Cullen blinked slowly, trying to bring the chess game back into focus. Dorian was being unusually quiet, apparently in a strangely patient mood as Cullen struggled to concentrate. He leaned forward, finally moving a pawn. It probably was not the best move, but his mind was not on the game.

His mind…did not seem to be anywhere, really. He felt disconnected, faded. Distantly he was aware that he was in pain, but that was detached too. Maybe he had drank too much to try dulling his withdrawals, or perhaps overdosed a bit on embrium; he'd done both before.

The air was warm, a light breeze stirring his hair. Cullen reached to tuck a wayward curl back into place as he raised his eyes to Dorian.

Dorian looked handsome as usual — hair a touch longer than when they had first met, kohl perfectly applied around his eyes, dark skin glowing so beautifully in the low light of sunset. He wasn't certain Dorian knew how not to look his best, really. Dorian's outfit was ridiculous as always, bared shoulders and useless buckles all over the place. But although the mage maintained a faint smile, his expression seemed off. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes a little narrow, his jaw firmly set. Dorian did not generally concentrate on chess hard enough to cause that sort of expression. Why would this game be any different?

When Dorian's hand hovered over a knight, indecision apparently keeping him from making a move, Cullen thoughtlessly reached out to grab his hand. Dorian jerked, startled as he pulled his hand away.

That wasn't so odd in retrospect, considering how strange a thing that was for Cullen to do, but he still asked, "Is everything all right, Dorian?"

Dorian's smile took a moment to return, but he kindly replied, "Of course, Commander."

Cullen's attention sharpened at that. He knew Dorian too well. He often recognized when Dorian was lying, and he so frequently was, but this was such a blatant lie he could not ignore it.

"Dorian," Cullen repeated, his voice low.

Dorian flinched.

Something was very wrong. Usually playing chess meant a round of teasing and flirting, and sometimes the odd threat.

"Everything is going to be all right, Commander," Dorian said quietly as he finally moved the knight.

Another lie, another overt one.

Cullen tried to focus, to find some clue for what Dorian was concealing. What had been going on today? Last night?

He realized with horror that he had no idea. He did not remember anything, not from today, yesterday, the past week. At least he would normally have a schedule, training, meetings, reports, but nothing whatsoever stood out to him.

Cullen stared blankly at the chess board, trying desperately to figure out his last memory before this game. The first thing that came to mind was the Winter Palace — but no, that was ages ago. He'd had more difficulties with his withdrawals, he'd asked Cassandra to find him a replacement, and she had refused. That felt more recent.

He had attacked Dorian. Maybe. He was not entirely sure. He felt like he had. Cullen's hands curled into fists as he remembered them tightening around the mage's neck, recalled the feeling of squeezing his throat and being so eager for the man to fight back. Yes, that had happened. Why?

He remembered the pain of Dorian's blood choking him, suffocating him, and the immense relief that it was all going to be over soon — then the crushing sensation of that solace being stolen away when Dorian had stopped. Oh. Cullen had been truly desperate, hadn't he? Anything to make the pain and madness stop. If anyone could and would kill him, it would be Dorian. It was better than his own hand, at least.

That could be why Dorian seemed so anxious. Either he was concerned about Cullen's state of mind and whether he might be planning some sort of drastic suicide attempt, or perhaps he was worried the Commander would try attacking him again — and maybe this time, that he wouldn't stop until one of them was dead.

Cullen probably should apologize for that. Cullen sat up straight, rolling his shoulders as he tried to gather the courage for such a thing. Dorian watched the movement carefully, but no familiar leer or lustful glint graced his face.

Any potential apology turned to ash in Cullen's throat. His explanation for Dorian's behavior wasn't enough. Clearly Cullen was missing something else, something important. Maybe getting his blood moving would help. Cullen got to his feet. "Where are you going?" Dorian asked worriedly.

"Nowhere. Just need to stretch my legs a moment."

"Ah." Dorian was not very subtle in how closely he was watching him as Cullen stepped out of the gazebo — yet where there was usually some semblance of desire, there was nothing of the sort.

Cullen hadn't realized how much he liked that attention from him before.

He rolled his neck, easing the pressure along his spine as he took a brief walk around the gardens. It was a very pleasant evening. Quiet, warm, and the flowers smelled….

Cullen froze.

The garden smelled of the various flowers, sweet and delicate on the air. He cautiously glanced toward Dorian out of the corner of his eye, pretending that he was instead simply stretching out his back.

He doesn't smell right.

Dorian had a particular scent that Cullen had grown to love. Ironically, that dark, tempting richness he craved probably had something to do with Dorian's use of blood magic. Perhaps that was why Dorian always used those oils or whatever it was he wore that smelled of unfamiliar spices.

The fact that Cullen smelled none of that — what did that mean?

Cullen rolled his neck again as an excuse to look up at the sky. It was a lingering instinct after the tortures of Kinloch. When the blood mages had tortured him, sometimes the only way he kept sane was by knowing whether or not what he was experiencing was really happening to his body, or whether he was trapped in the Fade.

It was distant, but definitely there. The Black City hung in the sky, the ominous proof that this wasn't real.

He took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he fought the terror and panic rising in his chest. If he was conscious in the Fade, that meant someone had brought him here. The Magister was the obvious candidate. It was possible someone else could be involved though, or that Dorian had somehow trapped him here but was not the Dorian sitting at the chessboard.

He had a plan. It was vague and not very clever, but Cullen forced himself to focus on the strategy because the only other option was giving into his fear.

Cullen returned to his chair, smiling at the other man as calmly as possible. "My apologies. My turn?"

When Cullen leaned forward to move his castle, he shifted his foot to brush against Dorian's.

Dorian's eyes widened slightly, though he did not return the motion or make a comment about it. When he was halfway through moving to claim Cullen's castle, Cullen unsubtly brought his foot up along Dorian's calf. Dorian inhaled sharply, dropping his queen and knocking over a few nearby pieces. Dorian shifted a little in his seat, his legs parting a bit wider as he muttered a quiet apology and fixed the board.

A desire demon would have latched onto such an obvious weakness at once. This did seem to be Dorian, considering how his pupils were blown and his breath a bit quick, the touch clearly having an effect. Yet surely Dorian would return the motion or flirt or…something. Cullen briefly surveyed the board, realizing that Dorian had not even used the opportunity to cheat. Dorian seemed to be trying very hard to concentrate on something besides the boot drifting further up his leg.

Perhaps concentrating on the effort of keeping the illusion intact?

Cullen glanced over to the herbs growing in the corner of the garden. Embrium. That was strange. Those same pots contained elfroot in the real Skyhold.

Then Cullen remembered that he had wondered about embrium. He glanced to the stones next to his chair and was only somewhat surprised to see a cup of wine. He'd thought about drink, too.

Dorian might have brought him to this illusion, but he did not have complete control of the dream.

Then again, Cullen might be jumping to conclusions. He assumed it was the Tevinter holding him here, creating this false, relaxed environment. But what if it wasn't? They could both be trapped by someone, or something else. Dorian's distraction could be explained by him also noticing something was off and trying to work out what was happening. Cullen acting…well, more like Dorian would certainly be a sign something was off.

Cullen considered what could prove whether Dorian was the instigator of this violation or another victim of it.

It might be a risky thing, but Cullen did have an idea. He had already determined this Dorian wasn't a desire demon — what if Dorian wasn't sure that Cullen was not one? The Magister had expressed such carnal interest since the moment they'd met, after all. What would be his reaction if Cullen kept pushing, if he forced Dorian to act? If indeed Dorian was trapped in the Fade too, he might attack Cullen — if not, well, then he knew that Cullen was really Cullen and was probably the culprit.

Cullen shrugged off the mantle first, keeping his gaze focused on the chessboard as though contemplating his next move. He removed his sword belt too, setting the sword on the ground beside his chair. Even without looking directly at him, Cullen could tell Dorian had tensed.

"It's quite warm, isn't it?" Cullen commented as he unbuckled his breastplate. He had — or should have had — a tunic beneath it, although he discovered once he removed the plate that he did not. He was trying to play the role of desire demon, so that was just as well.

Dorian's eyes widened again, though he seemed determined not to look directly at Cullen. Cullen resumed brushing his foot along Dorian's leg; it seemed that, simply by Cullen wanting his boots to be gone, they were. His lips curled into what he hoped was a confident smirk as his foot trailed as high as Dorian's thigh. Dorian's breath quickened as he shifted in his chair, one hand grasping onto the edge of the table. Cullen dropped his hand over Dorian's, fingers lightly stroking the inside of his wrist while he carefully continued his foot's journey toward Dorian's crotch.

Dorian finally reacted, tugging away his hand and shoving back his chair, stumbling slightly as he leapt to his feet. Even in the Fade, his state of arousal was obvious. "Commander, please," he said breathlessly.

"Please what, Dorian?" Cullen purred as he leaned forward on the little table. "Tell me what you want."

Dorian shut his eyes tight, his jaw straining. "Everything is going to be fine," he repeated.

Cullen's eyes narrowed, his forced grin vanishing. This was the real Dorian and the mage was clearly aware that they were in the Fade together. Therefore, it was highly likely Dorian was the one to do it.

And there was no good reason for a blood mage to draw a templar into the Fade. Cullen should have known.

Cullen got to his feet. He was suddenly fully armored again, sword back at his side as his hand rested on the pommel. "What the fuck are you doing, mage?"

Dorian warily took a step back. "Commander, you should be careful. The Fade isn't like the real world, your thoughts could—." He jumped as lightning flashed overhead, the warm breeze now a cold chill whipping over them. "Cullen, I need you to remain calm," Dorian said with a shaky smile, glancing around apprehensively.

"Calm?" Cullen shoved aside the table, sending chess pieces flying across the ground. "You've trapped me here for Maker knows what vile ends, and you want me to be calm?" Cullen grabbed Dorian by his armor, shoving him against one of the gazebo's pillars. "The only way to bring me here is through blood magic. So tell me just how and why you intend to violate me and maybe I'll consider letting you live."

"Cullen, you have to calm down," Dorian reiterated, hands held up in surrender. "Please, I know you have little reason to trust me, but please." He winced. "Cullen, if you dare tell anyone that I said this I will deny it most vehemently and burn you to ash, but I don't want you to die."

Cullen released his hold, mostly due to his surprise at the sincerity in Dorian's expression. It was not far fetched the Dorian had some genuine affection for him. He'd flirted with him incessantly practically since their first meeting. And Dorian had stayed his hand when Cullen had attacked him, drawing back before his magic had the chance to kill him. He'd had plenty of opportunities to take advantage previously, times he could have used his blood magic or other abilities to take Cullen out of the game. It was…almost comforting to hear that someone in this world wanted him to live.

Of course, then that led to the question of why that was even applicable to this situation.

"What do you mean?" Cullen asked. The garden had become cold, snow covering the flowers, icicles dangling from the gazebo.

Dorian hesitated to answer. He tugged at his clothing like he was feeling choked. Cullen wondered if Dorian had meant to add that fancy outer robe with the high collar. "I'm sorry, I can't really take the time to explain. I'll have to try something else."

"Try what?" Cullen replied sharply, grabbing Dorian's raised hand while his other hand held a dagger to Dorian's throat.

Cullen was momentarily distracted by the weapon. It was the lyrium embossed blade gifted to him by Knight-Commander Meredith. But he'd lost that weapon during the battle in Kirkwall. He hadn't even thought about it in months.

Although…he still wasn't sure how much he didn't remember. Maybe it had come up somehow, lingering in his subconscious until he felt the need for it.

Dorian tried to look at the blade too, not an easy thing with how it was pressed against his neck. "Is that…Cullen, that's red lyrium," he said, his voice tight.

"Yes," Cullen replied with some confusion. It matched his memory of the weapon perfectly, but he'd never considered that it was so corrupted. "It was a gift." He recalled that perfectly. "A reward for my efforts against filth like you," he sneered.

"Please move it away. Now."

"No," Cullen scoffed.

"Cullen, thoughts have power here," Dorian pleaded.

So the blade could hurt him, then. "Good," Cullen snarled, pressing the blade into Dorian's throat.

Dorian suddenly shoved him away, a stinging pain punching through Cullen's chest. "Fine!" Dorian shouted, hands aglow with violet flames. "I should have known you couldn't accept peaceful. You're too fucked up for that." The world began to grow dark. "Just remember, Commander, I tried to do this nicely. This is your doing."

The world shifted violently around him. Cullen fell over, catching himself on a stone wall that hadn't been there a moment before. He shook his head, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision as he took in his surroundings.

The War Room. The windows were dark, but not due to it being night. The outside appeared a deep, sickening green, like the Breach itself. Maxwell and Dorian were the only others in the room and Cullen had absolutely no clue what was going on. Was it the fault of lyrium, again? He could not afford such a lapse, not when the situation appeared so dire.

"It's our last chance. We must do this." The Inquisitor looked up at Cullen, seeming to anticipate a response. "Commander?"

Cullen tried to shake his head, to ask the Inquisitor to repeat whatever it was he had just said since he had no memory of it — but he found that he couldn't move. Then a familiar ache started curling through him, his blood starting to run hot as his heart raced with panic. He stepped forward without meaning to, moving to stand behind Maxwell as though looking at the map over his shoulder. Maxwell tensed, uncomfortable by the close proximity to a man who so obviously hated all mages. Cullen tried to take a step back to give him room, but he could not. His body was no longer his own.

Again without any conscious intent, Cullen moved, his arm raising of its own accord. He noted the presence of the dagger in his hand with horror only a second before driving it into the Inquisitor's back.

The shock and pain in the Inquisitor's last breath would haunt him forever, were Cullen a better man.

It was only when the Inquisitor lie dead on the table that Cullen was able to act of his own volition. He dropped the bloodied blade, backing away from Maxwell in dismay. "I-I didn't—."

Cullen looked up at Dorian, who smirked and cheekily waved at him with bloodied fingers. "You…why…?" Cullen couldn't manage a coherent thought before the door burst open and Leliana rushed inside.

"Thank the Maker you're here!" Dorian gasped, moving to stand behind Leliana. "The Commander just…he killed him," Dorian said with feigned horror. "Said their goals were no longer aligned."

"Commander?" Leliana said bewilderedly, checking Maxwell for a pulse and finding none. The kill had been perfect; it was so easy to slide his blade through and hit his mark.

But it wasn't. Cullen despised the Inquisitor, thought him a fool, worked to undermine his efforts — but he had never considered killing him. Well, not for a long time, at least.

"Ser Pavus, can you heal him?" Leliana asked urgently.

"He took away my magic," Dorian lied. "He wanted the blame to fall on me, for you to find me with…with the body," Dorian was saying distantly. "But he always hated him. You know that."

Cullen was hardly aware of anything that happened after that. The next thing he knew, he was in Skyhold's dungeons, chained to the wall and denied even the comfort of a crust of bread or warm socks. He'd suffered worse. He kept reminding himself of that. He had been through worse and survived.

Leliana was suddenly pacing in front of his cell, reading him a very vivid description of the fate that awaited him for his crime. It…well, it wasn't anything that anyone could potentially live through.

"It wasn't me," Cullen murmured. "Magister Pavus…his blood magic…."

Leliana did not believe him, that was clear. "Ser Pavus has abstained from blood magic since leaving Tevinter."

"That's not true," Cullen insisted. "We were friends, Leliana, you know Dorian can't be trusted."

Leliana sighed and shook her head with disappointment. "The Maker gave you a chance to atone, Cullen. I wish —." She hesitated before she looked back at him with a gaze as cold as ice. "I wish He hadn't."

No one would believe him. Yes, there were plenty of rumors about Cullen's past sins, many of them even true, but to believe the Tevinter Magister over their Commander?

It was maddening.

It turned out he didn't need to worry about being executed by the Inquisition. The Venatori took over Skyhold shortly after that, guided by Dorian fucking Pavus. If it was the last thing he did, Cullen would kill that man.

Dorian had the gall to leer at him through the bars. "What do you say, Commander? Ready to submit to your new master?"

Cullen spat at him with what pathetic saliva his dry mouth could manage.

Dorian shook his head, tutting with disappointment as he wiped it away. "Take him."

As each day became more unbearable than the last, with lyrium withdrawal only intensifying every cruelty the Venatori could concoct, Cullen's last desperate grip on his own mind, that he had lived through worse and survived…well, it was fast becoming clear it no longer applied.

And as others around him succumbed in various ways — some former templars trading their loyalty for lyrium to dull the horrors of this new world, some young recruits selling their bodies for minor comfort, some agents trading their freedom for the chance of a master who would treat them less harshly — no one offered Cullen anything. Maybe they all knew he would take no deal any of them could present.

Maybe they knew the weakness he was fighting so hard to keep locked away.

If Magister Pavus came to him, Cullen no longer had any idea if he would try to kill the man, or beg to be taken into his care. It might have been laughable, had the situation been literally anything else. The answer was quite probably both.

He dreaded nothing more than the day Dorian would inevitably come to claim him.