel that what I wrote was overly self-indulgent (and I am glad that Cassandra returned it to me when I awoke, hopefully unread), perhaps it would be helpful to continue with something, although more appropriately disciplined.
To supervise the construction efforts, I have been working from a small table set up in the courtyard. Skyhold is a highly defensible structure, but it has been abandoned for some time. Many improvements must be made as soon as possible to repel any potential assault.
The Inquisitor came by mid-morning. She inquired about losses at Haven and the morale of the people. I was happy to inform her that morale has improved greatly since she accepted the position of Inquisitor. She has such an impact on people: before she spoke to me, she spent a moment with Scout Harding and some of the healers, and afterwards, they were all positively beaming.
I knew that she would come by, and I had already thought of subjects to address with her, and what I would say. I spoke with her about the preparations I am making, how Skyhold will be a place to stand, and about her new title. She inhabits the role well, and gracefully—Josephine must be pleased—but her personal interactions with me still feel strained. She paused for a moment before she departed, and said (I remember it distinctly):
"Thank you, Cullen. Our escape from Haven—it was close. I am relieved that you—that so many made it out."
"As am I," I said.
She turned to go, and I touched her arm. "You stayed behind," I said. "You could have…I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word." She looked at me for a moment, then slipped away, headed in the direction of the stables.
I feel sick—sicker—when I think of how close we were to losing her. In the future, I will show more composure and professionalism when we speak. I was simply surprised that she called me by my name, and did not expect her to speak so personally to me, especially after the stupid things I said to her at Haven. I will be less impulsive in the future.
After preparations to Skyhold are complete, I know that I must speak with her about my decision to forego lyrium. It also occurs to me that I should return her phylactery, and discuss what should be done with it. I will plan what to say in advance, and make sure she knows that I respect her wishes, no matter what they may be.
From Commander Cullen's personal journal:
Last night, I dreamt of Kinloch Hold. I am kneeling, and reciting the Chant with my brothers as they are taken away, one by one. Finally, there are just two of us left. I turn to my last brother, and it is Samson. He whispers something to me that I cannot not hear, then Uldred's abominations drag him away. He screams for me to help him, but I do nothing.
Then, I am alone. I have dreamed this part so many times that I always know what will happen. The desire demon appears, her body uncovered. I want to look away, but I cannot. I manage to close my eyes, but she slithers through my mind.
"What is it that you want, my dearest? Most of all?"
I open my eyes, and Solona is there. She is just as beautiful as she always is, her hair just as red, her eyes so blue. She has changed her hair—it falls in a braid over her shoulder.
"Amell!" I cry, "We must leave this place!"
"What is your hurry, my dearest?" she asks, and begins to undo the front of her robes. She crosses through the barrier like it is not there, and kneels beside me. I yearn for her touch, I would do anything, I would kill…I know something is wrong, but I want this so badly…
As her lips approach mine, I close my eyes and cry out, "Demon, begone! You cannot tempt me!"
Instead of a kiss, it grabs me and sinks its teeth deep into my neck, its claws raking down my arms.
I awake, covered in cold sweat.
My nightmares are getting more frequent along with the withdrawal symptoms. I was initially skeptical of this "dream journal" that Inquisitor Trevelyan suggested I keep, as I have always attempted to forget my dreams afterwards. After several weeks, however, I have been able to identify some patterns in my dreams. As they happen, they feel more familiar, and I am also able to identify some changes.
I do not quite know what to do with this. Why was Samson there? Why was Amell wearing her hair differently? Why did I even notice that?
From Commander Cullen's personal journal:
The Inquisitor came by today, per my request.
When she came in, I was bent over the box at my desk. Nervous, didn't want to look her in the eye.
First, I returned her phylactery.
"Oh, this," she said, and tucked it into a pouch at her belt. "I suppose I will have to figure out what to do with it again. Was there something else you wished to discuss?"
I told her about the lyrium.
"You stopped?"
"Since I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now."
"Cullen, I don't know anything about lyrium withdrawal. Can this kill you?"
"It hasn't yet. After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't…I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it."
I told her that I have asked Cassandra to watch me, and relieve me of duty if I can no longer serve.
"Are you in pain?"
"I can endure it. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen…I will defer to Cassandra's judgment."
She stood looking at me for a moment, hands on hips. I could practically hear her flipping through her mental inventory of magical knowledge, searching for something.
"Hm," she said. "Do you mind if I try something?"
"I would rather not—"
"Nothing magic, I promise."
"Very well...what are you—"
She walked towards me, around the edge of my desk. I had to stop myself from backing up as she approached. She drew close, stopping a mere foot away from me, and extended her hand to hover inches over my breastplate, near my heart. When she stood so near, I could feel the slight tingle of her magic, and caught the smell of an herb on her hands. She glanced up at me, and must have seen that I was blushing terribly, because she quickly stepped back.
"I'm sorry, Commander. I did not mean to make you nervous."
"I…it is nothing. What were you doing?"
She leaned on the edge of my desk, arms crossed, still disconcertingly close. "Cole talks about magic and lyrium, and he says he hears a 'singing.' When I stand close to you, the magic in my body and the lyrium in your blood resonate with each other. Like calls to like. I have encountered this before, but you are less 'sharp' than other Templars. I don't know what it means, exactly, but the lyrium is either passing out of your system or it has grown…quieter."
She looked up at me. Her eyes were very large and very green.
"You feel…different," she said, and extended a hand to touch my face.
I stepped back, then, and cleared my throat. She dropped her hand.
"Ah," she said. "I have made you uncomfortable after all. My apologies." She stood and moved to the other side of the desk. "Thank you for telling me about this, Commander. I respect what you are doing and I hope you will let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you. Now, you wanted to speak to me about Samson and the Red Templars?"
I told her what we have discovered about the red lyrium smugglers, and she promised to investigate the matter soon. She asked me a few questions about my personal connection to Samson, assured me that she would make the time to investigate, and left.
And so I have spent all day and evening struggling to not think impure thoughts about the Inquisitor. Part of me is glad that she is leaving tomorrow, but while she is gone I know will wait for her letters. I must work to get this under control. This attachment is inappropriate and impossible. I want so much to be free from the Gallows, but it seems that life will continue to follow me and taint everything it touches.
