Sylvanni couldn't hold onto her anger at Cullen for very long. She knew that he had nothing to do with her being upset and he was only trying to help her. That burning rage she felt at Antoine, the rage she'd mistakenly used to lash out at Cullen, had burned away quickly, leaving behind a sore ache of regret in its wake. She'd messed this situation up, and it was therefore her responsibility to make things right.

This time, she was the one to seek him out. She gave a quick knock of warning before entering his office. "Cullen, I-"

She cut off as he looked up at her with a startled expression, holding a small wooden box in his hand. Her knock had apparently gone unheard, and he closed the lid with a guilty snap. There was an air of shame about him, as though she'd caught him in the midst of something he shouldn't have been doing.

The pieces clicked into place. "Cullen, is that lyrium?" She hadn't seen much of the box he'd accidentally thrown at her head a few months ago, but it looked similar enough.

He set the box down on his desk with a heavy sigh, pressing his palms to the table on either side of it and bowing his head as though it were too great an effort to hold it up any longer. "Yes, Inquisitor. It is."

He drew himself upright once more, his hand slipping upwards to rub at his neck, just behind the ear. She recognized the habit of his, though where she normally found the gesture an endearing tic of nervousness, in that moment, it seemed to belie a weariness in him. As though there were some ache within him that he sought to work free as he spoke. "I wish greatly that you hadn't seen that."

She crossed the room to his desk, thoughts of what had passed between them earlier disappearing behind her concern. "Are you okay? Have you... started taking it again? I thought you said you would speak with me or Cassandra before made any changes like that."

"No," he said firmly. "I have not. I retain that small measure control, at least. I will not… falter. Not now. I want you to know I wasn't actually planning on taking any. I simply… the song grows so insistent sometimes. I wished to see it, was all. It was a momentary weakness, Inquisitor. I will not let it happen again."

He closed his hand atop the box, and she leaned across the desk to lay her hand atop his, trying to catch his eye. "Cullen, I'm sorry. I'm sure the way I've been treating you these past few days hasn't helped. This is partially my fault."

That got him to look at her, a stern glance, but not angry. "No, it isn't. You have enough burdens to carry without trying to pick up mine as well. You are not responsible for my lapses." He sighed softly, and his posture relaxed. "However, I am glad you came in when you did, much as I would have preferred you not witness this. I would not have taken it, I know, but seeing you strengthened me."

She gave his hand a small squeeze, pulling a leg up so that she was sitting on the desk. "Does it help you to have it close like this? Or would you prefer that I do something with it for you?"

He pulled back, picking up the box and tapping the lid absently. "No, I think it would be best for you to take it. It was not wise for me to have kept it nearby."

Cullen handed the lyrium to her and she tried to take it as gently as possible. She had a feeling this was a difficult object to let go of, and she wanted to make it as painless as she could. She'd pass the box along to Cassandra and she would get it to one of their templars, most likely. For now, she set it down on the opposite side of her, out of his line of sight. She laced her fingers in between his again for reassurance, wondering if the gesture would be effective when his hand dwarfed hers so entirely.

"I need to apologize," she said, looking down. "You were right, I need to talk about this. You were only trying to help me and I pushed you away. It was foolish and selfish. I thought I could figure this out on my own, but I was wrong. I can't do this alone, and I shouldn't have abandoned you when I knew you were struggling with lyrium still."

He stepped around the desk without letting go of her hand and pulled her into an embrace. She let the motion pull her to her feet and wrapped her arms around him as well. She was continually amazed at how gentle he could be, even while wearing armor. He'd worn armor of one kind or another for most of his life, she supposed, and moving within it likely felt perfectly natural to him. She rested her head against his chest, soft fur tickling her nose.

"I'm just glad you're alright," he said quietly. "I've been so worried."

She sighed. "I don't know that I am alright, Cullen." Coming here, talking to him, she felt like something had been righted inside her, but the issue remained. Beneath the warmth of talking with him, the dark tangle of her issue with her clan and Antoine writhed, as impenetrable as ever. She felt no closer to a solution than when she'd first dragged the man back to Skyhold.

He pulled away to look at her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "We can work through this, together. You've been pulling me through this struggle with lyrium, I want to be able to help you as well. We'll find a solution to this, I'm sure."

His tone was determined and she was glad that one of them felt sure about this, because couldn't find a similar optimism within herself.

"I hope so," she said.

He glanced toward the window, noting the sunset throwing brilliant red and oranges across the mountain backdrop. "It's growing late. Would you like to talk about this over dinner? I've found food can make a difficult conversation easier."

She hadn't realized she was hungry until he said something, but she'd been training with Commander Helaine for a good portion of the day and had worked up an appetite. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, actually."