A/N: I know that Cullen's room doesn't have a fireplace in game, but honestly, no fireplace and no roof in the middle of the Frostbacks? Man would be a Cullensicle.
On the army's slow trip back to Skyhold, Killeen found out quickly that Cullen's nightmares had grown much, much worse. Often, they would not release him until she had shaken him awake, and once awake, he no longer made even a pretence of trying to sleep again, but would work at his desk until dawn.
When they reached the Inquisition's fortress, Killeen moved a bedroll into Cullen's loft without asking for permission his pride might have made him refuse to grant. She had no idea, and was certainly not about to ask, if his relationship with the Inquisitor was now of the sort that might make the mage a regular visitor to Cullen's private quarters, but there was that big fancy suite off the Great Hall they could use if so, and at least with Killeen there, Cullen would allow himself to fall asleep.
Killeen was careful to make sure she was seen leaving her own quarters every morning, less because she believed that anyone would think for an instant that there could be anything improper between Cullen and herself than because it allowed Cullen to pretend she only kept a bedroll on his bedroom floor for nights when the press of work had them both bent over reports until dawn.
They were both pretending. While Cullen pretended that Killeen slept in his loft for her own benefit, she herself pretended that she was over him so thoroughly that she came to half believe it herself — at least, until she found herself staring at his shirtless back as he splashed water on his face in the morning, or knowing exactly how many times she'd made him laugh that day, or watching him read by candlelight for hours at a time.
She made him eat, fetching from the mess for him when he claimed to be too busy to take a break. The night he woke chilled and shivering uncontrollably, she covered him with her own blankets and lugged firewood up the ladder until even with the gap in the roof the room was a furnace and his shaking, finally, ceased. When he vomited, she cleaned it up without a word, allowing him to pretend it hadn't happened. When the headaches had him squinting even in dim light, she intercepted messengers before they reached his door and let him sit quietly in the dark as long as he needed to. When he doubled over in sudden pain, or seized the desk or bookshelf for support, Killeen pretended not to see, moved closer as if on some coincidental errand of her own so her arm or shoulder was in easy reach when he needed support.
All of it told her that something was very badly wrong with her Commander.
Still, she was completely unprepared when one night she heard the familiar low mutters of Maker, no … leave me … no, leaned up from her bedroll to shake his shoulder and the next second found his hands wrapped around her throat.
That surprise cost her precious seconds. By the time she realised that this was not, in fact, some ghastly nightmare of her own, but that Cullen was really on top of her, pinning her down with knees and elbows, powerful hands tightening around her neck, her vision was already greying at the edges until his face, set in a rictus of hatred, seemed to be at the end of a long tunnel.
She managed to free one arm, braced herself against the floor, and hit him in the nose with the heel of her hand as hard as she could.
Cullen reared back, fingers loosening, and Killeen writhed out from under him, rolled away until she hit the wall. Wheezing for breath, she heard him move towards her and forced her shaking limbs to raise her into a defensive crouch.
He stopped, one hand extended towards her, the other over his nose, staring at her with horror. "Kill, Maker, Kill, are you all right?"
"Yes." It came out sounding like a hinge on a rusty gate and Cullen flinched. "Are you?"
"I — it was — I thought —" His voice cracked, and he dropped to his knees. "Andraste forgive me, I was — was back —" He bowed his head, shoulders shaking.
Killeen straightened and took a tentative step towards him. "Back in the Circle Tower?"
He nodded, forced words between the sobs. "So — sorry, Kill, I —" When she took the blanket from his bed and draped it around his shoulders, he flinched away. "Don't —" he choked. "Don't come near me."
Killeen crouched in front of him. "Are you going to strangle me again?"
"No!"
"Then shut up and let me look at your nose." She seized his wrists and drew his hands away from his face. "Yep, I broke it pretty good. You'd better get Lady Vivienne to look at it if you don't want to end up looking like me."
Cullen just stared at her, face still marked with anguish. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry enough to tell me what's going on?"
His gaze slid away from hers. "It was just a nightmare."
"Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks it was just anything," Killeen snapped. "Something's wrong. More wrong than usual. I know, because I've been covering for you. And you know I know, because you know I've been covering for you. And you haven't wanted to talk about it, and I've let you get away with that, because Maker knows talking's never been your strong suit, but I'll be damned if I'll let you choke me to death just to avoid an awkward conversation."
He seized her hand. "Kill, I never thought I would — I never thought that —I'm so sorry, Kill, I'm so sorry."
"Talk," Killeen said implacably. "Or I tell the Inquisitor everything, or at least, everything I've seen, and once she's no doubt ordered you to the healers you can talk to them."
"She already knows."
That went straight past her guard, straight past the illusion she had mostly successfully sold herself that they were friends, just good friends.
He'd told the Inquisitor something he wasn't willing to tell Killeen.
It was one thing to know there were parts of him she'd never have. It was quite enough to find someone else taking even the parts she'd thought were hers, and hers alone.
She jerked her hand from his grasp and stood. "Then the Inquisitor can clean up next time you're sick on the floor."
"Kill." He reached for her hand again, and the pleading in his voice kept her still. "Stay."
"Then tell me," she said, and didn't sit down beside him until he nodded.
"How much do you know," he asked, "about lyrium?"
Killeen listened in silence as he explained it to her, his voice steadying as he went on. The power it gave Templars, and the trade-off of addiction. The pain, the dangers, of withdrawal. His decision to risk them, his determination to be free, completely free, of the Templars after Kirkwall.
"At first it was … bearable," he said. "But lately … it just grows worse. I can't sleep, I can't think, I know I must be making mistakes. And now this." He turned to look at her. "It'll never happen again, Kill, I promise you. Tomorrow, I'll see Cassandra and tell her I need to start taking it again."
"Or," Killeen said, "I could just start waking you up by poking you with a long stick from the other side of the room and then legging it down the ladder."
Cullen shook his head. "I owe the Inquisition my best. This … this is not my best."
"It's about twenty times better than anyone else's best," Killeen said without thinking, then cursed herself when Cullen blushed in the moonlight. "I mean, militarily. And if you were making mistakes, I'd have told you about them. At length."
The hint of a smile. "You would have, it's true."
"Did she tell you to take it again? When you talked to her?"
"No." He studied his hands. "She said she respected my decision."
"There you go, then," Killeen said encouragingly.
"Kill, I can't keep doing this. Especially not now you —"
When he fell silent she poked him in the shoulder with one forefinger. "Now I've broken your nose?"
"Now you can't … stay. With me."
"Why not?" Killeen asked, layering on the fake surprise with a trowel.
"If I — next time, I might — Kill, I couldn't bear that." He turned to face her, and in the shadows and the flicker of the moonlight through the tree poking through his roof, Killeen could almost imagine she heard in his voice what she most wanted to be there. She wanted to take his face between her hands, kiss his scarred lips, cradle his head against her shoulder until he believed everything was going to be all right.
Except there's nothing more unpleasant than being on the receiving end of unwanted attention of that kind.
And he needed her too much right now for any further indulgence of her foolish, ungovernable heart.
"I'll be here tomorrow night, Cullen," she said instead. "And every night you need." A beat. "With my ten foot pole."
He laughed, and then his breath caught and he ducked his head to hide his face from her, reaching out one hand blindly.
Killeen took it and held it in a friend's strong grasp, pretending not to hear him weeping, as they sat beside each other in the dark.