AN: 100 REVIEWS! ACH! YOU GUYS! Seriously, I'm flattered beyond all reason. I'm sorry for not getting back to so many of you recently, but I'm currently in the process of moving house and as I'm sure you're all aware that leaves very little time for fun things like thanking each and every one of you personally! But don't think I'm being ungrateful and aloof...just very tired and run down. Chapter is not as good as I'd like it to be...Cullen is still resisting my attempts to put on his skin but we're working it out...slowly. Hope you all have wonderful weekends!

Part II: The Lion

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

(Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats)

Skyhold was a better fortress than he could've hoped for. Its high walls needed work but were stable. Its ground high and hostile. He was there when the mages cleared the last of the rubble from the open portcullis; he heard the cheers of men who'd spent the last week grumbling and it gladdened his heart immeasurably.

He was also there when they named Maxwell Trevelyan the Inquisitor. He heard few complaints that day as the Herald raised the greatsword of office high and proclaimed he would fight for faith and order. Cullen stood among the cheering crowd, his own grin reflected in every face he saw. And in that moment he was certain that divine providence had brought them so far, with so few lost to the Maker's side.

The work was never done and a thousand tasks were required of him. He spent days in a flurry of reports, over-seeing reconstruction, consulting with his colleagues, figuring out routes to the lands beneath them. By the time dawn found him on their fifth day he had only snatched a few hours sleep. Exhaustion was the least of his worries.

Lyrium.

The word blazed across his mind a thousand times a day and each time he threw himself harder into work. Found distraction where ever he could. His hands were blistered with moving boulders, his arms ached from long hours climbing scaffolds, his fingernails were thick with dirt and grit. And yet he found no relief from the constant ache, the buzzing in the back of his mind, that need as ingrained in him as the need to breathe.

It was on the sixth day, whilst unpacking the few things he still owned into his new office, that he found the last philter. He gripped the vial, twirled it round in his hands. He didn't know why he even had it but he felt better for knowing it was there. It would be so easy to give in, so easy to uncork the bottle and let the nightmares slip away...

"I hope I'm not intruding?"

The precious vial slipped from his hands. He fumbled, caught it quickly, turned to berate whoever had intruded without knocking.

Neria stood in the middle of his office, hands behind her back, slightly favouring her left side but with a strange knowing smile on her lips. "I am aren't I...? I'll leave."

"No!" Cullen said, a little too eagerly, quickly shoving the vial back into the folds of his pack. "I mean...err..I'm sorry I didn't come to see you. I've been so busy...I didn't know you were awake? How...how're you feeling?" Maker, he was talking too much. Shut up Cullen, shut up!

She smiled though. Maker, she was beautiful when she smiled. It made him feel like sunlight was spilling inside him. How does she still have such a power over me! "Dorian said I should come thank you," she took a step forward, her lips drawn together as though not wanting to say the words. "And so did Renna... actually," she sighed, her shoulders slumping. "And Jenkins. You saved my life again, and thrice for good measure."

"Well...I..."

"Ssssh," she held her hand in the air for silence. "I'm trying to be nice..." she muttered. "But don't think I've forgiven you."

"You haven't forgiven me for saving you life," a sly grin crept up his cheek. That was good, keep being witty.

Neria looked like a startled deer. Her mouth opened and closed before settling into a defensive line. "That...is debatable," she muttered. "I have something for you."

Maker knew why but the whisper behind those words turned his insides into jelly. His legs were doing a poor job of holding him up. He coughed, shifting awkwardly.

She stepped close enough to kiss and Cullen had to fight the urge to plunge his hand into her loose auburn curls and pull her closer. A battle he'd won for years in the Circle, he couldn't lose it now. Discipline coupled with the fear of her angry response him held him at bay. He breathed in deep and realised his mistake as the mingled scent of her and lyrium filled his lungs.

His two temptations...his two trials, bound and mixed up together. Inseparable. She started to speak, held something in her hands but her lips were all he could see. Focus, man!

"...stole it from the Herald's supplies; did you know he had Jenkins carry his collection! Big mistake, he...Cullen, are you alright?"

She was even closer now. Her breath hit his face, mint and lyrium. That sweet tang he missed so much, that dusty metallic taste slid over his tongue. Maker, he wanted it.

"Cullen?" she reached out to steady him.

He recoiled, the light brush of her fingers surging up his arm like electric. "I can't..."

"You were the one who suggested we..." she stepped backwards, defensive once again. "I thought..." she held a bottle between them.

Should I buy you a drink?

"I can't..." was all he could manage and he damned his tongue for being so feckless. He couldn't think of words...any words. Tell her about the lyrium, tell her! "I can't..."

"Well don't then!" she hissed.

The look she gave him as she flung open the door to his office hurt like an arrow to the heart. "Wait," he said, but it came out all garbled. She didn't look back again.