Cullen couldn't sleep.

It shouldn't come as a surprise, considering it was par for the course of the past several nights - Maker, the past several weeks if he wasn't kidding himself. And yet, he always manages to be irrationally irritated by this fact as he stalks out of his tent and about the village of Haven.

Haven was always relatively quiet in the early morning; only the occasional chattering of the night's watch on their patrols, really. There were a few in the village - either early risers, night owls, or ones who just couldn't sleep like him for one reason or another - who moved about, on their own missions and assignments. The blacksmith, Harritt, he'd discovered, was one; as he walked around the outer wall, on some mornings he could hear the tell-tale rhythm of a hammer on an anvil. It was soothing, in its own way.

He did not find it that morning, which, in a way, was nice. At least someone was finding rest, was the thought. He hadn't found it in him to attempt to sleep for more than an hour before he'd simply left the tent and prowled about. He had too much on his mind.

There were good reasons, he knew, that had all been presented at the council, for why going to the mages was a viable option - and why it might even have been the smartest. He had been outnumbered from the start, he thought. And despite his misgivings, he had given in, had agreed with the consensus of the others in the end.

And yet... he hadn't even slept in the hours previous - but he hadn't needed to sleep for the nightmares to come, and he knew that sleep would only bring them alive. The Herald would go to Redcliffe and bring the rebel mages to Haven; at first, all would be well, and most would doubt that there was ever any danger. They would strike then, when people didn't expect it. A tide of abominations and mages with empty eyes overrunning Haven - they would be doing the demon's work for them. And the people - with no templars but the few he'd brought with him, they would be defenseless, they would be cut down -

He punched the trunk of the tree beside him with a gauntleted fist, embracing rather than ignoring the sharp lance of pain that it incited. Those thoughts would be of no use. He thought moved past them, anyway. And yet, the longer he'd been away from Alaera, the more he could feel his sanity slipping. He shook his head. She'd surely call him a romantic sap for that sentence alone, but he couldn't help but think it true.

Thankfully, there was no one around to view the display, as he'd ventured to the very outskirts of Haven, where the forest began. Now stationary, the chill of the still-probably-nighttime air began to set in. Despite his accoutrements, it was still cold enough to be felt, not that he particularly minded.

The mages weren't his only concern. There was also that stranger - Atlas, if that was even his real name. He had been as ready to persecute him as the rest when they'd found him alive near the grounds of the Temple, though admittedly they were all looking for someone to blame. He was less than pleased to find that he would be accompanying the Herald to the Hinterlands, and Cassandra's report - and later Leliana's - had only mildly placated him.

They just - they were too trusting, all of them, and couldn't help but think that it's going to come back to bite them somehow. They had to realise how precarious of a position the Inquisition was in, how even a single person in the right, or wrong, position could bring the end of the world upon them. They were too optimistic -

Or maybe you're being too pessimistic, dearheart. He could hear the words as though she were with him, and he couldn't help but release a woeful sigh. "Maybe so, love," he whispered, "maybe so." His heart ached, and he banished his previous thoughts with hard-won control. He was restless, nothing some physical training couldn't fix. Run through his regimen enough and his lungs would be aching instead, and that was a much more preferable alternative.

He was stopped by a flash of light out of his peripheral, and his head swiveled to view it. It came from deeper in the forest, obscured by a few trees, but it was too dark to miss it, right next to the forest's boundary as he was. His left hand found the top of his scabbard, just beneath the crossguard of his sword, and he tensed.

His first thought was a stray demon, which wasn't outside the realm of rationality. Though in recent weeks their numbers had been steadily decreasing, they were still close enough to the Breach for such incidents to occur, although usually the perimeter guard and scouts outside of Haven usually took care of them. This was probably a stray that got through, if anything. His magic sense wasn't tingling, but his lack of lyrium probably had more to do with that than anything else.

The rational thing to do would be to turn back to Haven to gather a portion of the nightguard and venture with them to investigate. Cullen, however, had just been wishing for physical exercise, and a single demon - if that's what it was - would more than serve that purpose. No need to trouble a patrol for that. It might disappear by the time he returned with them, anyhow.

He kept his body coiled with energy, ready to unsheathe his blade at the first sign of danger, and started forward into the forest. The early morning was quiet, and the sun was still just beyond the horizon; no light but what his eyes had already adjusted to. It was quiet, too, and he felt as though his footsteps on recently fallen snow were far too loud.

The light flashed again, indistinct - but he could tell for certain that it was blue, instead of the green of demons normally summoned by the Breach. The sound that accompanied it, too, wasn't something he could place. High-pitched and quick, matching the duration of the light itself. His curiosity suitably piqued, he continued forward, wrapping his hand around the sword's hilt.

Without the flashes of light, it was still too dark to discern anything for certain, but he had an idea of where it was coming from; broadly, forward, and so forward he went. Still slow, still cautious, trying to be quiet but it was fairly difficult in half-plate armor. He could spot a clearing ahead, and a quick glance behind told him he'd gone a few hundred yards into the forest, and so he continued, spotting no movement, but he thought he could see something -

"Atlas?" He breathed. Several metres away, floating off of the ground in the lotus position was Atlas, eyes closed. He started as what looked like lightning appeared from nowhere and connected to Atlas' body to no effect with a quiet slash and he realised that that was the light he had seen earlier. He was so surprised that it took him a moment to consider what to do, his hand still wrapped around the hilt without having drawn it.

The man in question's eyes opened, neutrally at first, before widening in shock. "Commander," he said, sounding startled, and promptly descended onto the forest floor.

"You are a mage," Cullen said evenly, voice surprisingly steady. Inside, though, he felt something like fury building. Atlas met his gaze. His eyes, Cullen noted, were almost the same color as the lightning that had just been generated by nothing - no, by magic.

"Yes." He said, sounding unapologetic about this admission. For some reason, Cullen still hadn't drawn his sword.

Cullen grit his teeth. "Give me one reason I shouldn't arrest you right now." A few years ago, Cullen would have said 'cut you down'. Or, he thought with some chagrin, he may have already tried to do so.

"Alright," he said, almost infuriatingly unruffled by the imminent threat. "Is it alright if I stand up?" He asked, irritatingly polite.

"Yes," said Cullen, and he managed to make it come out as not a growl. Atlas did so, moving slowly. He was clearly unarmed, wearing plainclothes. But a mage is never without weapon, the voice in his head said, and it sounded suspiciously like a younger version of him, plagued by battle scars.

"Thank you." Atlas spoke, and Cullen managed not to bark at him to get to the point.

"I am a mage," he repeated a moment later, "but I am not the kind of mage you may be familiar with."

"Explain." Cullen responded. Atlas visibly hesitated. Cullen was entirely on edge. Out here in the forest, no one would hear if they clashed - Cullen had only investigated because he'd been there to see the light. The patrols wouldn't look for him for a few hours, as they knew his tendency to take long walks and would not wish to interrupt him. He was trying to discern if the lyrium was so far gone that he couldn't summon a dispel if he needed to.

"You do not believe that I am from another world." He said. It was not a question.

"One might think it obvious." Cullen said stiffly. How could he possibly believe such a story? It went against nearly everything he believed in. But then, so does a hole in the sky. A different voice, now resembling that of a certain elf, which caused a twinge in his heart.

"I do not know how else to convince you of it. I could show you, but I have a feeling you would object. I will try to tell you anyway." Cullen blinked. Atlas continued, "In my world, the rules of magic are very different. A mage isn't under risk of possession by demons in the same way yours is unless they actively seek them out and make bargains with them, which is rare. I - you may be wondering why I did not tell you." Slowly, Cullen nodded.

"When I arrived a year ago, my ability to use magic was severely limited. Practically useless. I've been trying to discern why, and the best reason I can come up with is that my magic simply isn't compatible with this world." Cullen's eyes narrowed. Did he really think this was a legitimate explanation? Heedless, Atlas continued, "In my meditations, it seems closer to me. My meditations have been troubled of late - magic's intensity tends to respond to one's emotional state. It's why I come out here." Gently, he gestured to the surrounding forest.

To put it simply, Cullen didn't know how to take this. His instincts - or was it his fear? - screamed at him to take no chances, to use what lyrium he had left in his system and to haul him back to Haven to a cell. But something else, an irritatingly logical voice that he was now certain was Alaera was telling him that there was no evidence he was lying.

"And still you said nothing." His grip on his sword has relaxed, but the tension in his posture had not abated.

"Yes." he said, unperturbed. "There was no reason to mention it because I knew I presented no danger; I could neither use my magic without exhausting myself after a single spell nor could I become possessed, rendering me a non-threat by the specifications of the average Thedosian mage." Maker, but his casual parry of his accusatory probing reminded him of her, too. This was, quite possibly, the worst night for this.

He took a deep breath. He was trying, Maker he was trying, but years of deep-seated paranoia and fear was hard to be rid of. The only consistent balm on that phobia was Alaera, the only mage he knew he could never fear, but they had parted after the Rebellion on less than favorable terms. That, more than anything, was motivation to try and unfurl his prejudice, but it was nothing if not stubborn.

"You said you could 'show me'. What did you mean?" Judging by Atlas' surprised blink, he hadn't expected that response. Truthfully, neither had Cullen.

"A method of sharing memories. It, too, is magic, which is why I said you would object. I would not force it upon you." Atlas answered, and Cullen could feel his mouth twitch.

"And how can someone be sure you're not simply planting images in my head?" Cullen retorted.

"Caleri's Principle." Atlas said, as though that meant something to him. Cullen gave him a flat look, and he continued, "Sorry. It is a principle of magic that living organisms fight foreign influences when those influences are deemed harmful or exceedingly transformative. It is often painful for both parties, and it is why mind-affecting magic is outlawed in my homeland. Those who are skilled at it are few and far between, and the last true expert died centuries ago. Imparting memories does no such thing, as you are not influencing, merely sharing. In short, you would know if I was trying to trick you, and would be able to react accordingly."

Either he was telling the truth or he was an excellent liar, and Cullen be damned if he wasn't sure which was more likely. He had heard of no such governing principle of magic in Ferelden, but then, if the man was from another world, and had said himself the laws were different...

He shook his head. He had not believed in fairy tales since he was a child, and he was not about to take up that habit again. Oh, but you always loved my stories. Her voice came to him again, and he took a steadying breath. "I'm going insane," he muttered. He was hearing her voice too often to be healthy.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Atlas said politely, and when Cullen shot him a glare, he found him wearing an innocent smile. He sighed.

"You are putting me in a very difficult position." He said at last, ignoring the fact that Atlas had heard him and had managed to joke about it.

"I am sorry," Atlas said, and as conflicted as Cullen was, he thought that the sentiment was genuine, at least. "If I could have laid my cards on the table when I arrived without you throwing me out and calling me a madman, I would have. As it is, the situations in which I have revealed my history have made everything very difficult."

Another sigh. Cullen had released his sword by now, except a single cautious hand on the pommel, a familiar position for him. Since the start of their conversation, they had not moved from their spots several metres apart.

"What would you have me do?" Cullen questioned a few moments later.

Atlas blinked. "I couldn't possibly ask you to keep this from the others on Inquisition's council, nor would I expect you to. I hope that this doesn't make me less trustworthy in your eyes. I would ask only that I be there when you - hopefully we - tell them. And -" he paused, as though realizing something. "I have a possible solution for your disbelief."

Cullen raised a brow. "Go on?"

"Asking you to let me perform magic on you in the middle of the forest in the early morning is quite possibly the most suspicious thing I could do." Cullen tilted his head, inclined to agree. "But, I could do it under more controlled circumstances. At your behest."

Cullen could feel the back of his neck itching. "Such as?"

"With another, more trusted mage present to supervise, and some of your own men ready to cut me down should I betray you." Cullen's brows reached for his hairline. He approached the subject of his death rather casually - the blasé nature reminded him of some veteran templars. Admittedly, though, the idea... was not a bad one.

"What would you show me?" He asked, curious despite himself. He had expected to abhor the idea entirely, the horrors of Kinloch Hold still too freshly remembered to even approach something like that. And yet... maybe it was Alaera's soothing voice in the back of his mind, or his running on a good two hours' sleep, but the situation didn't scream danger to him. That's when they strike his younger self hissed, and he banished the thoughts - his own paranoia was incredibly irritating.

"Some memories of my training, probably. You would see it through my eyes, feel what I feel, to a muted degree."

"Have you done it before?"

Atlas hesitated. "Yes. It's normally an intimate experience between two trusted parties, but I figure working in reverse is not the worst thing to do, in the interest of transparency."

Cullen couldn't believe he was even considering this. And yet, it was a tactically sound decision. The other mages in Haven had more than proven themselves, and could be trusted. Or, rather, the opinions of his fellow council members like Leliana and Cassandra could be trusted on the matter of those mages. If foul play were detected, they would know for certain and could neutralize the threat before damage was done. If Atlas was telling the truth, then he would know.

Or he was completely wrong, and he was being lead into a trap. In which case, he was the worst person to be considered for it. He was probably the most susceptible to mind-affecting magic considering his withdrawal from lyrium and lack of sleep. But a mage, an experienced one, might have defenses of their own, ways to repel such invasions. He looked back to Atlas, who had patiently been waiting while Cullen considered.

"We will return to Haven. I will gather a patrol and wake one of my Templars, and Solas. Then you will perform your... magic with him - with Solas. He is the most suitable candidate."

Atlas only spent a moment of consideration before nodding. "Alright, Commander. Thank you for trusting me enough to even consider my proposition. I'll not let you down."

"Save it." He returned, though he couldn't find it in him to put hostility into his tone. He jerked his head towards Haven. "Lead the way."

To his credit, if Atlas was off-put by the tactic of being put in front for the obvious reason of presenting a more easily approachable threat in the case of danger, he didn't show it. He simply nodded and went on his way.

I have a bad feeling about this... he sighed mentally, then paused in his thoughts, confused. He... didn't have a bad feeling about this. Say what one would about his paranoia, but his instincts had served him very well during his years as a Templar before they'd been replaced by (not entirely misplaced, in his mind) prejudice. He knew very intimately what walking into a dangerous situation was like, and this didn't feel like it. Oh, Maker preserve him. He needed to sleep; he was clearly delusional.

Solas seemed uncharacteristically disgruntled when he arrived. Such tended to happen when being summoned in the early morning, to be fair, but Cullen couldn't find it in him to be sympathetic at that moment. Ser Rylen, at least, was not unused to being woken up at early hours by his Commander; sometimes Cullen would do it if he needed a sparring partner and was frustrated at the target dummy's inability to fight back.

They had gone into the Chantry, outside of the area with the cells, being as it was a much more secure area and not likely to be walked in upon.

"I assume you had an important reason for bringing us here, Commander." Solas' tone was clipped, if not outright unfriendly. Cullen ignored it.

"Yes, I do. Atlas. Care to explain?" Naturally, he was going to pin it on him. Atlas seemed surprised, but recovered quickly.

"Ah. Well. To be brief, I am a mage." Solas tilted his head and lofted a brow. Rylen tensed. "In conjunction, I am not of this world. As such, the rules of magic that are in effect here do not apply to me in the same manner." At this, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the door guards trade a look. Rylen glanced to him in turn, and Cullen simply sighed. Heedless, Atlas continued, "Circumstances considered, I offered to share some of my memories to convince the Commander of this fact, under controlled conditions. Understandably, the Commander did not wish to be the recipient of this process, and deemed you a trustworthy replacement."

Solas was silent for several moments, holding Atlas' gaze. Then, he turned to look at Cullen. "I... see." He said mildly. "You brought me here because I am at less risk for... subjugation. And Ser Rylen and Commander Cullen in case the magic is outright dangerous." He managed to resist a wince at his own name being mentioned; no one else was aware he'd stopped taking lyrium, though Rylen almost certainly suspected, as his closest right-hand.

Cullen gripped his pommel tightly. "Yes." He said evenly.

Solas swiveled to look back to Atlas. "The nature of this magic is foreign. I am unfamiliar with any readily available techniques for sharing memories that do not involve dreams or rituals."

Atlas waved a dismissive hand. "This does not require sleep, merely a relaxed and open state of mind. Am I to assume you consent, then?"

"I was brought here for a reason, and I agree in that I will not be easily brought under someone else's control. I am fond of my free will, and I intend to keep it." Solas' tone was reinforced with an undercurrent of iron, and if nothing else, Cullen could respect his force of will. Atlas inclined his head.

"Very well. In light of that, I would ask that we sit." Cullen began to move for a table, but instead Atlas sat right where he was, once more in the lotus position. Solas silently followed, mirroring him. He and Rylen traded a look. Mages, the mutual look said, exasperated.

"Most, if not all, of the work will be on my part. You're experienced in - erm, fadewalking, I believe you called it, so I'll not coach you. It might be similar to walking in those memories, but more intense. You'll see what I see, feel what I feel, to a limited extent." He said, giving a similar spiel that he'd given to Cullen not thirty minutes previous. "If you feel uncomfortable with the unfamiliar nature of the magic, say the world and we'll stop. Or, if necessary, they will." He nodded his head to Rylen and himself.

Solas nodded. "I am ready." At the same time, Cullen nodded to Rylen and then to the door guards, who stepped forward. From a distance, he could feel the lyrium song well up from Rylen and tensed, resisting the urge to do the same. He knew it would have little effect. He steeled himself, eyes on the pair in front of him.

Atlas closed his eyes, and Solas followed. A deep inhale. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he was certain that nothing physically happened. After several moments of silence, though, he felt the barest tingle in his chest; the familiar, tell-tale sensation of magic that cried out to the lyrium still in his veins, but... different. Maybe it was just the fact that there was very little of said lyrium, but the sensation felt familiar and entirely foreign at the same time. A glance to Rylen showed similar confusion on his face, probably amplified.

Subtly, Solas' posture straightened, and his brows furrowed. Cullen gripped the pommel of his blade. He had never witnessed any ritual like this before; blood magic was not subtle whatsoever. It was a very conspicuous, malignant affliction. If Atlas' magic really was different, though, it would appear entirely different. He had faith in Solas' ability to refute it, however.

"Rylen?" He asked quietly.

"It's strange, sir." He replied, equally soft. "I've not felt something quite like this before. but I'm not sensing anything... malicious, in either of them." It was too much like a Harrowing for his liking, but Rylen was also certainly aware of the similarities. If he didn't find anything alarming, then Cullen trusted him.

It was only perhaps a minute later that Solas opened his eyes, brows still furrowed. Cullen couldn't see any change in his eyes from his position; no dilation nor lack of focus. Atlas opened his eyes shortly after, and Cullen observed the same in him. He looked up to Rylen, who shook his head, then back to the bald-headed Elf.

"Solas?" He said, the obvious question unspoken.

"That was... very strange." Solas said, and Cullen couldn't help but register the intrigued expression on the Elf's face.

"Not too jarring, I hope." Atlas said with a small smile. Solas merely refocused on the man for a few moments before looking up to Cullen.

"He showed me memories of his tutelage under another mage. The magic they wielded is not something I've seen, in the Fade or otherwise. From the knowledge imparted, I can safely conclude that his earlier statement about both being of another world and... the rules of our magic being altered in regards to him, as true."

"You gathered all that in barely a minute?" Rylen questioned, disbelieving - and Cullen could not blame him.

"A minute?" Solas said, turning to look at him, brows furrowed. "Hm. I suppose that makes sense."

"The perception of time can change from person to person." Atlas chimed. "A minute may have passed here, but in my memory was the perception of a slightly longer period of time." Cullen raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yes, that was definitely a migraine coming on.

"Solas, you are saying that you believe him, yes?" Cullen asked, trying not to sound irritated. He was sure he failed.

"I am. I don't think that the sensations he imparted could be faked."

"Thank you, Solas." Atlas said, sounding genuinely grateful. Solas turned to look at him, his lips upturning slightly.

"You can thank me by conversing with me later. The most pressing question has been answered, but you have otherwise raised many questions more that I'd like answered." Raising more questions than there were before sounded like Atlas' favorite pastime, at this rate.

"Right. Solas, you can go. Atlas..."

he sighed. It felt too simple, but everything seemed to fit. Rylen had felt nothing wrong, Solas had corroborated his story. He appeared entirely trustworthy. Have a little faith someone whispered, and he was surprised to find that it wasn't Alaera's voice, but his own.

"...don't think this is over. I believe Solas, but the council will still need to be told."

Atlas had the gall to beam at him. "Of course, Commander. Thank you for your trust. And you, Ser Rylen, for your assistance. And you as well," he turned to give a nod to the two door guards. Surprised at the acknowledgement, they nodded back.

"Thank you for your assistance, Solas. Dismissed, all of you." He glanced to the door guards as well to signify he meant them, too. In a few moments, they'd filed out and left him alone - except for Rylen, who lingered.

"You went easy on him." He commented, expression curious. Cullen just sighed - something he'd been doing a whole lot of, that morning.

"Yes, and I can't imagine why. But what's done is done. I do believe Solas, and Leliana will certainly have something to say about it." He reached up to rub his face. He needed a shave.

Rylen paused in thought. Then, "When's the last time you slept, Commander?" Cullen resisted the urge to transition his hand to the back of his neck. Rylen was a very capable Knight-Captain and had been invaluable in managing the Inquisition's forces, but he had an infuriating habit of very subtly being a mother hen.

"I'd ask you the same, considering the scout said he found you awake in your tent." He retorted, clearly avoiding the question. "There's a few hours until morning shift starts. You could go back to sleep." He suggested, trying to get the attention off him.

Rylen assessed him with a critical eye, then exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Ah, I'm already up, what's the use? You up for a spar, Commander?"

This elicited a short chuckle. "...sure. Might do me good." It wasn't like he was going back to sleep, anyhow. "Lead the way, Rylen."

AN: woo, two updates in one day. aren't you spoiled. i wrote the entirety of this in one go, after i posted the last chapter, because i'd had an epiphany on this situation coming about. cullen's one of my favorites, and i hope i wrote him well.

i think i'm gonna experiment with shorter chapters that aren't necessarily focused on actual Things Happening™ like story events, and instead do smaller stuff like this, or one character's observations and thoughts on another character, stuff like that. i think a large portion of my writer's block is coming about because i feel compelled to write these 8k-word monsters where not necessarily everything happening is important and is instead going towards the final word count instead. i'll see how it works out

anyway see y'all in a year lmao