His fingers squeezed around the vial with such intensity it was surprising the slender glass didn't fracture.

Was he really going to do this?

Getting his hands on the lyrium had been surprisingly easy. Lysette, one of the templars under his command, had been more than happy to lend her commander a vial when he had told her he'd misplaced his supply. She had bought his lie with ease; none of the templars within Skyhold's walls had been told of his attempt. The attempt that he had failed.

Cullen lifted the vial up to the light, gazing into the viscous blue liquid within. He could feel the lyrium calling to him, and his blood rushing toward it in reply. He imagined how it would taste on his tongue, how it would feel as the lyrium slid down his throat and finally gave his body what it had craved all these months. It was a feeling he had once known intimately; one that he had not allowed himself to admit that he missed. Raw power would surge through his veins almost immediately, washing away his pain, his fever, his nightmares and his hallucinations. But along with them, he would also lose part of himself, a part that would be replaced by the all-consuming need to find his next dose.

He flicked the cork of the bottle open with his thumb, wondering at how naturally the movement still came to him. It was like breathing. His muscles ached to pull the vial to his lips, to partake in the temptation he had been denying himself for too long. The smell of lyrium encircled him, cocooning him in the familiar blanket of its sharp tanginess, almost as if inviting him home. Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself to once again betray a cause he had taken for his own. The only thing that hurt more than the thought of doing so was the intense feeling of need coursing throughout his body.

"Put it down."

The commanding voice from the other side of the room made him jump, and he had to scramble to keep from dropping the vial. The Inquisitor advanced on him, her eyes boring into his with enough intensity to make his knees tremble.

"Give it to me," she ordered again, reaching out a hand towards the vial. His fingers curled tighter around the slender glass reflexively.

"I have to do this," he told her quietly. "You don't understand."

The Inquisitor pursed her lips, her intense gaze still scrutinizing his face. "Then tell me." Her tone was like iron, trapping him in place and bending him to her will.

"It's the right thing to do. I need to do the right thing, for once in my life." He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He hadn't wanted her to see him like this; so weak, so defeated by the task he had set himself. A stronger man might have prevailed where he could not. She would have prevailed where he could not. "I'm not strong enough."

"Cullen…" Her voice, so sharp and commanding before, surprised him now. It was soft, full of such affection it made his heart ache. He could feel the light touch of her fingers on his arm and opened his eyes to see her looking up at him. The pain painted across her delicate features gave him pause. He had never wanted to hurt her. He was doing this so he would never hurt her.

"Do you want this?" She finally asked.

"No," he admitted with a sigh. "But I don't want to hurt you."

That surprised her. She withdrew her hand from his arm. "Cullen, you would never hurt me."

Cullen looked away, unable to meet her eyes as he confessed his sins. "I almost did. In the tent. I wanted… I thought I had to… I could have killed you. I really thought you were the demon. I couldn't… I couldn't tell it wasn't real."

"I promise you that you cannot hurt me, even if you wanted to. Perhaps if you were on lyrium, but now..." Amalia reached up, placed her fingers on his chin, and softly pulled his face towards hers again. "I can keep myself safe. You do not need to do this for me."

"And what of other mages? Fiona's people, the Grey Wardens, the armorsmith's little girl? They are not safe in Skyhold as long as I cannot control myself."

"I know you, Cullen. You would never hurt anyone undeserving."

"Except I would. I did. You don't know… what I did, who I am…" The words came spilling out of him, unbidden, and suddenly the things about his past he had resolved to never tell her were out in the open. "I've tried to get an entire circle of mages killed. I've stood by while others have tormented and mutilated your kind. Only the actions of better men have stopped me from doing the same myself."

His confession shocked her. She pulled her arm back and took a step away from him, the look in her eyes a mirror of the very reaction he'd feared his story would get from her. He looked away, unable to face her. Now she would hear it, everything he had done, the deepest darkest guilt he carried with him, and she would be lost to him forever. But it was too late to back down now. Cullen had to tell her.

"A maleficar took over the circle I was first stationed in when I got out of training. Demons… they slaughtered my friends. They all died. The mages, my brothers, everyone. I was spared; I don't know why. There was no logic in it. They took me prisoner, and they tortured me... they tortured me for days… and when I was finally set free, I tried to force my rescuer's hand. I tried to get them to annul the circle, to kill every mage inside, even though the ones responsible were already dead. I wanted them all dead. The innocent. It didn't matter to me that they had done nothing." The torrent of words came to an end, and an uncomfortable silence fell between them.

"You were young," Amalia finally said.

"That's no excuse."

"No. But it is a reason. You were young, and you were broken. You reacted in a way that was… not the best, but you wouldn't do that again. That's not who you are anymore."

"It wasn't but a few years later that I stood by and watched as my Knight-Commander turned mage after mage Tranquil for the most minor offences, ordered my brothers to do horrible things to those under their power… and I didn't stop them. I didn't help, even though I could have. I carried out her orders like a good little soldier." He spit out the last few words.

"But you stood up to her."

"In the end. Only once Hawke showed me how wrong I had been. But it took me far too long."

"But you got there, in the end." Amalia moved back to his side and placed her hand on his arm. "Cullen. Look at me."

Cullen's eyes snapped to her face before he even consciously decided to meet her gaze.

"I won't say you aren't right to regret what you've done," she said, her voice thick with barely suppressed emotion. To his astonishment, a single tear rolled down her cheek. "We've all done things we regret. It doesn't bring back what was lost because of us… but it doesn't mean we can't forge something new and good from the ashes of our past. And that's why you can do this. Why you have to do this." Her fingers found the lyrium bottle in his again, and this time, he let her take it. She tucked it away behind her back, out of his sight.

"I'm not… strong enough."

"You are. You're the strongest person I know."

The statement was so comical coming from her lips that he snorted derisively, horrifying himself with such an inappropriate response.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You are. If only I could…" Her voice trailed off. "Would you let me... show you?" Amalia lifted her hand from his arm, a shimmering silver mist appearing between her fingers. He hesitated and then nodded, and she placed her hand on his cheek.

Cullen's eyes fluttered shut, and he suddenly found himself looking up at a fine-featured blond man, stubble covering his strong chin and a scar marring his upper lip. Was that… him? The confusion threatened to take Cullen out of the vision for a moment, but as the scene changed, he realized he was seeing what the Inquisitor had seen, feeling what she had felt, thinking what she had thought.

She was looking at him from across the war table. She could see his hands shaking and his eyes narrowed in barely concealed agony, yet he did not falter. He demanded to be taken along to find Samson and bring him to justice. There was a fiery conviction in his voice, a commanding air to way he met the gaze of everyone around him, defying their doubt of his capabilities. She felt a surge of anticipation quiver in her stomach, a sudden urge to reach out to him, to touch him, to hold him.

She was on the ramparts of Adamant, watching him cry out to his men as they pushed forward through the ranks of the Grey Wardens. She saw the way his men looked to him for leadership, trusted him implicitly, and felt a surge of pride deep in her chest.

Suddenly, she was in the Shrine of Dumat. She saw Cullen hurtle towards a red templar behemoth, fire in his eyes and a battle cry upon his lips. Gone was the quaking, shivering mess he had been just a few nights before. He was fierce and unwavering. Despite everything he was going through, he was so strong. She lifted her staff to cast another spell, realizing she had forgotten for an instant that they were in the heat of battle.

The scene changed again. She saw him standing silently on the ramparts of Skyhold, clutching a small object in his hands. Cullen turned around, and she felt a jolt of electricity deep in her core as their eyes met. In the dark, the rings under his eyes were barely discernable, his pallid complexion washed clean by the moonlight. He stood straight, tall and proud. He was so handsome, she found herself thinking. Cullen smiled at her, eyes warm and inviting. She felt an answering smile spread across her face in response and a pleasant tingle run down her spine. She stepped toward him, her fingertips aching to grab hold of him and never let go.

Again, the scene changed. She was in the courtyard of Skyhold, looking up at Cullen. He was standing so close. She could smell him, his heady scent of sun-warmed leather and pine needles. Her breath quickened, her mouth ran dry, and her eyes flickered over Cullen's lips, finding the scar there… she took a step forward despite himself, hands reaching for his neck, aching to pull his face to hers for even a moment. He leaned down toward her, and she could see his eyes fluttering closed. She found her own closing in response, and tilted her head to the side, feeling his breath on her lips...

Amalia's hand left his cheek then, and, gasping for air, Cullen found himself back in his own head. He looked down at the mage, his eyes wide.

She smiled a little ruefully, shrugging. "When I look at you, that is what I see. And what I see right here, right now, is you trusting a mage to cast a spell on you even in your darkest moment, despite having just relived the horrors you have seen at the hands of mages."

Cullen swallowed, trying to wrap his head around what he had just seen. As he floundered for words, the Inquisitor spoke again.

"Do you trust me?"

Cullen nodded in reply, still dumbstruck.

"Then trust me when I say this: I cannot think for a moment that you are the same person you were back then. If you wish to start taking lyrium again, you are free to do so… but please, don't do it on my account. I would see you win this battle. The mages are free, for better or for worse - it's time for the templars to be free, too. And you can do that for them. You will do that for them, if only you want to."

Her fingers brushed lightly down his cheek, followed the line of his jaw, then across his lips and finally across the scar on his upper lip. He felt a trail of fire erupt on his skin where her fingers touched him. Amalia could clearly see him struggling for words, and smiled again, this time in understanding.

"It's alright," she said quietly. "I'll… give you some time." A smile still playing on her lips, she withdrew from him, and left the room. The door closed behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts - and a brand new conviction to succeed in his quest.