Chapter Sixteen

Despite how cold Cullen had been toward her, Evelyn couldn't help the concern and sympathy she had for him as she shot him another discreet glance. She knew firsthand that being at the head of their organization presented endless stress for her advisors, and battling their inner demons day in and day out would only push them further to the brink before they snapped. With Cullen's withdrawal leaving him on edge coupled with him seeing Yelena—whom he potentially had a relationship with—it was only a matter of time before he broke.

As it were, she watched his mental battle from across the war table as he, Leliana, and Josephine discussed a list of requests. After going through all the details of the battle, they switched gears to weed out other notices that would require their attention when they returned. Leliana gave a dry snort as she read over a petty request from Maryden. "A minstrel with no tongue can tell no lies."

Though she'd previously been staring at Evelyn with an odd look of concern throughout the whole meeting, Josephine giggled at that as she took the letter from Leliana's fingers. "That's a bit drastic, don't you think? I remember years ago there was young girl who would tell others that my sister and I came from a line of witches, all because a boy she was interested in turned his attention to my sister."

Leliana shook her head in amusement. "Rumors will always circulate from the envious. I can't even begin to count how many times I'd witnessed it, during both my travels and from The Game." She turned a smile at Evelyn. "How do you think we should proceed with this oh-so-urgent matter?"

Before Evelyn could twitch her fingers, a rather animalistic growl sounded, causing all three women to snap their attention toward its source. The icy glare they received from Cullen cut straight through Evelyn's chest.

Evelyn frowned at him. "Are you alright?"

Though her question was meant to be asked out of concern, all it did was make Cullen clench his jaw so hard that it was a wonder it didn't break. That was the only warning any of them had before he blew up. Curling his lip in annoyance, he swiped his arm out, knocking over a goblet of water with enough force that it slammed into the wall. "A darkspawn magister threatens to destroy the world, yet the three of you can still find time to be so damn giddy. Maryden's request shouldn't have even made it into this room, yet instead of focusing on what matters, you are wasting my time with such tedious bullshit! If only the world knew the bloody Herald of Andraste cared more about a blasted rumor than trying to restore peace."

With those angry words delivered, he stormed from the room, leaving behind three stunned women who could only gawk after him.

Evelyn's heart twisted because she knew he didn't mean it. It was the lyrium withdrawal. While he'd practically been giving her the cold shoulder the past weeks, she knew it wasn't blatant disdain that had him craft more walls between them. As Dorian had pointed out earlier in the day when she'd sought his opinion, Cullen was a man of honor. Though she'd told him that she and Solas weren't an item, he'd seen the uncertainty in her eyes. To him, even if they weren't a couple, the feelings that existed between them would label her as off limits.

As if that weren't enough to push him away, Evelyn hadn't tried harder to make it clear that she was available. That is, assuming Cullen was even interested in her in such a way. She doubted it now after seeing the way he'd looked at Yelena. However, the feelings she had toward both him and Solas were equal weights, keeping her balanced in the middle to where it was impossible for her to understand which man had stolen her heart. And given that she had no idea what to do about it even if her feelings were reciprocated, she'd just decided it was best not to act. Solas was a cherished friend to her before anything, and Cullen…while she wished she could say the same about him, it was clear that the professional barrier between them was just destined to remain in place.

Things were better this way between all three of them. She knew that, and she accepted it. No matter how much her heart tore itself in half wishing otherwise.

"Inquisitor, are you alright?" Josephine asked gently, her eyes full of both concern and anger. "I can't believe the commander just… He…"

"It's okay," Evelyn signed, turning to the two women. "Things have been tense for us all lately, especially with the battle."

"Even so, there was no need for him to blow up. At you, no less," Leliana said. Then, she narrowed her eyes and gave the tiniest smile. "Would you like me to have a few words with him?"

Evelyn had no idea if the spymaster was joking or not. If she was, she wanted to tell the other woman to find a new sense of humor. If she wasn't…that smile was more frightening than facing Corypheus and his pet dragon. Evelyn resisted the urge to shudder. "No, I will speak to him myself. For now, let's give the commander some space."

…

…

Hours after his outburst in the war room, Cullen paced through his office, heartbeat wild and skin slick with sweat. His muscles ached with every hurried step, yet if he stood still for too long, the pain would flare enough to cripple him. Beneath his skin, fire coursed through his veins, searing from the inside out until he felt the need to claw at it. But none of that could compare to the pain in his skull. The splitting headache that blurred his vision and made him want to slam his head against the nearest stone wall.

He was in utter agony, but the voices were what drove him to true madness. Maker, the voices. Ten years later and he still heard the taunts from the demons, the wicked promises and pleading desires of something he'd longed for but could never have. Flashes of memories of his screaming comrades as they were slaughtered like sheep, screeches of terror as the mages were turned into disfigured creatures. Sometimes he could still feel the biting pain as claws ripped through his skin like paper.

When he tried to move on, to forget the horrors he'd endured, he'd gone to Kirkwall and had a few short years of somewhat relative peace before his life was blown to bits once more. It was miraculous he'd even managed to pull through at all. While he'd grown so much since then, there were times like now when the past would come back to haunt him. When he lost himself to his lyrium withdrawal, when he struggled to gain control of his sanity, only then did he sink back into the madness.

The tension within him had been building for months, and he'd done well to fight it back. He'd thought he could handle it. He'd trusted that Cassandra's judgement would be enough to make the call regarding his mental state. Yet all he could think of now with his scrambled thoughts was that she'd failed. Just as he'd failed them all.

Shoving his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time, he growled and punched the nearest bookcase, snarling at the resounding pain. It only fueled his wild temper, much to his disgust.

There was so much riding on the Inquisition's success, and with the upcoming march into battle, he needed a clear and level head. He knew that, but no matter how bloody hard he tried, he couldn't calm himself. He couldn't stop the voices shouting in his ears. He couldn't stop the memories of the past causing his breath to hitch. He couldn't do a damn thing about the anger making him want to snap at everyone and everything. Even the soldiers and scouts outside his door were wary of him, perhaps dreading to have him shout such terrible things to them once more. He couldn't stop it.

His door was pushed open, and his head snapped around to glare daggers at Evelyn. She was all calm serenity as she stepped inside and closed the door, watching him with a wariness as if staring at a caged animal. Rage filled him at the sight of her, and deep inside, he wished to the Void she would just leave. He'd cast her such horrible words earlier in the morning, words he regretted yet his scrambled mind had been unable to allow him to stop. This was the darkest side of a lyrium corrupted mind. This was what drove ex-templars to utter madness, what made them weak to do inhumane things just to have a sip of the addictive potion. He'd rather die than to give in again.

Yet there was that voice taunting him again that if he continued going without, they would all suffer because of him. She would suffer because of him.

Evelyn didn't say anything, of course. Instead, she continued to watch him from across the room with those empathetic emerald eyes. He felt one side of his lip curl in disgust at himself. "I despise that look of pity," he growled to her. "Amell looked at me the same way when she found me."

Surprise flitted across her features as she frowned. "When she found you?"

"Ferelden's Circle tower. I'm sure you've heard about its falling, but no one has a clue what really happened."

At that, all emotion was wiped clean from Evelyn's face as she regarded him with the blankest stare.

When she made no move to respond, he glared. "Of course you don't know. It was taken over by abominations. Demons ran free, torturing and killing everything in sight. The templars—my friends—were all slaughtered. The mages who fought back were either killed or turned into one of them. One by one, I watched them all fall."

With every word, Cullen's voice grew louder as his breathing became more labored. Unable to stand still much longer, he shoved away to pace behind his desk, his hands a trembling mass of stiff joints. "I was the last one. They strung me up and I was…tortured." His voice broke on the word. "They tried to break my mind, offered things I wanted so badly to resist and I…" He gave a bitter laugh. "How can you be the same person after that?"

Bracing his hands against the desk, his fingers bit into the wood. "Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to bloody Kirkwall. I trusted my commander, and for what? Hm? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Their circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. I escaped one nightmare only to be thrown into another, and then another. How long must I endure this never-ending cycle of death and destruction? I have spent my whole life serving and praying to a Maker who's only response is more chaos. When will it end?"

When he turned to her, her expression was still guarded. Slowly, she signed, "I understand—"

"You don't understand a fucking thing!" he shouted, swiping his hand across the desk to send several papers and glasses shattering to the ground. The shrill pain in his voice echoed off the walls, yet Evelyn didn't even flinch. "I know all about when Ostwick's Circle fell after the rebellion. It was peaceful, not one abomination in sight. You didn't have to suffer watching your only family die at the hands of monsters. You didn't spend weeks screaming at the top of your lungs as they flayed the very skin from your body. You've probably never even had to kill for survival prior to the rebellion. How can you possibly understand?"

When she closed her eyes and didn't respond, he scoffed in derision and resumed pacing. "Everything I've been through, everything I've done… I thought this would be better, that I could gain some sort of control over my life." He clenched his fists, his wild gaze searching for anything to slam them into. Instead, he shoved his hands through his hair, gripping the strands so tightly that he heard and felt several rip from his scalp. He fell to his knees as the pain once again flared, so great that it was all he could do to keep from falling over. He squeezed his eyes shut. "How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause, yet every passing day… Maker, why won't these thoughts leave me? What else can I give?"

As Cullen remained on his knees, all but yanking his own hair out, he couldn't stop as the voices in his mind grew louder, yelling until he could no longer tell if they were his or something else's. It was torture to his brain, and with every second, he could no longer push it back.

Fingers locked around both his wrists, gentle yet strong. Cullen jerked at the sudden contact, his eyes flying open. But Evelyn held tight. Her gaze was still impassive, showing no emotion as she peered at him. As he stared into those emerald depths, he stopped resisting as he was drawn in, unable to look away. A deep chill crept down his spine, spreading through his veins the longer he held her gaze.

Slowly, so slowly, the voices began to dwindle until they became nothing more than faded whispers in the back of his mind. Not quite gone, yet so distant that he hardly even recognized them. He loosened his grip on his hair. The agonizing pain that had plagued him for weeks lessened, leaving him numb. Evelyn's green eyes continued to pull him from his spiral into madness, the odd chill reaching so deeply in his bones that his teeth chattered and every inch of him began to shiver.

With jerky movements, he turned his head to where her hands held his wrists. Proving that apart of him still didn't fully trust magic, horror and fear seized his chest when he saw the tell-tell blue glow as she used winter magic on him. He tried to baulk, but her steely grip mixed with the icy chill warped through his body prevented him from moving besides the constant shivers. He returned to her gaze, but when he tried to speak, he couldn't even form words on his lips due to his teeth clenched against the cold.

When Evelyn had him completely immobile, she released him and stood. She walked toward one of the doors and cracked it open, then signaled for two soldiers to enter.

"Place him on the couch," she signed to one man, who'd apparently studied Nortualism as he relayed her words to his comrade.

The two men approached Cullen and hoisted him, carrying out her command as she climbed his ladder only to return moments later with a pillow and his comforter plus an additional blanket. The men laid him down, and Evelyn lifted his head to settle it on top of the pillow. She then turned to the two soldiers. The younger one wrung his hands as he sent Cullen a worried look. It was one of the lads he'd yelled at earlier. "Is the commander going to be alright, Inquisitor?"

She nodded. "The spell is only to calm his mind and relax his muscles. It will wear off by morning. I want a guard stationed outside each door. Until the commander awakens and leaves this room, no one is allowed to enter under any circumstance. Should anything come up that requires immediate attention, refer to Lady Cassandra or Lieutenant Dunham."

As the soldier finished translating, the two bowed with a "Yes, Inquisitor" before leaving to carry out their orders.

Still a shivering mass of bunched muscles, Cullen eyed Evelyn as she went to work gently laying both blankets over him, then tucking him in. Gone was the blank look from earlier, replaced instead by concern. Guilt and regret filled Cullen. He didn't deserve to be tended to with such care. Not after the things he'd said, after the things he'd done. He didn't deserve her kindness, nor the sorrow and empathy in her eyes. Not from her, not from anyone. He wished she would have just left him to freeze to death on the cold floor.

His eyelids grew heavy and he gave a slow blink. When he opened them again, Evelyn was kneeling on the floor, just inches away from him. "I know you hate magic, and you probably hate me now for using it on you. I accept that, but if it means keeping you calm to allow a peaceful night of rest, I can endure it." She raised her hand toward him, as if to brush his hair from his forehead. Instead, she froze and shook her head before standing.

Instead of leaving right away, she leaned down. He tensed, though he went still with shock when he heard her give the softest whisper in his ear, "I do understand."

Straightening, she gave such a sad smile that it made his heart clench. "Sleep well, Commander," she signed. "You'll need it for the battle."

As she walked away and left him alone, Cullen squeezed his eyes shut as a tear rolled down one eye and fell onto his pillow.

With a silent prayer, he pleaded, Maker, give me strength.

…

…

It took hours of launching trebuchets and utilizing siege equipment before the Inquisition forces managed to break through Adamant's gates. Evelyn used the blade end of her staff to stab a shade demon through its heart. The creature shrieked in pain as it was reduced to a puddle of black gunk. With the battlements cleared, the soldiers managed to get a foothold and soon dozens of them climbed the ladders.

Cullen ran after her, his frown in place. "Inquisitor, we'll hold back the reinforcements while you go after Clarel."

Evelyn nodded to her companions—Dorian, Cassandra, Solas, Sera, and The Iron Bull. She had a brief flashback of when Haven was under attack, when she'd offered to launch the final trebuchet and Cullen had had such a concerned look. As it was, he watched her with a range of emotions, and she knew without a doubt he wanted to apologize for the things he'd said to her.

However, when a nearby explosion went off followed by echoes of cries, she shook her head at him. "Good luck," was all she signed as she and her friends ran off into the melee.

…

…

The battle raged for hours upon hours on end. Fire from the burning rubble encased the fortress in light, the smoke ascending high into the midnight sky. With a low growl, Cullen angled his sword across the back of a possessed Warden. He used his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead and scanned his surroundings with narrowed, calculating eyes. The area had been cleared of demons and possessed mages, and the archdemon let out one final screech before fleeing. All that remained was dealing with the swirling green Fade rift hovering above a platform.

He peered over the number of bodies, some Wardens, some Inquisition soldiers. Glaring at the warrior Wardens who stood with his soldiers, he curled his lip in annoyance. While he'd like nothing more at that moment than to have them all in shackles for their role in all this, they had helped by turning on their mage brothers and sisters. Thanks to Evelyn's encouragement, no doubt.

Speaking of Evelyn, he once again scanned the crowd. Panic squeezed his chest when he noticed a handful of her friends had remained behind, yet others were nowhere to be seen. As well as Hawke and Alistair. "Where is the Inquisitor?" he shouted.

Everyone turned to each other in confusion, which further caused Cullen's heart to race. He spotted Cole standing off to the side, staring blindly into the swirling green pattern of a Fade rift. "She's inside," Cole whispered.

Those two quiet words bounced around Cullen's head, drowning out the rest of the world and causing him to drop his sword.

Maker…no.