Chapter Eighteen: Awake

It was late. Cullen stalked up the stairs, his eyes bloodshot, his features drawn, his shoulders slumped. He had stayed out too long, he knew, pushed himself too hard—he was going to pay for it later. But even if he fell into a deep sleep, unable to wake, haunted by his memories of Kinloch and Kirkwall, it would not be enough of a punishment to suit his failure.

But it would be a start.

His current objective was another punishment. He didn't want to see Peredura, but he knew it couldn't be avoided. He had put it off for as long as possible, by staying out until the last of the scouts had reported back. When he finally returned to Skyhold, he had first stopped to check on Fear—who was well on his way to recovering and being a general nuisance for Blackwall and Krem. Next he had gone to talk with Josephine, who was managing things as best she could while the rest of them had been preoccupied with this latest disaster. While there, Josephine had informed him that Peredura had been given a couple of potions to help her recover and was currently resting in her chambers, and he knew she would have to be next. Not that he wanted to see Peredura and all she had suffered, the bruised cheek and cut lip, the swollen and broken arms, those unseeing staring eyes and unnatural compliance… But he had failed her, his weakness had allowed for her capture, and he would face the consequences of his actions. Therefore he set his face within a grim mask and pushed himself even more, driving himself to climb the dizzying heights of her tower.

Because he deserved the punishment.

He could hear their voices, even before he knocked on the door, raised and heated voices that were no longer listening, talking over each other in a head-splitting babble of chaotic sound. He paused a moment to lean his forehead against the wooden portal, squeezing his eyes shut and shoring up his resolve. Then he squared his shoulders, gripped the latch in his gloved hand, and strode into battle.

The scene that met him as he climbed the last flight of steps was exactly what he had expected he would find. Cassandra, Leliana, Solas and Bull were all standing around the chamber, arguing, gesturing, and generally making far too much noise. Dismissing them for the time being, his eyes hungrily took in Peredura's form, lying still and pale beneath her blanket, and miraculously oblivious to the verbal onslaught raging around her. Though he was thankful she wasn't upset by the commotion, he also knew this was neither the time nor the place for such a scene.

"What is going on here?" he demanded in his best Commander voice.

"Commander!" Solas sounded relieved to see him, which he took as a very bad sign indeed.

"Cullen," Cassandra pushed past the elf. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her demeanor eager, as she groped for his side, "Thank the Maker you're back. We could use your advise."

"I've already told you what you must do," Solas countered, tugging on her shoulder to pull her around to face him. Cullen lifted an eyebrow at this action, coming quickly to the conclusion that the elf had to be deeply upset if he resorted to pushing and shoving during an argument.

"And I've told you, that Stitches can make another one that'll keep her from dreaming," Bull growled from where he stood in front of the hearth. He looked like he wanted to join in with the pushing and shoving, but was more able to restrain his impulses. His massive arms were crossed over an even more massive chest, giving the impression of idleness; however, one foot was braced against the hearthstones, ready to launch himself across the room should the opportunity presented itself. Cullen was going to have to defuse this situation quickly.

"She doesn't need to sleep; she needs to wake up! You should never have given her the potion in the first place…"

"Cassandra did what she thought best," Leliana broke over Solas' complaint, her words reasonable if the tone was not. It appeared to Cullen that she had been trying to ease tensions in the room, but for whatever reasons, she had digressed into the emotional maelstrom with the others. "For good or illl, what was done is done."

"Then don't compound the issue by doing more damage."

"What harm is there, so long as she's not dreaming?"

"There is harm being done now, and we should put a stop to that first."

"Silence!" Cullen pierced each of them with his glare, at long last ceasing the deafening prattle, which had gotten to the point where he couldn't tell who was saying what. When he was assured he had everyone's attention, he very deliberately did not speak but walked through them to reach Peredura's side. He took a moment to look at her, to see the bruising and swelling on her face and arms had been healed, to assure himself that she was recovering and would be well, though astonishingly remaining asleep. Only then did he turn back to them and demand, "What are you all arguing about? Start at the beginning," he held up a hand as everyone had opened their mouths, "One at a time. Cassandra first."

The Seeker nodded, squaring her shoulders as if facing the hangman's noose while still professing her innocence. "It started after Stitches treated Peredura's wounds," she began. "It had been Dorian's suggestion that she be allowed to sleep through her withdrawal."

"Don't try to blame this on Dorian," Bull growled.

"He did make the suggestion," Solas stated.

"He's not here to defend himself. He may have had very good reasons for suggesting that course of action."

"He could have been here, if he hadn't drunk himself into a stupor today," Leliana hummed.

"Do not interrupt," Cullen warned them all. "If any of you have anything relevant to say, you will get your chance. Until then, hold your tongue. All of you." His eyes swept the scene. When everyone looked like they would remain silent, he turned back to Cassandra. "Continue."

"She was unable to make the decision for herself, and there was no one else here who could make it for her," Cassandra lifted her chin, "So I made the decision. I gave her a sleeping potion, enough so that she would not awaken until most of her withdrawal was through. Based on the information I had at the time, I felt it was the best decision. I still feel it was the only decision I could have made."

"But we have more information now," Solas argued.

"Wait your turn," Cullen warned, but Solas would not back down.

"I agree with Cassandra that, at the time, giving Peredura the sleeping potion was the best course of action. I never argued that point. But we know now that it is harming her."

"Enough." It wasn't a command, it wasn't shouted, it was spoken in a reasonable tone and at a reasonable volume. And it finally got Solas to snap his mouth closed. Cullen suppressed the sigh and turned back to Cassandra. "You gave her a sleeping potion. Very well. Is what Solas claims true; is it harming her?"

"We… I didn't think so," she answered, lifting her chin. "You should know, she was sleeping deeply, not moving or making any sign of distress. I never noticed she was dreaming."

"Dreaming?" he repeated. "Are you trying to tell me that dreaming is hurting her?"

"If I may speak, Commander?" Solas' voice was slightly bitter and more than slightly condescending. "I do have the most experience with dreams and the Fade, after all."

Cullen ignored the tone and looked at Cassandra, who nodded; apparently she had said her piece. Next he looked at Solas and nodded, "Proceed."

"The sleeping potion did work, only too well, as it turned out. Peredura is in a deep sleep, one that she cannot awaken from. Normally, I would agree that this does not pose a problem, so long as the potion wears off before the sleeper suffers from malnutrition. Also, normally, it would be more merciful to allow her to sleep through the unpleasantness of the next few days. But this situation is different. Peredura is dreaming—in fact, she is having nightmares, continual nightmares, without any reprieve. And though she knows she is dreaming, she cannot wake herself up. Even I tried to wake her, as soon as I discovered what was happening, but the potion is too strong."

"So we give her a different sleeping potion," Bull shrugged, "This time, one that will keep her from dreaming."

"Can that be guaranteed?" Solas stepped boldly up into the qunari's face. "This potion wasn't supposed to have any ill effects, but it does. How can we be sure another won't be just as bad, but in a different manner?"

"You said she is dreaming," Cullen broke in before Bull could retort, wrestling back control of the conversation, "And that even you failed to wake her. How did you find this out?"

"I sat with her for most of the day today," Solas explained. "It took me a few hours to notice it; she's so still and silent, it was easy to miss. But she is dreaming; look closely and you can see her eyes moving, beneath the lids, even now. Usually dreams are fleeting, and pass after a few moments—even though it seems longer when you're the one dreaming. However, her dream continued, and I quickly realized it had been going on for quite some time. I was curious what this perpetual dreaming was about, so when Cassandra came back to relieve me, I went to my chambers and joined Peredura in her dreams. They are nightmares, Commander. Two, in fact, and she is trapped between them, repeating them, incessantly, unable to escape." This time he stepped into Cullen's personal space, gripping his arms with his fierceness to explain. "Imagine what she is going through. Trapped in dreams so real, so terrifying, repeating them over and over. Time flows differently in the Fade, so even though she's been dreaming for only a day, from her perspective it's already been an eternity of torment. We cannot leave her in the Fade like this. We must wake her up. We must find a way to counteract the potion, not compound the problem by giving her more."

Cullen had felt a cold sweat break out during Solas' description of what Peredura was facing. He could well imagine it, seeing as he faced visions and nightmares nearly every day, and on occasion several times a day or throughout the night. But he could always wake himself up. He could always find a way to distract himself, to confirm what was real and what was vision. Peredura was trapped, helpless, her torture nonstop.

"Bull," he turned to the qunari next, rubbing at his brow and making Solas drop his hands, "Can you guarantee another potion won't do the same to her, or something worse we haven't anticipated?"

"Commander, are you unwell?" Leliana asked, touching his shoulder.

"It's just a headache," he waved her off, bringing his hand down. Now that the others were no longer caught up in their argument, everyone finally noticed how pale he looked. He did his best to ignore their stares, their concerned gestures. He didn't deserve their sympathy. "Well?"

"Ah, sure, I think so," Bull shrugged and spoke in a milder tone, making Cullen think Bull was being overly considerate of his headache, "I have a lot of faith in Stitches. I'm sure he could come up with a potion that would allow her to sleep through her withdrawal, without any dreams."

"But could there be other side effects?" Cullen pressed. "It's been said the first potion was strong. What would happen if we gave her another potion, before waiting for the first to wear off?"

Bull wanted to answer with something positive and sure, but he had to admit, "I don't know."

Cullen didn't press the issue, but let his silence speak for itself. He turned away from them all, returning to Peredura's side. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see it, the way her eyes shifted beneath the lids, ceaseless, restless, yet she gave no sign of discomfort or trouble. He leaned against the bedpost, staring down at her face, his gloved fingers stroking at his stubble. Her body was already experiencing the first signs of the opeigh wearing off, her skin looking cold and clammy and gray. Next there would be sweating, followed by violent stomach cramps and deep muscle aches. It was something he could not bear to see her suffer, but her tortuous nightmares were far worse than any passing, physical discomfort that was in store for her.

"We will wake her up. If, after she's awake, she feels she would prefer to sleep through her withdrawal, then we will give her another potion. But we will allow her to make the decision. Now," he turned back to face the others, "Does anyone know of a way to counteract the current potion?"

"I should think a stamina draught would work. Something invigorating, perhaps?" Leliana suggested.

"I could brew her some tea," Solas offered. Cullen lifted an eyebrow at his mild suggestion, so he elaborated. "I use it myself, quite often, when I find I'm having trouble shaking off the lingering effects of a night spent walking in the Fade. It is rather bitter, unfortunately, but I do feel invigorated after taking it."

"I'm sure she won't mind the taste," Cullen allowed, "So long as it wakes her up out of her nightmares. Anyone else have any suggestions? No? Then let's get to work. Bull, talk with Stitches, find out if he can brew a sleeping potion that blocks dreams. If he can, then Peredura will have that option after she wakes. Solas, go and get that tea. We'll brew it here, in her room, if you don't mind."

"I do not," he agreed. Just as he was about to turn away to follow Bull and Leliana down the stairs, Cullen stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"One more thing," Cullen dropped his voice, not wanting the others to hear. "Would you return to the Fade, to Peredura's dreams? Let her know what we're doing, that we're trying to help her. And…" he had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could continue, "If you could, if it wouldn't be too much trouble or put you in any danger, don't leave her alone. In there. Stay with her until we can wake her."

"That is something I already plan on doing, Commander," Solas assured him, "After I bring the tea."

Cullen nodded his thanks, words escaping him for the moment. He waited until Solas left before he turned back to the bed. He nearly jumped out of his skin to see Cassandra standing there, staring at him. He had forgotten about her, thinking for some reason she would have left with Leliana.

"Commander, if I might have a word."

He rubbed at the back of his neck, wishing the damned headache would go away. "Actually, I wanted a word with you as well," he headed her off, fearing she would bring up something about his obvious fatigue. "How did this whole argument start? It sounded to me as if you all were mostly in agreement."

Cassandra shook her head, guiltily glancing away. "I do not know, exactly. Leliana had come here to let me know the search for the mage had been called off, and what was discovered in the cabin. Shortly after that, Solas came into the room with Bull. They were already arguing about something else, I think it was the sleeping potion. Leliana and I tried to calm them down, but in doing so, I suppose…" her words faded into a heavy sigh when she realized she could no longer evade her responsibility. The next moment, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye, "Rather than saying something diplomatic, I let my frustrations and temper get away from me, and I spoke harshly. It quickly went downhill from there. We were all tired and stressed and worried about Peredura, but that is no excuse."

Cullen made a sort of disapproving sound, but let her off the hook. "At least our soldiers didn't witness such behavior from their leaders. And we were able to reach a consensus." Again he rubbed at his head, this time his brow, under the misguided impression that one could physically massage away a headache.

"Cullen, if I may ask after a… delicate matter." His eyes narrowed, thinking she was going to bring up his ailing condition. She surprised him, however, instead picking up the vial from the bedside table and holding it out for him. Even knowing what it was, what it had held, what he had led himself to believe had been in it, his hand cupped the vial of its own accord. "This was the sleeping potion I gave her. Stitches remembered making it for Peredura, and her strange request to make it look like a vial of lyrium…"

"Say no more, Seeker," his voice was dark, effectively damming her words. He let out a heavy breath, feeling old and tired and more like he was a few months away from turning eighty rather than thirty. He ignored her curiosity for the time being and walked over to one of the balcony doors. How he wished he could open it and feel the air moving against his skin. But they had to deal with Peredura's troubles right then, not his own, and she would need the warmth from the fire more than the movement of the breeze. Just as she had made sacrifices for him during his recovery, he would make sacrifices for her.

And, apparently, that included confessing to Cassandra exactly where he had spent his recovery. "As you already know," he began again, not daring to turn around, "After Haven, upon reaching Skyhold, I completely stopped taking lyrium. I found it rather harder than anticipated. After you and I had our… conversation, Peredura tracked me down in my office. She knew, Cassandra—she could describe it so perfectly—what I was going through. She also claimed she could help me. And I," he took another deep breath and finally faced Cassandra, "I chose to believe her. Yes, I was here, in this chamber, for those first few days. And, yes, she had that potion made for me. It was her safeguard—my safeguard. If I should have failed, if I should have given in to my addiction and taken lyrium, she wanted to make sure I wouldn't get far, that no one else would learn of my lack of success. That's why there was a sleeping potion in a lyrium vial."

"She… tricked you?"

"Not exactly," he grudgingly admitted. "Whenever I asked what was in that vial, she truthfully told me it was a sleeping draught."

Cassandra wanted to laugh for some stupid reason. The idea, the concept, was so preposterous… Peredura helping Cullen through his withdrawal… hiding him in her chambers for days… no one having an inkling of an idea… But it was plausible. Peredura had claimed to be sick herself during that time, refusing to allow anyone—not even servants—into her rooms. And Cullen had disappeared so quickly on his mysterious mission, without a word to anyone else…

A thought burst into her head with such brilliance, she felt it had to be Maker-inspired. "Cullen," she walked up to him, taking hold of his arm in her eagerness to convince him, "Cullen, would YOU stay with Peredura, watch her while she recovers? Would YOU help her through this?"

"What?" he blinked at her, leaning back but unable to dislodge her hand. He imagined himself opening that balcony door and jumping over the railing just to get away; surely she'd let go of him then.

Cassandra sensed his weakness and pressed her suit. "She needs someone here, someone who understands her plight, someone who can make considered and well informed decisions on her behalf—should the need for such a decision arise and she is unable to do so for herself. I cannot. That has already been made apparent."

"Despite the reversal of his feelings, even Solas agreed you made the best decision you could at the time…"

"But I do not understand addiction. I have no empathy for what the next several days will be like for her. You do. She needs you, Cullen. Stay here and take care of her, help her through this, please." Cassandra let go of his arm and tilted her head a little, setting the hook, "Think of it as paying her back, for having done the same for you."

Cullen swallowed thickly. One hand raked through his hair again, wanting to pull the curls out by their roots, while the other tightened around the empty vial. Damn, he hated feeling trapped. Yet Cassandra was correct in assuming he knew what it was like, fighting off addiction. Though Peredura would have no access to opeigh, not like he had to lyrium, she would still suffer the cravings and the sickness.

He had failed her already, so many times these past few days. Perhaps, this was the Maker's way of allowing him to make for it, at least in part, by helping her through her withdrawal, as she had done for him. He let out a heavy breath and nodded, "All right."

Cassandra inclined her head. "Thank you, Cullen. I'll inform the others of this decision, without mentioning Peredura's part in your recovery, of course. That is between the two of you."

"I—we appreciate it," he answered dryly. He was beginning to wonder if there could ever be secrets kept within Skyhold. "While you're at it, let my captains know to report to me here, instead of my tower. For the next few days, at least. I might as well get some work done, while I'm here."

"Of course, Cullen. And," she smiled for him, made even more sincere due to its rarity, "Thank you. Again. Goodnight."

He inclined his head. "Goodnight, Cassandra."

He watched her turn away, her ebony hair with its braided crown declining down the stairs to disappear. After hearing the door open and close, he walked over to set the vial on the desk. Then he began to take off his armor, thinking to make himself a little more comfortable, subconsciously mimicking his actions of a month ago. When he realized what he was doing, he let out a sharp huff, almost as if he was laughing at himself, but continued nonetheless.

He kept his boots on this time. He also kept on his leather jacket, not wanting to reveal the sweat-soaked tunic beneath. In hindsight, he probably should have taken the time to freshen up before finding himself essentially trapped in Peredura's chambers once more, but there was no way he could have anticipated tonight turning out this way.

Finished making himself at home, he walked back to the bed to check on Peredura. She was unchanged, however, pale and sweaty and unnervingly silent beneath the covers. There was nothing he could do for her at the moment, and he decidedly chose not to spend his time holding a one-sided conversation with a sleeping person. His fingers once more raking his hair, upsetting the curls, he turned away to wait for Solas.

Essentially alone with nothing to do, he was no longer able to fend off the demons haunting him. Cullen stood before the balcony doors, losing himself in the darkness within his mind as his vision sank into the darkening shadows of the night. The guilt he wallowed in was overwhelming. He was to blame for Peredura's current predicament. If he hadn't suggested they go riding in a nonsecure area…

If he hadn't sent her guards away…

If he hadn't stopped taking lyrium…

"Cullen?" Solas' compassionate voice sounded suddenly at his side, pulling him from his brown study.

"Yes, Solas, you have the tea?" he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pinching them with his fingers, trying to fight off the drowsiness and headache and apparent lack of concentration that allowed the elf to sneak up on him.

Solas pretended not to see Cullen's bloodshot eyes when he dropped his hand, just as he pretended he had not been talking to the Commander for nearly a full minute before realizing he wasn't being heard. Despite his expertise in the area, exactly how a man could sleep standing up with his eyes open was a mystery to him—but it was a mystery he allowed Cullen to own wholly by himself. "I have it here, in this bag. I also brought my kettle and a spare cup."

"Good, good," he nodded, waving for him to continue.

"Use three spoonfuls per kettle," Solas set the items on the small table beside the couch and began dosing out the correct amount for the first batch of tea. "Heat the water until it is just beneath the boiling point before adding it to the kettle. Let it steep for at least five minutes to reach its full potency."

"Three spoonfuls, five minutes," Cullen committed the instructions to memory. "Anything else?"

Solas turned back to him. "I should think no more than two pots would be enough to wake her, but I do not know for sure. Use caution if more is required. The tea can have, shall we say, stressful side-effects on one's heart."

Cullen barely suppressed the urge to growl, managing to keep his tone just on the right side of civil. "Do you mean, the tea could do just as much harm as another sleeping potion?"

"Not at all," he defended himself, "Only that one should use moderation. Even too much of a good thing can be hazardous."

He took a slow breath, calming himself further, before answering. "Very well."

"I, er, don't mean to pry," Solas began, doing exactly that, "But I take it you are to sit with Peredura, and not Seeker Cassandra."

He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up further, the curls fully free now of any control, the smallest of them frizzing at his temples and around the back of his neck. "Yes. The Seeker no longer considers herself the best person suited for making decisions on Peredura's behalf."

"Ah, I suppose that could be my fault," the elf managed to drop his gaze while standing a little straighter. "Perhaps I owe the Seeker an apology. I did come off a bit too strong this evening…"

"It wasn't that," Cullen waved him off. "Cassandra knows everyone's tempers were too hot tonight, hers included. No, she asked me to stay with Peredura because… er…" he caught himself on the verge of revealing to Solas a bit too much. He finished lamely, "Let's just say, I have the best perspective on what she will be facing."

"You mean, her withdrawal from the opeigh," Solas rightly guessed and pressed further. "So the rumors are true. You no longer require lyrium."

"Depends upon your definition of 'require'," he quietly groused. "But, yes, I no longer take lyrium."

The pot of water beside the hearth began to steam fiercely, threatening to boil. Cullen picked it up by the handle and walked over to the table to begin steeping the tea.

"Commander…" Solas began, but he didn't have the words. He watched him pour the steaming water carefully into the kettle, his hand steady despite his obvious fatigue. "Cullen," he tried again, but there was nothing he could say. He had no frame of reference to understand the man's struggles, or the ones Peredura would soon be facing.

"Yes," Cullen prompted when he remained silent for too long.

Solas shook his head, telling himself he should be grateful there was someone like Cullen willing to stay with Peredura when she needed him so badly. He wouldn't pester the man any longer. "Remember, steep it for five minutes. And give it to her slowly, a sip at a time. It should be reflex for her to swallow it, but we wouldn't want to accidentally drown her, would we."

"I'll be careful," he vowed. If he realized Solas had been making a small joke, he gave no sign.

"Then I shall leave her in your very capable hands, and return to my quarters to sleep. I'll let Peredura know you are trying to wake her, and keep her company in the Fade until you succeed."

Cullen didn't answer, other than a sober nod.

He was standing at the balcony doors once more. It was a trick he had learned, years ago, the first time he had crossed the Waking Sea onboard a ship. The cabins below had been too small, the air too stale, for him to get any peaceful rest. He much preferred standing on deck, the wind moving against him easing his anxieties, the rocking of the ship beneath him lulling him to sleep. He didn't find it at all difficult to sleep while standing, or stand while sleeping, depending on how one looked at it. Either way, it worked for him, allowing him to rest his body and mind, especially when he might only have a moment or two for that rest. More importantly, it was too light a sleep to allow for dreaming.

He was in this semi-somnolence state early the next morning, listening for the steaming of the third pot of water, when a much different sound reached his ears.

It was a soft moan, a half-formed word, faint and indistinct, in a feminine voice he had been longing to hear. He allowed himself a brief moment to send a prayer of thanksgiving to the Maker, before turning around quickly to face the bed. He half-expected Peredura to be staring at him, smiling possibly, frowning most likely, but awake with rosy cheeks and arms reaching for him. He wouldn't care if she wanted to hug him or hit him—she could even yell Tevene profanities at him—just as long as she was awake. Expectantly his eyes sought her form, propped up on the pillows as he had left her. Yet she wasn't awake, her body still, her eyes closed, her breathing normal.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, breathing deeply, refusing to acknowledge the disappointment. He was tired, and stressed, and guilt ridden; he simply must have imagined the sound. The next moment, the water began to steam, and he set aside his despondency to begin steeping the third kettle of tea. He knew Solas had advised only two pots, but Peredura remained asleep, and he desperately needed to see her awake, to see her soft brown eyes focus on his, to hear his name on her breath, to feel her arms entwine around his chest. He finished pouring the water into the kettle and sat down on the couch to wait for it to steep, scrubbing at his face with his hand, absently noting the stubble on his cheeks was getting out of control. He would go back to his tower, he promised himself, and freshen up, find a clean set of clothing, maybe catch a few hours sleep in his own bed—just as soon as Peredura woke up.

Again, as if summoned by his colossal exhaustion and desperate imagination, he thought he heard her call out to him. He froze, straining his ears, fighting for focus, not daring to look lest he be disappointed once more. He needed confirmation, assurance, before he would lower his hand, before he would lift his eyes, before he would let himself believe…

The sheets rustled. The bed creaked. Something heavy hit the mattress. A whimper floated across the room to assault his ears.

Cullen's neck nearly snapped as he jerked his head up. Peredura was moving, her arms out of the covers and weakly flailing, flopping, groping, or merely trying to stay moving—as if she had to physically force herself into wakefulness. Her eyes were closed at first, but as he watched she gave several slow blinks, fighting to keep them open. Her chapped lips parted and that heartfelt plea sounded once more, tongue thick and sluggish, voice breathy.

"…Cullen…"

"I'm here, Pere," he answered, taking one of her struggling hands and holding it fast, not realizing when he had reached the bed. "I'm here. You are awake." He stroked sweat-matted hair back from her face, telling himself it was just to move the strands out of her eyes, and not from any deep-seated need to touch her.

She moaned again, this time sounding more like a muted and slurred scream or shout, before she half-pushed, half-pulled herself closer towards him. He couldn't help himself, indulging in the feel of her being near, wrapping his arms around her, holding her against his chest. He let her hear the beating of his heart in her ear, while he stroked the lank and sweat-snarled tresses falling down her back.

"It's all right," he cooed to her. "You're awake now. No more nightmares."

"Cullen?"

"Yes, Pere, it's me," he answered again. He suspected it might take a few moments for her to fully shake off the sleep-inducing effects of the potion, so he remained steady and patient, letting her progress at her own pace.

Peredura, however, seemed to feel the need to push herself. She shoved backwards partially out of his embrace, making a few more strangled and slurred words as she tried to get her mouth to work. When she was back far enough to see his face, she made a small moue of frustration but managed to speak, "We… we need… to talk."

"It can wait until you're more awake. Would you like some tea? I was just brewing…"

Her shaking head silenced his offer, her face screwed up into an expression somewhere between exhaustion and pain. "No," she mumbled, paused to swallow, and tried again. "This can't wait. I have to talk with you…" Her eyes almost rolled up into the back of her head, but she jerked her head forward and blinked, keeping herself awake.

"Pere?"

"I've… been talking with Solas," she swallowed, testing the abilities of her tongue, forcing the words out, "In the Fade. We've had a lot… a lot of… time for talking."

"I imagine so," Cullen agreed. He held on to her arms, not wanting to let go, and neither did she, holding his arms just as fiercely.

"He's going to…" she continued as if she hadn't heard him, "He's going to talk… with the others… but I… wanted to tell you… the mage… he is Venatori…"

"We surmised as much," he admitted darkly, again feeling his failure cut him to the quick.

She nodded, a little too far, and her forehead thumped against his chest. He body was weak from the potion and the pain and the lack of food, but she was determined to keep speaking. She lifted her face and continued, "Solas told me… everything… that Fear got hurt… but he's recovering… Cassandra giving me the potion… the theories on who abducted me and how… how he got away… I told him everything I knew… he'll tell the others, but… you…" Her voice faltered beneath one final wave of sleepiness before she could fight it off.

"Hush, Pere," he breathed, kissing her brow, "Let Solas fill me in whenever he's able. You're going to have enough difficulties as it is; don't try to push yourself so hard. "

"You did…"

"I did what?" he asked, confused by her cryptic response. "What did I do?"

"You pushed… Solas told me… how he found you… staring into space… didn't hear him at first… I know you, Cullen… I know… You've been pushing yourself too hard." She finally managed a full sentence, shaking off the last of the sleeping potion. The same moment she had a feeling like a wave of ants were crawling all over her body, but she ignored it. She also ignored the clammy way her damp tunic clung to her skin, the trembling in her limbs that wasn't from the cold, the bone deep ache that threatened to sap what meager strength she had scraped together.

He was unaware of her inner turmoil. Instead he was reminded of his own turmoil, hearing the reprimand in her voice and knowing he couldn't deny the fact that she was right. But he could defend himself. "I was responsible, Peredura. It was because of me that you were abducted."

Again she started shaking her head before he finished his sentence. "Are you a mage?" she asked him. Before he could answer, she continued, drowning any response he could give, drowning the sickness of her withdrawal. She had to set Cullen straight, before her body gave out on her. "Are you a Venatori? Have you been planning my abduction for weeks, possibly getting advice from Corypheus himself? Did you travel to Tevinter for opeigh? Or force it down my throat? Did you startle my horse with a lightning spell? Or use an invisibility spell to…"

"I should have been more prepared!" he had to shout to be heard over her endless questions, his shame overturning his concern, his anger at himself boiling across his features. His hands tightening their grips on her shoulders, and he suffered a nearly impossible to resist urge to shake some sense into her. Instead he shoved her against the pillows, holding her still before the onslaught of his words. "I should never have taken you to that valley, where we knew there was something suspicious lurking about. I should never have sent your guards off, putting them too far away to protect you. I should never… I should never have stopped taking lyrium. I could have sensed the mage, discovered him before he hurt you. I could have blocked his spells, if only I were still a templar!"

"If you were still a templar," she countered, her eyes bright with tears, her voice breathy with emotion, "If you were still taking lyrium, I doubt we would have gone riding that day."

"All the better!" he spoke without thinking.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were the wrong ones. The only reason they had gone riding together, was because they were experiencing these strange new, timid feelings towards each other, and the riding lesson had given them an opportunity to explore these feelings. If he were still taking lyrium, if he were still a templar, he would still be in denial of these feelings, and they would not have spent any time together. That was what she had meant, by her words. And he had vehemently stated that would be best. Immediately his heat and anger evaporated before the sight of the hurt and moisture in her eyes.

"No, wait, I didn't mean…" But it was too late, the words were spoken, the tears were slipping past her lashes. He couldn't look at her any more, couldn't see the pain he'd caused her, and dropped his gaze with his hands. "Forgive me…"

She didn't speak right away, but when she did, there were layers and depths of understanding in her voice. "Cullen." One simple word, his name, held so much meaning, so much forgiveness, so much tenderness. Her hand lifted to cup his face, gently stroking his stubbled cheek, turning him back towards her. "It wasn't your fault. Or mine. Or anyone else's but that Venatori mage." She shifted her fingers, encouraging him to lift his head and look at her, ignoring the deep and aching protest of her trembling muscles. She was running out of time, she knew it, but she had to set Cullen straight first. Then she'd allow herself to be sick.

"Pere," he sighed, putting his hand over hers, holding her gaze though it tore him apart, "I can't help the guilt I feel. I made a mistake, not in having feelings for you, but in letting those feelings cloud my judgment. I shouldn't have put you in danger as I did."

"No," she denied, trying to smile through watery eyes, "The only mistake made, we made together. Both of us thought, for one afternoon, that we were two ordinary people. That we could go off by ourselves, dare to hold each other's hand, steal a kiss when no one was looking."

He gave a masculine huff; put like that, their actions the other day sounded foolish and romantic. "But we're not two ordinary people, are we?" he sighed, deflated, feeling resigned, feeling that he would have to give her up after all.

"No," she shook her head, sending her vision spinning for a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut against the unpleasant sensation, the excessive tearing causing rivulets to run down her cheeks. She knew it was part of her withdrawal, that she wasn't this sad, but Maker what would Cullen be thinking? She must look a shambles! "No, we're not, but…" her words died beneath a sound of frustration and disgust. She couldn't continue, having to take the time to scrub at her face, to wipe away the mess with her sleeves.

Cullen watched her face change, watched her eyes shut against the pain, watched the tears fall down her cheeks and mingle with the sweat, watched her hands shake as she struggled to control her weeping. And he knew how she felt, because he felt it, too. The feeling was hurt—hurt over the thought of letting go, hurt over losing something special and enjoyable and longed for and… necessary. Being together might be dangerous for her, but being apart would be far more painful. For both of them. Suddenly something inside him snapped—something that made him straighten his back, harden his resolve, and fight for the fledgling emotion they shared. "But we can still be together," he finished her sentence, thinking it through while he talked, "We can still… explore… whatever this is between us. We simply have to be a little smarter about it." He smirked, a small gesture but a warm one, hoping it would help her tears to stop. Hazel eyes twinkling with boyish mischief, he stared into her soft brown eyes, daring himself to say, "Think of it as a challenge, finding an excuse to bump shoulders, or share a whispered endearment, or take the other's hand," he pulled one hand away from her face in emphasis.

"Exactly what I was thinking," she batted her eyes, sending another pair of streams down her cheeks, and weakly clasped his hands with hers. Blessed Andraste, she was tired, not mentally but physically weak and drained—but at least she seemed to have gotten through to him. She could finally let herself relax, let the pillows support her weight, and simply enjoy his presence.

"And the first challenge will be getting you freshened up a bit," he commented dryly, feeling the sweat and moisture on her hands. He patted them before letting go, hoping she wouldn't think he was pulling away because she was a mess. "I, er, used to have a handkerchief stowed away for just such emergencies…" he started looking around the room for something to use.

She sniffed, blinking away even more tears, before she could find her voice. "Over there," she brought one hand back up to her face to help stem the overflow while the other pointed to the little table beside her bed, "Top drawer."

Cullen looked where she had indicated and suppressed the sigh. Of course it had to be on the opposite side of the bed. He got up, walked around the foot of the bed and up the other side, feeling her eyes on him the whole time. "Do you, er, feel better yet? About us? I mean, well enough to stop crying? Maker, that sounded callous," he added the last bit as an aside.

She laughed, brief and breathy, but genuine. She thought about explaining it to him, that it was her withdrawal making her teary-eyed—Maker only knows how many times Vicici had put her through this, had let too much time pass before giving her more opeigh. It wasn't something she wanted to talk about, but if Cullen was going to be here for even a part of the next few days, he should know what to expect. All thought of explanation fled her mind, however, upon watching him open the top drawer.

Cullen froze, one hand still on the knob, the other poised over the contents. He stared at what was inside, and indiscernible expression on his face. "I… I don't believe it… I thought I'd never… How did you…"

She shuddered, a strange and unpleasant sensation swept over her, as if thousands and thousands of tiny bugs were crawling across her skin, their millions of legs moving and touching and creeping… "What is it?" she asked, perhaps a little too loudly, trying to drown out the feeling with the sound of her voice.

Cullen didn't notice her actions, too caught up in what he discovered. He did hear her, however distantly, and dipped his hand inside to scoop out one pristine, folded, embroidered handkerchief. Impulsively he brought it to his face, taking one selfish moment to confirm the scent of lilacs on the soft fabric. "My handkerchief, one of the ones my sister, Mia, embroidered for me. I thought I lost them all when Haven fell. How did you find it? Was it when you returned to Haven to salvage the wreckage?"

He turned to face her fully, and she loved the expression on his face, boyish and delighted and, well, happy. She smiled a little, she couldn't help herself, and shook her head. "Earlier that day. Before I closed the Breach. We were talking… about the blood on my dagger…"

"I remember," he quickly agreed, seeing as she was reluctant to talk about those memories of that dark future—a future they were still trying to avoid. He sat down on the bed beside her and began wiping her face. "I never realized you had kept it this whole time."

"I, er," she hedged, glancing off to the side while he dried her tears, "I wanted to clean it, again, before returning it to you, only there wasn't ever any time, we were so busy with the celebration, then Corypheus attacked, then coming to Skyhold… Please stop that!"

"What?" he ceased his movements, holding the handkerchief so that it brushed lightly against her cheek. He saw her flinch away from the touch and grew more concerned. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you somehow?"

"My skin!" she panted. "There are… it feels like… everywhere…" she started brushing at her arms and shoulders, like she was trying to swipe something away. Cullen had to pull back when she started swatting at her sides and legs.

"Pere?" he called, but she didn't seem to hear him, focused on whatever mysterious unseen hazard was attacking her. "Pere?" he tried again, touching her shoulder. She swatted his hand away before going back to her slapping and rubbing and whimpering.

When she escalated to scratching, using her nails to claw and scrape at her skin, he decided things had gone too far. "Pere!" he shouted, trying to gain her attention. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands back where she couldn't harm herself. "Pere? What is it? What's wrong? Tell me, please, I want to help you."

She fought him, or tried to, but was too weak. After a few pathetic twists and a half-formed yell she sagged into his arms, yet continued to writhe slowly like an uncoiling snake. "My skin… they're crawling… all over… millions of spiders… can't see them… Make them stop!"

Cullen understood. Though he'd had that feeling before—that sensation of something crawling over his skin, the hairs wanting to stand on end, every brush of touch or breath of air intensified a thousandfold—it had never been to the degree that she was experiencing. Carefully he shifted her in his grasp, making sure her arms were pinned so she couldn't harm herself, and pulled her onto his lap. Then he began rocking her, gently, his arms around her like a barrier, blocking out whatever else was touching her.

"There's only me," his voice was a low growl, like the gentle purr of a lion. "Nothing else is touching you. Only me. Listen to my voice, Pere, hear what I'm saying. There is nothing crawling on you. You're safe. I'm here. I'll keep everything else at bay. I promise."

Slowly she came back to herself, the itching easing, banished before the onslaught of his voice, his words, his presence, his care and understanding. She gave one final shudder before relaxing against his chest. She ducked her head beneath his chin, placed her ear over his heart, and listened to the slow and steady thump.

"Better?" he asked, softly, pressing his lips onto the top of her head.

She gave a sound, something like the mewl of a newborn kitten.

"Let's get you a little more comfortable, shall we?"

She thought she was very comfortable indeed exactly where she was thank-you-very-much, but she didn't protest when he eased her around to lie back against the pillows once more.

"You should get some rest," he tucked the blanket around her.

"I don' wanna sleep anymore," she slurred, a tiny furrow forming between her eyebrows.

He kissed it away. "You don't have to sleep, but try to relax. Don't move around so much. Let your body rest. Save your strength for what's to come." He saw her expression darken and amended, "I shouldn't have said that last part, about things getting worse, I mean, um, they're not going to get worse, you're going to get better, er…"

"I know what you meant," she sighed, trying to give him a smile.

He gave her one in return before he leaned back, tilting his head as if he was listening to something. The next moment he began to push himself off of the mattress.

"Cullen," she grabbed for him, fearing that he was leaving her. "Don't go…"

"It'll be all right, Pere," he patted her hand, removing it from his arm. "I won't be far. But I should answer the door."

"What door?"

He looked at her askance. "Your bedroom door. Didn't you hear the knock?"

"Knock?" she repeated, weakly shaking her head.

"It's probably breakfast. If I'm lucky, there'll be a report or two for me with it. Wouldn't want to fall behind in my work." He saw the furrow return, and figured she was too far into her withdrawal to fully understand what was going on. "Just lie still; I'll be right back."

She nodded, yawned, but didn't close her eyes. He decided it was enough that she was quiet, and left her side to descend the stairs. He reached for the latch before he saw he was still holding the handkerchief. He quickly tucked the soiled cloth away and opened the door. Two people were there, one of whom was dressed in the uniform of a soldier. Behind him stood an elven servant with a large tray of food.

"Ser!" the soldier smartly saluted.

"Yes?" Cullen absently acknowledged the salute. "Oh, here, I'll take that," he reached for the tray, his nostrils flaring as he was assailed with the savory smells of cooked eggs and ham and fresh baked bread. His stomach made a rather rude sound of anticipation, which all of them pointedly ignored. "Smells delightful, but could you also send up something milder? Broth, perhaps? For the Inquisitor. I'm not sure she's feeling well enough to tackle solid food quite yet."

"There's some on the tray already, ser," the servant nodded, "Next to the eggs. Solas suggested it."

"Ah, excellent. Solas always seems to be two steps ahead of the rest of us."

"As you say, ser," the servant bowed and left.

The soldier remained, however. He simply stood there, staring at the Commander holding a tray of food. Cullen returned the stare, gesturing with the tray as he prompted, "Was there something else, soldier? Or were you escorting our breakfast this morning?"

"Oh! Er, I was told to, um, report to you, this morning."

"That's right," he nodded to the soldier.

"I mean, here, in the Inquisitor's chambers."

Cullen shifted slightly, straightening his back and raising an intimidating eyebrow. "And…?"

The man had the decency to blush. "Right. Reporting." He snapped another salute. "Ser! Here are last night's reports, as well as the ones that have come in so far this morning." He held out a stack of clipboards six inches high.

"Wait here for just a moment," Cullen eyed the stack and the tray and knew he couldn't carry both. Neither did he want the soldier following him up where he would see Peredura; he had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate that! Cullen quickly trotted up the steps, attempted to set the tray on the table but found it occupied with the tea kettle, set the tray down on the couch instead, glanced at Peredura to make sure she was lying peacefully, and finally headed back down to the soldier as lightly as he could step. "All right, give them here. Anything else?"

"No, ser," he swallowed and shook his head. "Er, do you have any responses?"

"Not until after I've read them," Cullen answered mildly.

"Right. Of course, ser. Sorry, ser. I'll just, er, come back after lunch." He cleared his throat, snapped yet another salute, and spun on his heel to escape down the stairs.

Cullen stood there for a moment and mused over the soldier's strange behavior, but nothing occurred to him to explain the nervous reaction. Not until he ascended the stairs and walked over to Peredura's desk to drop off the reports. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the balcony doors and paused in horror to stare. No wonder the soldier was stunned.

"Is something wrong?" Peredura's voice called out from the bed, noticing his hesitation.

Yes, Cullen thought to himself. Here he was, the Commander of the Inquisition Forces, standing in the Inquisitor's bedchambers, answering her door at an unreasonably early hour, and in a fairly—shall we say—informal state of dress. Maker, it would be far too easy to think he had spent the night with Peredura, which he had, but not that way. Surely Solas and Cassandra kept themselves more presentable during their vigils. "No, er, I was setting these reports down over here, thought I'd commandeer your desk if you don't mind, and, um, something caught my eye. No worries. I'll be there in a moment."

Feeling his cheeks burning, he tucked in his tunic, straightened his jacket, and tried to flatten the unruly curls of his hair.