Cullen's head hurt.

That in itself shouldn't have been any more of a problem than usual, but somehow it had gotten worse after his falling out with Finley. The light hurt his eyes and his head pounded from the inside, as though his skull wanted to explode.

He'd had headaches before, and there had been plenty that had set him on edge or made him reel, but this…

Somehow it was compounded with every war meeting where Finley's gaze stayed on the map while he spoke, every time he moved only for her to tense as though he might try to hurt her, every little thing.

The fact that it was his fault didn't help matters much. She'd tried to talk to him, twice. The first time, after everyone had decided to just accept that creature, Cole. And then she'd come to him a day or two after Alistair and Garrett had headed out. She'd been defensive from the start, and he should have…at least tried to talk to her, but he'd just…

Shut her down.

He'd been so horrified by what was going on, of the obvious repeat of Kinloch—

No, not a repeat. This wasn't the same.

But Maker help him, it felt the same.

He'd been such a fool in Kinloch, letting his blind trust and optimism get the better of him, and people had died.

So many people had died.

Reese had.

The mere name coming to mind made his stomach churn, and he closed his eyes, desperate to think of anything else.

Anything at all.

…-…

"Ser Cullen, you are the sweetest."

The words sent a wave of embarrassment rushing to his cheeks as he abruptly stepped away from the table, turning to see Marrin Surana leaning against one of the nearest bookshelves, grin in place as he watched with utter satisfaction at the way Cullen blushed.

"I, uh, it was just…it was so many books, and I thought—"

Even as Cullen attempted to save face—and failed spectacularly—Reese Amell reached out and put a hand on his. He couldn't feel her fingers through his armor, but his skin tingled all the same. That only added a shade or two to his reddening cheeks and ears, though he was lucky that her attention was elsewhere, and she didn't notice.

"Enchanter Marrin, please don't be mean to Ser Cullen," her voice was like honey, "You know I have trouble carrying this many books with me."

"You could always try carrying them one at a time," Marrin replied, and then gave Cullen a stern look. "Don't let her use you just because she's got a pretty face."

"She's not!" Cullen assured, a bit too quickly. "Using me, I mean. Your face is…" Cullen trailed off, feeling trapped by the accusation as he looked back at Reese.

She let out a giggle at that, and butterflies fluttered madly against his ribcage. The Knight-Commander was going to be counseling him any day now, if he didn't get his act together. Already a few of the other templars had warned him against being so friendly with their charges. If something were to go awry, he would hesitate and that could get a great many people killed.

He knew their hearts were in the right place, but he couldn't see that Apprentice Reese would ever fall to a demon's thrall.

They'd spoken about demons and the like—she'd approached him on his first shift, standing guard in the hall and watching as the mages meandered past, pretending they couldn't see him. Not Reese though. She'd marched right up to him and asked his name and all manner of questions about where he was from.

He'd been a bit thrown by it, really, but she was so friendly.

And after all, he was there to be a protector, wasn't he? It made sense that his charges feel safe around him.

Even if some of the older templars did sneer and…

When he first reported here, he'd been surprised to find a bit of a rift between the Templars themselves. Some tried to be kind to the mages, and some were…

He hesitated to use the word cruel. He'd heard it thrown around—and if those rumors were true then some of the Templars were cruel indeed—but he hadn't seen anything bad happen himself, and surely any unbecoming actions toward the mages wouldn't be tolerated. Templars were supposed to protect mages and civilians, after all.

Still, some of the looks the mages gave him—when they acknowledged him at all—were so…hateful.

Actually being in a Circle was so different from training and the dissonance made him wonder just what he was missing.

But there were plenty of friendly templars around to show him the ropes, and there was Reese.

She liked to talk about figuring out spells that might help irrigate crops more easily or make work in the kitchen a breeze.

She didn't know much about cooking herself—there didn't seem to be a class for the mages to learn to cook, which puzzled Cullen, seeing as he knew from training that mages who had proven themselves were allowed out of the Circles—but could remember the hassle her mother had gone through whenever she made dinner.

Reese wanted to make self-cleaning pans, and Cullen had thought it more than a little ambitious, but had told her that if she could get it to work, it would certainly help a lot of people.

She'd beamed at him when he said that, and it had been that smile that gave life to those damned butterflies in him every time he saw her now.

Thus he'd been struggling with the all too real fact that he already fancied one of his charges.

If Knight-Commander Greagoir heard…

"Don't you have your own work to do?" Reese asked Enchanter Marrin, interrupting the awkward silence that had stalled over them.

Marrin's lips twitched into a half smile as he sauntered passed the two of them, pausing to appraise Cullen with a curious look. "Such a harsh taskmistress, I think she should be wearing the armor, don't you?"

Even as Cullen tried to think of something to say to that, Marrin strolled off, leaving Cullen more than a little embarrassed.

"Don't mind him," Reese offered, patting his hand again and setting those butterflies into renewed flutters. "He's just a bitter old man."

"He can't be more than twenty-five," Cullen had objected, with a laugh. Even as Reese's eyes glittered, like she might say more, he motioned over his shoulder. "I should, ah, get back. To work."

With a knowing nod, Reese made a shooing motion. "Best go keep those old tapestries safe in the hall. We'll give a shout if demons come pouring out of the Fade."

Cullen laughed as he went back to his post.

…-…

Skyhold was quiet, and it seemed that his headaches were better for it. The pain had receded back to a dull thrum in the back of his head that he could ignore if he focused on his work, and the nausea had passed.

Surely this time it would be gone for good.

Wouldn't it?

Withdrawal was wicked, but it…didn't it ever end?

The thought that surely it had to end at some point was one of the driving reasons he hadn't fallen back to lyrium yet, though with each passing day, he was beginning to suspect that this would be with him the rest of his life.

Inquisitor Finley had headed off to speak with a few members of the Orlesian Court. Nothing official, but there were some who were growing a bit desperate. Between the Civil War and the rifts, they were having trouble maintaining their coffers, and their standing was precarious enough already.

Further, with the civil war, these lesser nobles were in enough need of assistance that they were willing to look outside the country—quietly of course.

Cullen didn't see why they didn't just send the inquisitor in to Orlais' countryside without permission. It wasn't like either side of the war had much control.

More than that, though, he wanted to talk to Finley. It had been three weeks, and he was sure that he had thought enough about what he wanted to say, had tempered himself enough that he could listen, that they could finally have the conversation they needed to have.

Of course he didn't think she was a blood mage.

If only she wasn't avoiding him.

Or maybe it was in his head. As soon as she came back from missions, she was gone again, swapping companions for others who weren't worn to the bone, though Dorian seemed to go with her everywhere.

Word was that he was quite the flirt, too, and it made Cullen scowl every time he thought of it.

Finley was his.

Or…she had been.

Maybe he didn't have a right to feel so…possessive.

No maybes about it. He'd pushed her away, if she fell into another's arms, that was his fault.

But did she have to fall for a Tevinter mage?

Finley might not be a blood mage, but what if Dorian was? What if she trusted him and…

…-…

Something was wrong.

Reese stood beside him, hands clasped over her heart as she glanced between Cullen and the other templar she'd called for help.

His fellow templar was tired and ready to go to sleep for the night, but Cullen had convinced him to come along. He'd never seen Reese this terrified before.

"You said you heard chanting?" Ser Emry looked like he wanted to point out that that alone wasn't much of deal, considering where they were.

"Someone was crying, too," Reese whispered, eyes ever ahead. "They asked them to stop, and I think he was hit."

"It can't hurt to look," Cullen offered, giving Reese a reassuring nod before noting the eye roll Ser Emry sent his way.

They could just see the doorway to the room Reese claimed to be housing whatever was going on, when it rather abruptly slammed open so hard that splinters flew through the air.

What came out next was…

Cullen had seen drawings of abominations before, but to they did nothing to prepare him for the real thing. The twisted flesh, the bits of robe and the little details that reminded him that that thing had been human at one point.

And he never would have expected it to move so fast.

He'd barely had time to swallow before the creature was conjuring flames. Ser Emry darted in front of him, shield raised to block the magefire. Before he could lower his shield, the abomination was upon them, slamming him into the wall and jabbing its fingers up under Ser Emry's breastplate.

He coughed up blood, a spell interrupt dying on his lips.

Reese's shriek brought him out of his stupor, and he lifted his blade and swung down hard as the abomination fixated on Ser Emry's corpse.

It sunk in with a sickening squelch.

Maker, help him.

He had to have struck the creature more than once, but the next thing he remembered, it was lying across the floor in a pool of its own blood and he could taste copper in his mouth.

Two other templars had engaged with another abomination up ahead, and Cullen took a few steps back. He was a protector first and foremost.

Turning, he looked at Reese. "You need to get downstairs."

"Does she?"

Enchanter Marrin stood in the doorway of the nearest room. Even as he waited for an answer, he saw the abomination and the blood and his eyes widened.

Reese hurried over to him. "Thank the Maker. It's not safe up here!"

Cullen nodded to Enchanter Marrin as he looked back up. While the elf had an odd sense of humor, he'd come to respect him. He was incredibly talented, and even humored Cullen, answering questions that he had about magic in an attempt to understand it better. If he could leave Reese in anyone's hands, it would be Marrin's. "Enchanter, please take care of Apprentice Reese. I have to."

He glanced back down the hall, only to freeze before he could take a step.

Reese had gasped.

Turning back, his mind blanked as Reese crumpled to the floor, blood trickling from her mouth…and where the dagger stuck out from her chest.

Marrin looked up at Cullen, a satisfied smile in place. "What's wrong? That's one less thing for you to worry about, templar."

…-…

Cullen looked over the reports on his desk. More and more of the Orlesians were willing to turn a blind eye to any Inquisition dealings that might take place on their land. The letters didn't come from nobility most of the time. Instead, it was mayors and sometimes a random farmer telling them that their help would be welcomed.

It would have to wait, though.

Inquisitor Finley had met up with Alistair and learned what had happened with the missing wardens.

Maker save them, but there was a demon army being formed in the Western Approach. Now Cullen and the others were going through their reports to see who had given them permission to travel through their lands to see what the most direct route would be to get an army out to the desert.

Cullen wanted to say to the void with it and just march out, but he could see the problem of doing so blindly. With the civil war going on, it wouldn't do to look like they were coming in to join one of the sides, or just be a third force grasping for power.

This would need to be done carefully…

And quickly.

Maker knew how quickly demons could turn the tides.

…-…

Cullen cringed into himself, his armor filthy with blood and grime. How long had he been trapped? He'd tried to stop Enchanter Ma—Surana. He'd managed to wound him, but then something had happened…

Not something.

A deal.

The bastard had struck a deal with a demon.

And he'd used Reese's blood…

It wasn't right.

Reese had been a good mage. One who never succumbed to the whispers of demons. That she still couldn't have fallen to blood magic—even if it wasn't hers—it wasn't…

This was all wrong.

"Cullen?"

Snapping his head up, Cullen stared past the shimmering wall of his prison.

Reese knelt on the other side, appraising it with a look of haggard determination.

"It can't be."

His words made her pause, and she looked at him, confusion shifting to relief. One hand went to her heart and she smiled. "He missed and Senior Enchanter Wynne found me. She's a good healer. She patched me up. We've been looking for survivors."

Cullen edged toward her. "Really?"

She gave him a gentle smile, "Really. I'll have you out in no time."

"Be careful," Cullen warned, glancing around the room. Decomposing corpses littered the floor and there was blood and…something growing on the walls. "Surana is around here somewhere."

"It's okay."

Her voice was weaker.

Looking back at her, he sucked in a sharp breath. Her rounded cheeks were gaunt, eyes sunken. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth as she put her hand over her heart again. Blood seeped up from beneath her robe and ran down her arm. When she spoke, it dripped from her mouth.

"What's wrong?"

The voice was a rasp, her skin bearing distinct marks of decay.

"No…"

Cullen jerked back, horrified as Reese crawled in after him, decomposing faster and faster, flesh falling away in strips as skeletal hands reached for him.

"Am I not pretty anymore?"

He screwed his eyes shut as her corpse crawled into his lap.

"Whose fault is that?" she whispered, and he could feel her ragged scraps of flesh brushing against his skin. "I thought you would protect me."

With a shriek, Cullen flung his arms forward, only for them to flail helplessly through air.

Opening his eyes, he found Reese was gone, and instead Surana sat outside of his prison, giggling madly. When he finally regained control of himself, he leaned forward, a sickening grin in place. "Oh, little templar. How did you think this would end for you?"

…-…

Two months after Inquisitor Finley had told him she trusted that thing, he was finally able to talk to her again. He tried not to think of how Reese had trusted Surana, of how good mages still fell to blood and demons, because they trusted too easily.

She'd been so sure that Cole was something good.

If Reese had been asked before the uprising in Kinloch Hold, she would have insisted Surana was one of the good ones. She'd been the reason he'd ever tried to be friendly with the elf.

And look where that had gotten them.

He tried not to think of it, did everything he could to hold in what he wanted to scream, that she needed to be more careful, that he couldn't protect her if she put her trust in the wrong people.

Instead, he talked logistics and about the army he was leading.

For the first time in two months, she lifted her gaze from the maps between them and asked him questions, getting a feel for what was going to happen.

There was an emptiness in the look she gave him. No affection or awkwardness.

She didn't fidget, either, and somehow that unnerved him more than anything.

He wanted to ask her how she'd been, how her journeys were treating her, if she was doing better with people.

From what he'd heard, she was, but he just…wanted to talk to her.

She rapped her knuckles against the wood of the makeshift table. "We reach the fortress tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Cullen echoed.

And with that, before he could say another word, she turned and headed off, calling out to Dorian and the others she'd been traveling with.

Cullen felt his heart sink as he watched her go, but instead closed his eyes.

He should have known by now that his infatuations never ended well.

But still…he couldn't help but look after her again, only to see she'd already disappeared from view.

With a slow breath, he began to roll up their map and push back against the headache threatening to break loose. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it, so long as he could. It was all he could do.