The awkwardness on the journey was certainly palpable.
In the end, Maxwell had decided to entrust only Solas with this secret mission back to Skyhold. This left Cassandra and Vivienne in charge of the army and mages continuing the march to Adamant, along with enough of the Inner Circle to be readily visible amongst the Inquisition's forces. While Cullen would have generally advised for more to join them, he entirely understood this choice. It was bad enough for the Inquisitor and Commander to vanish from the front line, but if too many of the organization's leaders disappeared it would be serious cause for alarm.
Perhaps Maxwell thought Solas would be a good shield between the Commander and Magister, and he was not entirely incorrect. The elven apostate had been involved with the ritual that bonded them, after all.
Cullen had thus far simply ignored Dorian as best as possible. The Tevinter had not pressed as hard as one might expect, and perhaps Maxwell saw this as their tempers cooling.
However, the Inquisitor was entirely unaware that there was no need for the two to air out their grievances with an audience. When the group finally settled down for the night, Cullen hoped his stern glare would discourage Dorian from any attempts at conversation once they both arrived in their little pocket of the Fade.
Dorian, as was his nature, did not take the warning as intended.
Even as Dorian vied for Cullen's attention once they were asleep, Cullen refused to engage the Magister. Whenever Dorian would start speaking, Cullen would just close his eyes and imagine he was elsewhere.
But Dorian was a stubborn bastard, and this little game had been going on long enough for Cullen to be quite skilled at shaping his surroundings. It hardly took a thought for him to travel from one memory to the next, but Dorian inevitably followed at every turn.
They were in Haven now, surrounded by snow, with cold light from the moons glinting off the nearby water. Dorian shivered violently; Cullen could hear his teeth chattering. With a small smile, Cullen got to enjoy an otherwise peaceful moment as Dorian adjusted to the weather. He briefly imagined that the destruction and chaos that had descended onto Haven simply hadn't. He pretended the Inquisition had been successful from the start, without any need for an army of mages, with no questionable companions, and without a godlike adversary.
But of course, Dorian shattered the fantasy as he tried again.
"Cullen, we need to have a plan," Dorian began once more. "Whether the mad templars or Venatori have the upper hand, if you and I are not of the same mind —."
Cullen snarled, shutting his eyes and thinking of the second-to-last place he intended due to the instinct to lash out far more violently than he had thus far.
He was suddenly in the dungeons of Kirkwall, outside a cell. If only he truly was in Kirkwall, he could have thrown Dorian in some deep dungeon and let him rot. Or maybe Knight-Commander Meredith would have used him as an example of what happens to free mages.
A shadow cast on the stone wall indicated the memory of a certain mage, although no spirit intruded to take the Champion's form. If Cullen opened that cell door, would he find the massacre? The mutilated bodies of other templars, traitors to the Order, and that elven woman Hawke had held so dear?
Or perhaps there would be nothing. Spirits surely had little reason to mimic corpses.
"I preferred the bloody snowstorm," Dorian grumbled as he took in the new surroundings. "No wonder you Fereldans are so uncultured, all your energy goes to fighting frostbite and building dank dungeons."
Cullen bit his tongue to keep from remarking about how this particular dungeon was built by Tevinter slaves. Instead, he found that his hand was reaching for the door. Morbid curiosity prodded him to see what horrors from the past may hide inside. Assuming the cell reflected the slaughter from his memory, it would certainly be something to give Dorian pause, and maybe even encourage him to leave Cullen be.
He retracted his hand almost immediately. Despite how Cullen was trying to avoid actually talking with Dorian, the idea of Dorian suddenly retreating and no longer pestering him was…oddly disturbing. Dorian was simply a fixture of Cullen's life now; he'd become used to his presence, was all — or so Cullen attempted to convince himself.
As furious as he was at Dorian for violating him, again, and as much as Cullen suspected Dorian was playing them all, he still —.
No, he would not think about that. It may very well be true, but he could not let his heart overrule his head. Love for Dorian aside, he had to play it cool until he figured out the ploy Dorian had set into motion.
Offering an olive branch might be a good plan — pretend to forgive him, somewhat at least, and play the fool to take down the mage's guard. Dorian did have a point, after all. They would need to cooperate once they reached Skyhold to have a chance of success, assuming that either the red templars or the Venatori had managed to take it over. Cullen could always turn on him later, when the fate of the world was no longer in the balance; and he would be ready in case Dorian tried to betray him first.
Yes, that was likely the best way to approach this. He would need to keep a firm grip on his own heart, which admittedly he had been doing rather badly thus far, but there was much more at stake here than their unstable relationship.
Cullen could probably have worked with that plan — had Dorian not suddenly said precisely the wrong thing, and if Cullen's memory had not dredged up that exact undesirable echo of it.
"It was only for a moment, Cullen!"
Dorian followed that exasperated remark with another apology, literally on his knees now as he begged for Cullen to listen to him, but Cullen couldn't hear him for the blood thundering in his ears.
It was only for a moment, little templar. That's all it ever took — just one brief moment to tear your world apart.
Uldred's mocking tone was so clear in Cullen's head that he was somewhat surprised not to see the abomination himself appear before him. That voice had haunted Cullen in all the years since, until a strange peace had come in the form of this shared corner of the Fade.
He could not be allowed here. Cullen would not let Uldred in, not here, not ever. He'd left all of Kinloch Hold behind, and it was nothing but a tomb now. He'd linger in Kirkwall if he must, but never again could he bear to set foot in the Fereldan Circle.
"I made a mistake, but we need to work together on this," Dorian was saying. "Please, I didn't mean to hurt you." He sounded like he actually meant it.
She never meant to hurt you; not you, not the willfully blind templar. She only did what she believed necessary — exactly as I told her to.
"It wasn't ideal, I know, but I needed to make a point and I — I fucked up, I know I did," Dorian said, entirely oblivious to the storm raging in Cullen's mind. "I'd change it if I could."
She was such a willing pupil. Already with a demon long before spreading her legs for you. Did you enjoy making love to an abomination, Ser Cullen?
Cullen clenched his eyes shut against the taunts. Uldred had been trying to hurt him more, he lied, everything he said must have been a lie — yet if it was a lie….
"Please, amatus," Dorian whispered desperately. "Cullen — Cullen, can you hear me?" the Tevinter suddenly asked, more than a little anxiously.
Cullen wanted to answer now. He wanted to confirm that yes, he did hear him, and that if Dorian desired to live he would shut up so Cullen could focus on willing away these unwanted memories of the long-dead. Somehow, though his mouth opened, he entirely failed to speak. Dorian was talking again, sounding far more concerned than before.
But another voice spoke over Dorian now, melodic and beautiful and it hurt so fucking much.
"I love you. Cullen, I love you!"
Cullen's heart may well have been torn from his rib cage at the familiar voice, which he realized with horror was not only in his head. No.
Cullen barely dared to look, blinking away tears to see that the Fade had again shifted. He was in the bowels of the Tower, surrounded by a mess of magic paraphernalia, the shadows of a couple dead mages at the edges of his vision.
And he and Dorian were joined by…her.
She was at his feet, bleeding, her cheek torn open. Cullen glanced down at his hand. Blood dripped from his gauntlet; he had struck her, a punishment for trying to trick him once more. His other hand held his sword, the weight shockingly heavy despite all the years of training.
Cullen looked back at the woman and dearly wished he hadn't, now that tears no longer blurred her. The young mage was as beautiful as he remembered. A cute smattering of freckles over her pale nose, deep red curls haphazardly tumbling over her shoulders, her shapely body barely hidden by her robes.
The only solace was that her eyes weren't a blue ocean he would willingly drown in, instead glinting violet with the telltale interest of a desire demon.
Cullen had the demand for it to leave on his tongue, but Dorian apparently couldn't keep his damned mouth shut.
"Is now really the time for one of your sordid templar fantasies, Commander?" Dorian asked with some annoyance, the words taking far too long to reach Cullen's mind. Of course Dorian would equate this scene with a naughty fantasy — he'd been on the receiving end of Cullen's inclinations, after all.
If only that was all this was.
"Is that what this is, my love?" that sensual voice interjected. "A sordid templar fantasy?" The desire demon slowly rose to its feet, the robes suddenly torn and revealing much of the supple flesh beneath, complete with the birthmark just below the breast Cullen had once likened to a rose. "You dream it often enough," it purred. "Over and over."
"Get away from me," Cullen managed to rasp through the anger and anguish twisting in his chest. He did not need to relive this; he'd much rather lyrium had done its damn job and stolen his memory than be here with her.
The demon merely smiled, slowly stepping around him in a circle. "You don't really want me to leave," it purred, the feminine voice twisted by the deeper tones of the demon. "You came here for a reason, did you not?"
"I didn't choose this, Arda." It wasn't really her, he knew that, but still the name slipped and the woman's face brightened with an enchanting smile that was just a touch sinister.
"You chose this," it replied silkily, a hand motioning toward the open wound on her cheek. It dipped its fingers in the blood before bringing it before its eyes to examine the mess with fascination. "It's how it always ends, isn't it? You take your pleasure in our flesh, and then —."
Cullen's hand impacted her head with such force she was immediately knocked to the ground. Only when Cullen was looming over her, his blade raised and poised to strike, did Cullen realize he had moved at all.
"Yes, remind him," the demon hissed, smirking with delight. "Show him your teeth."
Cullen's hand shook, not with the effort of wielding it, but with the desperate attempt to hold back. He'd destroyed her so many times, once in reality and then repeatedly in nightmares over the years. Once there was a time he'd enjoyed these dreams, reveling in causing her pain and seeing the life leave her eyes again and again.
But Cullen had no desire to do so now, particularly not with an audience, and especially not with the lingering thought that Uldred might have been lying about her involvement. He rather wished he could erase her memory entirely, now. "Get the fuck out," he snarled.
But the demon smiled up at him anyway, strangely gleeful. "Show him his future, love."
"Stop it," Cullen breathed.
That dangerous smile grew. "He doesn't know, does he? How right he was at the Winter Palace?" As if Cullen needed the reminder, the vision of Arda continued, "About your…inclinations?"
"Shut up," Cullen snapped, kicking Arda hard in the stomach.
She fell back, clutching at her abdomen but still with that wicked glint in her eye, like she was delighting in tormenting him. "How you enjoy mages like him, bloody and broken by your hand. And how we all end the same."
She was enjoying taunting him like this, like she probably took pleasure in twisting his desires, using him like a puppet, how she reveled in tearing down everything good and decent and leaving him with nothing but fury and hate. He'd let her go on far too long, let her live when he should have struck her down the moment he'd discovered her blood magic.
Cullen hadn't known any better back then. He was young, inexperienced, and foolishly in love.
He knew the truth now.
It was not even intentional when he tensed, blade raised and fully prepared to cut her down. Cullen was surprised when a hand stopped him, fingers grabbing at his wrist and holding back his strike. He didn't stop to think as he threw the arm off, swinging at whoever dared interfere instead.
Dorian barely dodged the blow, stumbling as he fell to the ground. The Magister gaped up at him, his eyes wide as he tried to scramble out of reach.
His heart was pounding in his ears as Cullen suddenly remembered where they were. Arda wasn't real; she was nothing but a trick of a demon bringing some remnant of the bitch to life. It was the perfect reminder for him, though — he had gone far too soft. Uldred hadn't lied at all.
He'd suffered for months at Uldred's pleasure, and was the only one of his brothers to survive the ruthless torture. Uldred had enjoyed telling him how Arda had used him, compelling him with her blood to betray his Order in the smallest of ways — turning a blind eye at the right moment here, slipping an herb into another Knight's tea there — only a few moments, and those few tiny instances had destroyed the lives of so many.
Dorian had easily done more damage with his schemes with the Venatori, and Cullen should stop him before the outcome was all the worse. He remembered now, he had power here and he ought to use it.
It grated on his nerves to call on the Fade, but he visualized chains to pin the mage. The surrounding room constricted, becoming one of those cells back in Kirkwall that stank of blood. A collar also appeared about the Tevinter's throat, suppressing any magic, even here. It all came too easy, barely the blink of an eye and Dorian was entirely at Cullen's mercy.
He had no intention of being quick. A dark smirk tugged at his lips, reminded of Arda's words and the truth behind them: you enjoy mages like him, bloody and broken by your hand.
Dorian had said nothing, not since his assumption that this was some sordid fantasy. And perhaps it was, Cullen mused. It wasn't his fault his desires were twisted, tainted by the blood magic used on him over the years.
"You're right," Cullen said quietly. It was always blood mages for him, even in Kirkwall. And he never failed to ensure a painful death for them. Dorian was only an exception because….
Why was Dorian an exception?
Cullen blinked, glancing over at the desire demon with some surprise. The demon had shifted shapes again, now a nearly perfect copy of the Champion's deceased lover. The elven woman's smile was somewhat softer, like it was privy to some secret Cullen did not grasp yet.
He felt it now, and usually it would be accompanied by a surge of pleasure: fear. The air was thick with it, his heartstrings feeling the tremor of it. Cullen slowly turned back to where he'd left Dorian, trapped and defenseless, and to his bewilderment, bloody, as if Cullen's thoughts had inflicted damage entirely without his physical participation.
Dorian was still silent, but his expression spoke volumes.
Cullen wasn't sure he'd ever seen Dorian afraid before. The mage would flinch at times, sometimes avert his gaze a little too soon, or play up his role in their chess game — but he never looked at Cullen like….
Like Cullen was a monster.
"You wanted to see the lion's teeth, did you not?" Merrill's voice asked lightly.
Dorian didn't say anything, trembling lips failing to form words while silent tears cut through the blood on his cheeks. His usually immaculate robes were tattered, his body almost appearing to have been mauled by a beast.
Regret struck Cullen deep, and he wasn't even certain if this was his doing.
Perhaps it should have been his doing, long ago in a buried town, but that was then. Now…now, this wasn't right. This was not what Cullen wanted.
"Dorian," he gasped, falling to his knees beside him. "Dorian, I — did I?"
Dorian shut his eyes, flinching and sharply turning away like he'd been struck — and another trickle of blood came from a fresh wound on his cheek.
"It's not — this isn't me," Cullen realized, shooting a glare at the demon. It was in the Champion's form now, with just the slightest hint of violet shining in otherwise black eyes. "Stop it!"
As Hawke rose to his feet, his hair lightened and armor became shiny and sharp. When he stepped over to stand beside Cullen, it was as the dreaded Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. A hero to few, and villain to so many.
Cullen had never genuinely seen himself as the villain before, as apt as the title may have been.
"It's your fantasy, Commander," the reflection purred. "Isn't this just how you like them?"
Dorian made a strangled sound, his body arching from pain at some unseen blow. He seemed to be struggling to breathe, and Cullen next noticed bruises forming over his throat as though from a tightening gauntlet.
"Stop this at once!" Cullen demanded, leaping to his feet. "You've made your damn point, now leave me be!" he added, a hint of panic seeping into his tone. He might have done this, and perhaps was the cause of Dorian's suffering — but even so, he didn't know how to stop it.
"Have I?" The other Cullen wandered to Dorian's other side. "I'm giving you what you want. You don't need to hide your nature from me," it added with a smirk. "We can have so much more fun with him," it mused as it knelt down beside Dorian, dragging the sharp fingers of his gauntlet down Dorian's chest and tearing at his robes. "Shall we?"
Cullen reached for his sword, but realized it was no longer anywhere to be found. "Fuck off, he's not yours!"
The demon didn't flinch, though it watched Cullen carefully as its fingers kept ripping away Dorian's robes. "He won't remember a thing if you don't want him to. You can indulge without consequence."
Cullen shivered unwittingly, intrusive thoughts and desires tugging at his mind, at his body.
Sharp teeth shone menacingly as the last bit of clothing was torn away, leaving Dorian to tremble on the cold stone floor without the slightest protection. "I'll leave you to it, shall I?"
"Get the fuck out."
"As you wish," the demon said with a chuckle. "Have fun, Commander," it purred, skin darkening as it rose to his feet. The demon shifted into Dorian's form before it ambled off into nothingness.
Cullen avoided looking at Dorian for as long as possible. His hands clenched into fists, blood thundered in his ears, all sorts of terrible ideas drifting through his mind before he could stop them.
Of course he'd thought of it; obviously he had twisted fantasies echoing such situations. That did not mean he ever intended to act on them.
Though he had in the past. Repeatedly. But never with Dorian.
He did not truly want to hurt Dorian, not like this. Never, whatever some fucking demon seemed to think. Even when he did push, when he perhaps stepped over the line, Cullen did it because he knew Dorian could push back. Dorian was an arrogant bastard, but he was beautiful and powerful and it brought no pleasure for Cullen to witness him helpless like this.
The faintest whisper finally forced him to look.
"Amatus, please."
Dorian did not appear aware of saying anything. His body was shaking, his mouth twisted into a quivering grimace at some pain Cullen had not purposefully inflicted. Cullen wasn't certain the mage could be counted as conscious in any sense of the word at all.
As much as the demon was right in what Cullen instinctively wanted to do, it was entirely wrong about what he wanted just now. His mage was meant to be free and fiery, whatever the consequences. It did not matter that it was probably a mistake; Cullen didn't want Dorian broken at all.
He wanted to protect him.
The Fade responded almost instantly. The wounds began to seal and fade, the blood dissipating like smoke, and the collar and chains broke off before they, too, vanished. Cullen gathered Dorian into his arms, trembling despite himself as he focused on that bedroom he'd never visited in reality.
Then the two were in a warm bed, surrounded by those enticing smells Cullen would forever associate with the Magister. Cullen carded a hand through Dorian's hair, brushing it from his forehead. The man sighed softly, but otherwise didn't respond. Cullen carefully leaned back, keeping Dorian in his embrace and holding him close as the mage's breathing evened out and slowed like he had simply fallen asleep.
Cullen pressed a tender kiss to Dorian's cheek before letting his eyes close as well. True, he hated that Dorian could, and apparently would, take control from him. But…he could forgive it. Not because he understood why his mage had done it or because he gave a damn about any other excuses, but because it was Dorian.
He didn't trust him, might not even like him, but Cullen couldn't deny that he loved him. And seeing him broken like that, even if it was a trick of the Fade…it was more than he could bear. He never wanted to see Dorian in that state again, and especially not at his own hands.
He would let Dorian rest, for now — and when he awoke, Cullen would work with him to plan for what was to come. It was petty, really, to put the world in danger over this. It had been a mistake, one Cullen dearly hoped Dorian would never repeat, but surely their own lives were worth forgiving such a sin.
After all, Cullen had committed far worse crimes in his past.
Cullen drifted his fingers through Dorian's hair again. Breathing in the mage's scent, he pressed another kiss against Dorian's ear.
Closing his eyes, Cullen whispered, "Sleep well, amatus." The words came unbidden, but Cullen did not flinch as he relaxed into the pillows.
It was a funny thought as he drifted into the dark, but in some twisted, entirely fucked up fashion, it seemed the demon had helped Cullen after all.