The tang of iron filled his mouth, the smell of rotten flesh flaring in his nostrils with every breath. Cullen tried not to think, not to breathe. However, despite his best attempts, he could not free himself of his senses. As a pained scream filled the air, a hiccupped sob shuddered through him, forcing its way out of his mouth and allowing that acrid taste of death to coat his tongue.

Everyone was dead or dying. His hands shook. How long had it been since he'd had lyrium? If he could just find a scrap, maybe he could fight his way out of this damned barrier, out of this miserable tower, to…

To what?

He felt cold creeping through his joints, and something in the back of his mind whispered that that wasn't right. It hadn't been cold in the tower.

Not when the abominations had held it.

No, the tower had been oddly warm, the crackle of magic fueling some ethereal heat, making him swelter in his armor, a sweet, promising whisper that things would be better, if he would just remove a few pieces of bulky, unwanted metal.

He'd almost taken a gauntlet off, once, when he'd seen the damned thing watching him from the corner of the room, hiding behind twisted mounds of flesh, its face giddy with anticipation that it was finally wearing him down.

He hadn't dared give in to the temptation after that.

He'd known the man who was there with him in the end. Surana. An admirable elven mage who'd gone through his Harrowing in record time.

Record time and he'd still fallen to the demons.

Or had he been one of the many to give themselves over willingly when Uldred returned from Ostagar?

Maybe he hadn't survived his Harrowing at all, instead letting something in. Perhaps Cullen and the others had been too naïve, allowing a demon to walk the halls in place of a mage, when they should have been able to see it.

Most abominations were mad with power and the confines and freedoms of the waking world, but every now and then one of them could be so…subtle. They contained their powers, keeping their bodies from melting, allowing themselves to work toward some ends without catching immediate attention.

Jowan had been a blood mage. He'd been a close friend to Surana, so it was little surprise that they'd both tumbled down that path.

Surana had enjoyed playing with Cullen, asking him questions about his appreciation of mages' abilities, whispering that things would be so much easier if he'd just admit that there were simple things in life that he wanted.

The words that had spilled from that abomination's lips…

Cullen had heard of desire demons, been taught about all the different ones, how their different aspects made each dangerous in a different way, but to be taunted like this had been…

He looked around the room as another chill went through him. Was one of the mages toying with him again? He wouldn't succumb. If they wanted to kill him, they'd have to do it with force. No tricks.

He wouldn't let himself be tricked.

If they had to take the shield down to kill him, maybe, just maybe, he could take a few of them out with him. He could avenge those who had fallen. He could stop just a few from getting out of the tower.

Where was Knight-Commander Greagoir? Why had reinforcements not come?

Why was this happening?

Like that was a real question. He knew why.

They'd been too lenient with the mages. They'd let them do as they pleased, and the result was—

No.

Maker, no.

This wasn't.

This wasn't him.

It had been him, yes, but not anymore. He didn't want this, to be so consumed by hatred, to be so blinded to everything but anger and pain. He wanted to forgive and to be forgiven, impossible as it seemed.

He wanted to be good.

Now that is an admirable desire. So few want such simple things. Normally its riches and virgins.

Gulping, Cullen squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn't listen. Something in his head whispered that this wasn't real, that it couldn't be. Something else whispered that it was.

There was much wrong in this world, but no. Not all mages were monsters. When the abominations had attacked, so many of the mages in the tower had tried to fight with the templars. So many had stood against their corrupted brethren.

And it hadn't been enough.

Their bodies were scattered along with the templars, evil winning out, with power and the sheer ability to outlast…

No, no, no.

There was good in the world. There was…good.

He could…he could help it. He would help good win out over all that writhing corruption.

An even better sentiment.

It was cold.

He welcomed the cold. It was something he should have remembered, something that pulled him out of Kinloch Hold, something that reminded him that something more had happened.

What had it been?

Why couldn't he leave this place?

Why couldn't it leave him?

Why couldn't he outrun the sounds of his friends dying, pleading for mercy as they'd long since given up on pleading for life.

Cullen wondered if death wasn't the better option.

Would it make everything quiet in his head?

Now, now. None of that. I happen to need you alive.

Cullen's breath caught in his throat, gaze moving around the room, trying to find the speaker. He recognized the way the words echoed in his head without seeming to have a source.

But there was always a source, even if the monsters didn't show themselves.

While I understand that you mortals have that baffling need for empathy and a gentle touch, I really do not have the time for hand-holding. You need to move past this, if only for a night or two.

"Begone, demon," Cullen whispered.

Have you already been out of the Order so long that you've forgotten? You're not a mage, dear commander. Your words mean nothing to me. Despite your fancy title, you are powerless.

…Commander?

The word rang familiar, but he couldn't place it. It was important to him. It was a chance at redemption, at finding himself, at being the man he'd wanted to be before everything had gone wrong. It was…

This was a trick.

If this were any other day, I'd be content to leave you here to wallow in your self-loathing and pity. However, I've interests which need addressing, and no way to do so without a little…other-worldly help, and she's not fond of when I make…arrangements to come myself. You'll have to do.

"Get out of my head!"

I could make you a deal. Oops. That's not the thing to say to you, is it?

"Get out!" Cullen roared.

He rose to his feet within the confines of his prison, looking around with new vitriol growing in him. He could remember this more clearly. He could remember that the demons had tried to make deals with him, offering him promises of love, home, heroic deeds known by all—he'd been such a foolish boy, wanting to play the dutiful knight, the valiant hero.

But he'd never succumbed.

They had broken every one of his friends before him, starved him, cut him off from lyrium, tormented his mind relentlessly, but he had held fast.

Held out until help had come.

This had ended.

The walls of the tower were melting away into nothing, his dreams shifting out of focus and settling into some nondescript emptiness that wouldn't haunt him when he woke up.

For the briefest of moments, a sense of relief washed over him. Whatever the demons may have sought, they'd never gotten it from him. He'd been strong enough to withstand their tortures, their games.

It's not always a game, commander. My little lamb is lost in the snow, and she's so stubborn that I can't help her myself.

Turning around, Cullen's entire body went rigid. The world was twisting aimlessly around them, without purpose or direction, but there, barely a hair's breadth from his nose, was something he had hoped very much to never see again.

The desire demon tilted her head, inky black eyes appraising him with a look of…apathy? Contempt?

What game was this?

Tell me, commander. Its lips moved, though the voice still didn't seem to come from within it, instead echoing out from all around. How is it right that you get to walk away from Haven when others who never asked for this are damned to wander the snow?

"Begone," he whispered, his voice barely managing to scratch out of his throat. "You have no power over me."

Perhaps not, but I think we both know guilt has you wrapped around its little finger. The demon held up her hand, her pinky extended so that her long, wicked nail seemed like it was ready to gouge into his flesh. I won't bother offering to take that pain away. Even if you would take the deal, I'm not that generous. Instead, let me ask you this: Can you really sit here while she dies?

For a breath, Haven's Chantry reformed around him, and he was staring at the Herald as she listened to his words, that strange, unfaltering resolution settling over her features.

I won't debate whether you deserve a horrible fate or not, but does she?

"I will not be tricked by you, monster," Cullen hissed.

He could swear the demon rolled its eyes at him.

You are as belligerent a child as she is. That is fine. I am quite good at playing the villain.

Kinloch Hold began to reform around them, taking on the look it had borne before it had fallen. Cullen's gaze swept their surroundings, panic gripping him. This was different from his usual nightmares.

It looks like you get a deal after all. You find my little lamb, or I promise to make these memories so much worse.

The screams started from down the hall as the first mages fell to abominations, unable to control the demons they'd let in.

Footsteps pounded on stone.

The screams grew louder.

Wet, awful noises of impalement and being simply torn apart echoed down the corridor that seemed impossibly long.

It was getting closer, closer, closer.

Cullen jolted forward hard enough that he nearly careened face first into the snow. Gulping down breaths of air, it took him a moment to realize where he was.

He'd taken refuge near some heavy rocks to wait out the storm. He'd been with a few others, watching for signs of the attacking army or archdemon.

As it occurred to him that he'd fallen asleep, he found a thin blanket at his feet in the snow that had built up near him as the storm had raged on. He'd forgone the tents—there were others who needed them more—and had sought to stay vigilant.

He couldn't even do that right…

Pausing as he realized that, cold as it was, the snow had stopped, a thought abruptly struck him.

The snow had stopped.

If there was even a sliver of a chance of finding Herald Finley, it would be now, while the sky was clear—save for the remnants of that abominable Breach, of course.

As he somehow found the strength to move his stiff, frozen limbs and call for others to help him assemble a search party, a little part of him couldn't shake a feeling of dread as he tried to remember what it was that had woken him.

Finally, as Sera, Warden Blackwall, and a few others agreed to go with him, he pushed it from his mind.

It had just been another nightmare.

...-...

A/N: Thank you to 0wallie0 and creeppasta-queen- from tumblr for beta reading! And thank you to everyone who reads :3