Her thumb tapped against the surface of an open book, glowing white in the dark from the light of a single candle. She was wrapped in layers of thought, her eyes entirely fixed on whatever intriguing subject spread out over the table in a littering of scrolls, tomes, and old literature.

I wasn't quite sure what information she had been after by the concerning wrinkle to her forehead, though I was compelled by old habit to ask if I could find a specific novel for her to read. She shut the pages in front of her once she sensed my presence and looked up with a freshly masked expression. The frustration that had tainted her features left as quickly as I'd found it.

I only briefly lingered my eyes over the indiscernible scribblings on the old oak table before turning my glance back to her face. Under the candle's glow, her face lit up like the snowy flesh of a lily, and red lips parted with pristine memory as she smiled and made me forget myself again.

"And here I was thinking you wouldn't show up," she tilted her smile in the slightest, betraying old mischief in the shine of her eyes, though considerably more tired than I remembered. What I had mistaken for complacency earlier that afternoon I now understood as a weariness that went well beyond physical injury. I had seen the very same on the faces of my men and fellow knights, still stunned by the torment of their fallen comrades. She had seen death, that I could sense in her gaze. Sadness colored her smile.

My heart began to fall at the sight of my beloved mage in such a broken state. Upon closer observation, I noticed the purpling under her eyes was not part of her native red markings as previously thought, but hollowed remnants from countless hours spent fighting for sleep, or for a latter problem I had forgotten entirely until that very moment - her nightmares. It had somehow slipped my mind that with her absence of the tower, it did not mean the terrors that plagued her beforehand would disappear as well.

By the look on her face, they were still very much present in her routine and had affected her to the point of exhaustion. The idea made my stomach turn, for I knew firsthand what it was like for her to endure them. As a templar, I was only allowed to look at her from an outside perspective, though that in itself had been a frightening experience. Out in the wilds she did not have the comfort of a half-dozen trained enchanters who were familiar with her history and a magi infirmary to tend after her specific illness. She had been entirely alone these long months, and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach with guilt all over again because I had not been there to look after her as I should.

My hand reached out and touched her head out of thoughtless comfort for the poor girl, though almost immediately I recognized my error when my bare and very un-gloved hand met the soft texture of her hair. It only shortly after occurred to me I was no longer in my armor as was accustomed to with nearly every instance I had been with Isthalla. I wore nothing but my ranked coat, tunic, and trousers along with a pair of worn leather boots. Templars were never required to wear armor while off-duty, though most of the time we were required to keep to restricted areas due to the idea that mages might consider us less hostile were we to approach them dressed in nothing more than clothes. At least, that is what I had assumed in the past. Now that my hand rested on her hair, completely naked to the sensation of it, I knew it had been for entirely different reasons.

Nothing separated the flesh of my hand from touching her skin. Even though I had frozen in my moment of realization, she eased in the slightest toward my palm and shut her tired eyes, smiling at me. My arm loosened as I regarded her weary posture and sleepless expression.

"You look terrible," I commented with a concerning frown, further tightening my chest as I heard the thickness of my own voice, muddied by coupling grief and shame that I should let her remain this way. Her smile disappeared, as did the warmth to her face I had mistaken because of the candle light. As she leaned back and away from it, I could see the pallor to her face now - not glowing as I had thought, but ill and weak. My hand had lifted slightly from her head, now hovering above it as if I couldn't decide whether or not to move away. I circled it around the shape of her face, my attention turning back to her newly short hair as my fingers caught a tendril between my index and thumb and twirled it, still savoring the sensation of her hand on my skin, then released it with a smile.

"Though I might just get used to this," I nodded to her new haircut, hoping to ease the friction I had unintentionally built. After a glance to ensure I had not stirred her ire, I took a slow seat beside her at the table, resting my hands over one another and looking down at them to make certain I would not raise them again. I couldn't trust myself to touch her. I heard a light, withering sigh escape my poor mage as she shifted in her seat and rested delicate fingers on the table within reach of my own. I tightened my grip.

"I was hoping you would hate it," she half-joked in a hoarse voice. Then, clearing her throat for clarity, she touched the section of hair I had admired with a fleeting look I couldn't discern and tilted her amber eyes to the floor again. "Though I cannot say I wanted you to notice the other… differences." She voiced what hung in the air like a heavy, dark cloud that - in the process of her leaving the tower and returning - had stolen the vindication from my mage. Her voice had fallen again, transpiring me to rise from my seat and ease her sadness. My knuckles grew white with anticipation as I forced myself to remain perfectly still. I frowned.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't meant it to insult you, I just-" she raised a hand to stop me, then followed with a somber smile.

"I know - I must look a fright," she finished the thoughts that I didn't have the heart to voice. Emptiness mired her smile. "I haven't slept at all lately," she fell again, and my heart couldn't take it.

"Are you feeling all right?" I asked. I knew what the answer was, and had always been from the first day I met her. However, rather than lash out in rebuttal to my petty concerns, I watched her physically crumble into her own posture. All that managed to follow my question was a small but feeble shake of her head. I did not press the matter, though my heart began to pace as I considered my next words.

"Regardless of the circumstances, Isthalla-" I caught her attention when she heard me speak her name - something I did not often do for the obvious affection it would imply in public places - and softened my tone. "Regardless," I emphasized with a kind smile, "you are still more beautiful than any woman I've ever met in Thedas." Her face tensed in an expression I couldn't place, then she pulled her hands rather rapidly from the table and placed them into her lap with her head tilted down again. My heart fell.

"Please don't say that, Cullen…" she murmured. Isolation struck me in that moment, further magnifying my humiliation at once again revealing myself to her in a foolish display of unwanted affection. Ears burning and stomach twisting from my mistake, I retreated with the reminder that this was an entirely impossible scenario. I was still a templar bound by unshakeable duties I could not ignore, and I was a naïve fool to have ever believed otherwise.

"I-I'm sorry-" I struggled to collect myself in a meek, shameful stutter that seemed to unearth itself with every word from her lips. I stumbled to my feet, head reeling with embarrassment, ears burning, and infuriating myself in silence.

You incomprehensible fool.

Why would you say that to her?

My poor attempts at leaving the conversation with some shred of respect were quickly destroyed as I caught the leg of the chair with my boot and nearly took the table with me. "Damn it," I hissed as the table jumped and shifted from my blundering.

"That was… entirely out of line. Forgive me, Isthalla-" I bent over the table and quickly replaced the papers while keeping my head bowed low. In my poor attempts to escape, she had stood to her feet as well. Before I could manage to turn away, a bare female hand caught my arm and burned my skin like fire. It lit up with the same intensity as before in the courtyard where she had wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my neck. Her touch was something I yearned for each and every day despite myself, and held a power over me like none other. A thousand prayers could not take the desire from me no matter how much I begged, and nor could my guilt once I'd realized it. For this reason, I immediately fell still, as weak as a dog is to its master, and shuddered a breath from my lips.

Maker, I can't do this..

"Please, Cullen-" her voice shattered my remaining barriers as if nothing more than glass had separated us. When I finally drew my gaze upward, I could see fear and anticipation wrought within her beautiful features, further disabling me. I wanted to shake her off, Maker I tried, but my willpower had fallen to nothing more than a murmur once I'd heard the desperation in her voice and saw the plea in her eyes. I could hardly breath… and I knew then that I still loved her with every bone in my body, every ache of my heart that longed to keep her safe, and every jump in my chest that followed with her precious laughter. She meant more to me than anything, and I knew I was damned for it.

My hands were shaking when I reached up with intentions to guide her away from me before it was too late. Anything but this - she knew I couldn't fight it, not with a single breath. There was nothing left of me that I had not already given to her, and despite myself I knew I didn't want to leave. She stood there in my shaking grasp which had yet to release from her shoulders. Somehow my hands fell to her arms, securing into her warm flesh like an anchor. My breath fell shallow and quick, and tongue thickened in my mouth as I tried to find the words to speak and rid her before we expanded this road any further. I fought for reason in my spiraling madness that lingered on the parted shape of her mouth that now invited me like a sweet poison.

My heartbeat had grown to a thundering reverberation in my chest. She kept speaking those paralyzing words, drifting ever closer as my own body shifted on instinct to meet her halfway. She was so warm, and my hands still trembled on her arms.

You weak fool…

"Please, Cullen," she whispered again to me, now inches from my face. "Don't go." I mumbled something to her in a throaty voice not of my own, and in the fog of my mind I couldn't register it until she had drawn so close that the heat of her breath blanketed my mouth.

I won't leave you.

I lingered in that space, a breath from my beloved mage, and felt the last threads of my sanity pulling me back in resistance. This could not happen - should never happen. She would be killed if Greagoir ever were to find out, or worse. Yet even with a dozen warnings beating against my skull, I found her last petrified words unraveled me to nothing but a mortal man at her feet. As the last syllables fell from her lips, I descended those last steps forward and into my mage's arms.

I love you Cullen. I always have.

With shaken hands and shallow breath, I held Isthalla in my arms and kissed her for the very first time. Sanity and reason no longer had a place in my mind as it faded into nothing, punctuated by the bursts of light threading through the back of my skull with each new desperate press of her mouth to mine. She was more potent than any spell, stronger than any lyrium, and warmer than the sweetest fire. My sweet, sweet mage.

Isthalla..

My heart burned with the embers of my long-forgotten affection, and of a love I had assumed would never be returned, yet had remained in my heart for what felt like an eternity. I had spent so much of my time suppressing my wretched feelings that it wounded me. I unexpectedly found myself grabbing her with all my strength and lifting the weight of her body off the ground to place upon the table. In my haste, I had nearly shoved the entire table into the wall in the process.

She reacted to my motion by wrapping her arms and legs around my body in a needy embrace, and one I melted into with everything left of me. Urgency filled my chest as I reached up and grabbed her face and pressed her to me. I held her for all I was worth, all the while letting the fire course through the core of my body and down into every extremity. Pain thrummed in my chest along with desire, restrained for so long it now wounded me upon release. My lungs were strangled, every muscle in my body tensed, and all the while my mind still struggled to remain grounded lest I slip entirely. Her hands were running through my hair now and soft, desperate noises escaping her lips. Maker's blood, if she didn't stop-

I was on the edge, nearly over myself when a hand reached for my belt and shot ice through my belly. I tore myself away with a terrified gasp as my heart lit with sudden panic. My widened eyes fell to her own, mirroring my abrupt confusion and fear. Sharp memories cut through my mind like a knife and made my blood run cold. It did not help that the candle had since been extinguished, and in the shadows I could almost make out the demon's smile in the distorting darkness. My chest tightened as anxiety set in.

"I-I'm sorry," I choked out, completely out of breath and still shaken from a mix of terror and shock from unfamiliarity the with physical contact I had been deprived of for so long. She looked upset now, and slowly climbed off of the table to try and approach me. It only worsened the vision in my head, and propelled me back as a petrified child regarding a nightmare. Recollection seared me again as I remembered the demon's fangs at my throat, and the pain I had felt. My shame. My regret.

She retracted her grasp, and desperate, frightened - I turned away so the visions might stop. My heart still thundered in my chest, and panic crawled up every nerve in my body, making it harder and harder to breath. My breath quickened the more I struggled to calm myself, and soon enough I began to feel dizzy.

"P-Please, forgive me, Isthalla-" I wheezed, hearing the wretched sounds of a voice I could hardly believe was my own. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it did nothing to rid the tempered pitch of fear. "I-I'm sorry, I… I can't," I forced the words out like thick lead on my tongue, still staring wild-eyed at the floor. The carpet was beginning to blur in and out of focus, and soon after her concerned voice faded to the back of my mind - replaced by the sounds of my shallow, frantic breath and beating heart.

I muttered another apology, though I knew it would do no good. My vision was beginning to blacken, so I gathered myself and stumbled towards the door, and left my mage shaken and alone once more.

Maker, what's happened to me?