Cullen sat at his desk, going through his reports, reading them carefully to make sure he didn't miss any minute detail that might affect his decisions.

Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that apparently demons could steal memories and 'nibble on souls' without permission.

Dorian had been the one to phrase it that way, and while he had been trying to make light of what was happening, Cullen's stomach wouldn't stop doing flips.

He blamed himself. How many times had he told people to let her sleep in? He'd thought she was just overworking herself, that she needed her rest, and yet…

And yet a damned demon had been feeding off her and he hadn't even noticed.

What good was a templar's training if it literally missed everything?

Between the order being led by a demon and his own failures to see monstrous activities and to fear friendly…creatures like Cole…

Finley had asked if Cullen would stay with her while they went into the Fade in a more traditional way to fight the Nightmare, to end its hold on her.

She had held his hand in hers, and he had pulled away, images of Harrowings he'd attended—participated in—coming to mind and hitting too close to home. He hadn't realized she wasn't asking him to be ready to end her until it was too late.

"I'd feel safer with you near, to keep people away—"

She'd stopped herself when Cullen had pulled away and then told him that she'd like nontemplars guarding the stairs up to her chambers, if possible. The idea of curious hunters, as she called them—him—was something she didn't want to deal with, especially while she would be unconscious.

Cullen had talked her into having her templars stand guard in a more casual way, in that they would be 'resting' around the main hall and intercept any other templars who wanted to interfere, while he'd have two others be official guards.

As she'd left him, she'd said, "I'm only taken smarter mages with me. You won't need to worry about possession. Death, possibly, but there won't be any abominations roaming the halls."

And then she'd left.

He knew her words weren't meant to conjure images from Kinloch, and yet they had.

Every time the door creaked, he would still and then find himself glaring at whoever was coming in, expecting a monster to be leaning over his desk instead of the scout coming in to give him their latest report.

He'd only ever seen mages go into the Fade for their Harrowing, though he knew that they could do so for other things, like research. Meredith hadn't allowed it, and before that, he hadn't been high enough ranking to stand in on such things.

Still, Alistair and the warden commander had commandeered First Enchanter Irving and a few others to do some sort of ritual that involved going into the Fade. They'd all made it back—even if Cullen had asked whether they were really them at the time.

Maker, but he let his fears consume him too often.

Without realizing it, he had reached over to the lonely paper that he'd set aside by itself on his desk. Finley's handwriting listed the mages she would have assisting her—twenty in all.

Was that enough to fight an ancient demon? It seemed too few.

Far too few.

At the bottom of the paper, Finley noted that some others might be helping as well, and not to worry. Solas had assured her their numbers would suffice.

And so there were twenty one unconscious mages in Finley's chambers, bodies sleeping as they fought against something older than all of them combined.

And she'd wanted him there for support.

For comfort.

And he couldn't even do that for her. She'd mumbled something about Blackwall as she'd left, though he hadn't really heard her.

Perhaps the warden could help?

The door to his office swung open sharply and without meaning to, he sucked in a breath as he looked up, ready for the charging abomination that was surely there.

Instead, the figure entering his office was considerably shorter, with chestnut hair and intense dark eyes.

Des Brosca.

She looked about as thrilled to see him as a mongoose seeing a snake. Or a mage seeing a templar.

Finley hadn't asked him to help her as a templar, but as a friend, as someone who was more than that, and he'd…

He needed to focus on what was happening now.

"Warden Commander, I'm surprised—"

"I need to see your witch."

"The Inquisitor is not a witch," Cullen replied, any attempts at cordiality disappearing. "And she's preoccupied at the moment. Is there anything I can help with?"

"Where's Leliana?"

"Across the way and up top the tower."

The dwarf didn't even say goodbye as she pivoted and left him there with two doors wide open. The resulting breeze threatened to blow a few reports off the tops of his stacks of paper.

As he set his glove on one and the ink well on another until he could close the doors—no use in closing them first just to turn around and have a mess to pick up—Alistair came jogging up to the door closest to the stables, where the warden commander had come in. "Where's Des?"

"Seeing Leliana. Close the door, would you?"

As Cullen waited to see if Alistair would acquiesce his request before leaving, he added, "And Finley is not a witch."

Alistair stopped at that, the first door almost closed. "Well, she is according to Ser Bryant's definition."

"She's never claimed that title."

"I guess she's not the Herald of Andraste, either, then."

"Not according to her," Cullen replied, crossing his arms. "She's not related to Flemeth, either."

"I…I know that." Alistair closed the first door and then scratched at the back of his head. "I was pretty cruel after Adamant, wasn't I?"

"You don't want my opinion on that."

With a slight wince, Alistair shrugged. "I suppose not. But I…well, I'll talk to Finley."

"She's indisposed at the moment." Cullen settled back at his desk, putting his glove back on and moving his ink well as he readied to get back into his reports. "Close the other door, too, if you would."

"No one else saw my nightmare. The one it showed me. I…this spirit broke me out of mine, but…" He reached up to scratch his head again. "It was Finley working with Flemeth, being one of her daughters. Yet another witch trying to force me to be their pawn. And then I see a memory where she's actually talking with Flemeth and…Demons tell the truth if it'll hurt you, you know."

"I'm well aware."

"Des talked me through it. So did Garrett." Alistair crossed his arms and walked a few steps toward Cullen's desk, apparently not feeling the intense desire from the commander to not have company at the moment. "I just needed time."

"Well, at least you found the warden commander in that time," Cullen murmured. "Are you planning to stay long? I can send someone to talk to Josephine about rooms—"

"We want to help, her wardens too."

"Her…" Cullen slowly rose to his feet. "Tell me you haven't brought more wardens to Skyhold."

"Just four…Aside from Des."

Cullen closed his eyes and willed himself not to tackle Alistair and pick another fight. They were both adults and swinging fists was pointless, even if Alistair did manage to fray Cullen's last nerve damned near every time they were near each other.

"Do you recall Adamant?" Cullen said instead, waiting not-so-patiently until Alistair scoffed and said he'd just been going over it. "Do you recall the wardens falling prey to Corypheus' sway and raising a demon army?"

"Yes, well, Velanna knows how to ward against demons and said she doubts it's much harder to ward against an ancient darkspawn."

Cullen stared at Alistair, wondering what demons had to do with anything before it abruptly clicked into place. "You brought a mage warden here." Cullen reached up to press the bridge of his nose to try to stop the headache threatening to bloom. "Of course you did. Why should you care about what the inquisitor worries about? She's just a witch to you."

"Were you even listening?" Alistair started and then scowled. "When can I talk to her? Or should I ask Ambassador Montilyet for permission instead of you?"

"Ask all you want, the inquisitor is indisposed and will be for a while." Cullen noted the look of annoyance on Alistair's face and clasped his hands in front of him on his desk. "She's gone into the Fade to kill the Nightmare."

"You let her?"

"When it comes to the inquisitor, I very rarely 'let' her do anything. She does what she will and takes my advice as such."

As though the Maker were truly testing him, the side door to his office banged open again and a red-headed dwarf strutted in. Cullen wasn't sure what set him on edge more, the warden armor or the shit-eating grin on the dwarf's face.

Just as he wondered that, the dwarf noticed him and that annoying grin spread. "You the crazy one they been talking about? I never got to meet you, but hooo the stories they've got for you. Heheh. Heard you're twelve types of loony."

"Oghren, not now—"

Cullen shot to his feet, anger bubbling up in him. "Why not now? You saw me at my lowest, at my worst, and you've made a joke of me to your friends. And why shouldn't you? Better a joke than taken seriously, with the things I was saying back then."

Even as Alistair and Oghren both tried to say something, Cullen stormed out the only door not blocked by fucking wardens.

He kept his pace brisk, dreading that either or both would try to catch up to him, but after he'd gone through two of the towers on the ramparts he realized that neither had taken up pursuit.

At the end tower, he sidestepped from the door and pressed his back to the stone wall, wishing he could feel the coolness of it through his armor.

Maker, but he couldn't handle this.

He knew he needed to face what he'd been, to make up for it, if and however he could.

But to hear that his suffering had become a joke? That the deaths of his friends, the abominations running wild, his fears that such would happen again…it was funny?

He'd come to expect the occasional wary look from mages, the skeptical one from templars, the ones that said they knew his past and pitied or hated him for it.

But a joke?

How could anything that had happened in Kinloch Hold be a joke?

It made him sick, and he barely managed to make it out to the ramparts before heaving over the edge.

As he regained control of himself, he felt ridiculous. Maybe he was a joke. He certainly hadn't come as far as he'd thought, if he couldn't even sit with Finley when she asked him to. She hadn't needed a ward, or a prison guard, just someone to stay with her, someone she knew she could trust.

Though how she could when he did nothing but let her down baffled him.

Maker, he deserved to be mocked.

He did, not those who had died.

Though…Alistair's friend hadn't been mocking them, had he? He'd said Cullen was crazy and little else and Cullen had just immediately felt like his friends, those who had lost their lives, were being turned into the butt of a joke.

What had the dwarf said? Maybe he was twelve types of crazy.

He started walking, just to clear his head, and in the end decided to go to the one room where Alistair wouldn't be able to just walk in on him—the war room. However, as he swept through the main hall, nodding to Ser Rodrin and Ser Cadwin—Ser Othelle was somewhere behind where he'd come in—he couldn't help but see that door at the end of the hall, the one with two guards and—

For fuck's sake.

Alistair was there with the warden commander and that…Oghren fellow, harassing the guards.

Cullen picked up his pace and stopped beside them. "Is there a reason you're trying to go up to see the inquisitor when I told you she's busy?"

"I've been to the Fade before," Warden Commander Brosca declared in a loud enough voice that anyone nearby might hear. "I thought I'd offer my help."

Cullen glanced back to make sure the nobles were all preoccupied before glaring down at the dwarf. "The mages upstairs are very capable on their own."

"Whatever problems we have between us—"

"Are just that," Cullen interrupted. "Between us. If you want to drag the inquisitor into this, then fine. She's a capable woman who can make her own decisions. However, you will not disturb her while she's handling inquisition business." To make sure he was clear, he moved so that he stood in between the guards. They each moved a step closer to him, fully blocking the way up. He glanced at one. "Has anyone gone up?"

"No ser."

"Good." He looked back at the warden commander and then Alistair, ignoring the last in their party. "If you'd like, you can go see Ambassador Montilyet about lodgings for the evening. You remember where she is, don't you?"

He waited until the warden trio finally gave up and headed down the hall to go see Josephine. When he was sure that they were around the corner, he turned to the guards. "No one gets past here."

And with that, he strode through the door.

He couldn't say why. Part of him considered that Alistair had always been a bit sneaky, and that he wanted to make sure none of the other wardens or worse had snuck in somehow while Alistair and his friends had argued with the guards.

Part of him wanted to fix how he'd pulled away.

When he was nearly to the top of the stairs, he forgot all that as he heard an all too familiar song reached out for him. He moved toward it without thinking, the song so much louder than he'd heard in…forever.

When he opened the last door and came into the room, he could see why. Lyrium had been used to help induce sleep—he knew that, knew that mages used that—so how had he forgotten?

He stood there, listening to that song, to that promise of power that was just within his reach. In powdered form rather than what he had taken.

He'd had a roommate when he first came to Kinloch, an older man who had joked about snorting lines of lyrium to get a faster fix. Cullen could almost imagine trying that out.

Instead, he ran his hand down his face and looked around the room, taking in the details as he tried to focus himself. He was surprised by how few of the twenty one mages present he knew. The names were on his list in his office, but still…

Dorian, Solas, Lady Vivienne, and Grand Enchanter Fiona were the only mages he recognized.

And Finley of course.

The other fifteen were strangers, and he felt a little shaken that he didn't know their best mages. He was the commander of their forces. He should have known them, shouldn't he?

Or did the mages really avoid him this much?

Twelve types of crazy.

If that was the sort of rumor about him, he didn't blame them.

That or if they'd simply heard of the things he used to say.

He deserved the fear and the mistrust, and he needed to remember that. Needed to work toward being better, toward figuring it out when he didn't know how.

He could start by making sure that these mages weren't bothered.

The song was so loud that he wasn't sure how many times Warden Blackwall had called his name before he startled at a hand on his shoulder.

The warden and another stood near him. Enchanter Reinald, if Cullen remembered correctly. He glanced around to see if any of the other mages were waking up and then looked back at the two.

"Is everything alright?" Reinald asked, wringing his hands slightly, brow pinched together.

"Fine," Cullen assured them, trying to focus on them instead of the song. "I just…someone was trying to get past the guards downstairs and I wanted to make sure they weren't a distraction for someone else." When he noticed that his words just made Reinald more concerned, he tried to smile. "Nothing to worry about, they just wanted an audience with the inquisitor and weren't accepting 'no'."

"Nobles?" Reinald asked, trying to smile back. He still looked too nervous.

"Not quite, but people who are used to getting their way nonetheless." Cullen paused and then motioned around the room. "Everything's going well?"

"Yes ser," both Blackwall and Reinald answered in unison.

Cullen nodded, glancing around the room again. Finley was laying near one of the balconies, having given up her bed to two other mages. Considering how much she complained about how big and soft her bed was, he wasn't surprised.

"So then, no complications or anything of that nature?"

"They've been asleep for a long time," Reinald murmured, before adding, "No signs of possession, of course. We're here to wake them if things start looking bad."

They were doing what Cullen should have been doing.

He nodded slowly. "Could you use a hand or would I just be taking up space?"

"Finley would be glad to wake up and find you here," Warden Blackwall said before Reinald could answer.

At that, Reinald simply nodded. "If anything happens—they seem to be in distress—a good shake should help stir them. If that doesn't work, call me and I can interrupt the spell they used. The latter is just more jarring, so it's the backup option."

"Alright," Cullen said, peering around the room and then looking back at the others, still trying to ignore that damned song. If only he could get away from lyrium for a while, not deal with it at all…maybe that would be the key to breaking this addiction.

He knew that was a lie before he even finished thinking it.

Warden Blackwall got Reinald talking about what exactly went into the spells used, and that seemed to ease the mage's nerves somewhat. He paused in his explanation once to point out a mage and smile, "That's Matt. We've been together since Ostwick. I know he's brilliant, but I still wish he hadn't gone into the Fade like this." He paused and then added, "I'm the people person and he's the genius mage. Together we make quite a team."

Cullen smiled and nodded. "I'm sure he'll be fine. They all will."

"Twenty one seems like too low a number to fight an ancient demon," Reinald said in response. He was wringing his hands again. Somehow, the fact that he was worried about the situation like Cullen was, and not afraid because of Cullen, made things so much better.

He could swear the song dimmed, if only a little.

"Finley said she has some others joining them from elsewhere. The wilds, I'd imagine," Cullen replied. Reinald simply nodded. "The Fade is all about will power, isn't it? These are strong mages, they won't fall."

"No, they won't," Warden Blackwall agreed.

Reinald took a seat near Matt, smiling faintly. "It's good to hear nonmages say things like that." He paused and then looked up at them. "We all know we're strong enough, but the problem's always been others not believing. You make me think change is really coming for us." He let out a nervous laugh. "Good change."

Cullen had been fighting to believe his own words, to assure himself that Finley would be fine, that the others would be as well. He had meant the words more for himself and yet…

And yet they had given Reinald peace of mind.

He felt like he was masquerading as something he wasn't.

As much as Cullen wanted to trust mages and magic, it was so hard knowing what he knew of all the damage that could be done.

And here was someone who took comfort from some simple words he'd said? Words he didn't even quite believe?

He wanted to, though.

And perhaps if Reinald could believe in his words, so could he.

So could he.

…-…

First Enchanter Vivienne was the first to wake up. For the briefest second, she flinched before sitting up, already schooling her expression to one of confidence. She looked around the room and then allowed a perfect brow to arch when she saw Cullen. "Commander? All is well, I hope."

"As do I," Cullen replied without thinking. He motioned to her. "Do I take this to be a good sign?"

"Indeed," Lady Vivienne's smile was radiant as she rose to her feet and dusted herself off—as though she'd gotten any when she was laid out on the bed as she was. "The Nightmare is no more."

"There are remnants," Solas' voice interjected. He rose from where he'd been laying near the fireplace. "But they will likely form into something more positive before they echo any fears. That is my hope at least." He paused for a breath when he saw Cullen standing there with the others. "It will take hundreds of years, of course. Nothing the inquisition will ever need worry about."

Slowly, the others woke as well, a couple here and there. Aside from Lady Vivienne and Solas, the rest of them seemed quite unsettled waking up. Like they had faced fears they weren't quite over. However, talking with each other seemed to help, seemed to help solidify the fact that they had indeed vanquished the monster they'd set their sights on.

More than a few seemed to hold their breath when they saw Cullen was there, but he made sure to nod to them and welcome them back to the world of the waking.

When one of them seemed surprised, Reinald stepped in, smiling cheerily as he looped arms with Matt. "He knew you'd all be fine."

More than a few of them looked skeptical, but none of them said anything.

Instead, Solas began cleaning up the supplies they'd used and the rest of them had fallen in line, quickly cleaning the area out and taking the remaining lyrium and bowls and water skins down to storage.

Cullen was relieved at that, and soon he, Reinald, and Matt were the only ones left with four sleeping mages. Dorian, two he didn't know, and Finley.

"I profess to know little about such magic," Cullen murmured, motioning around and then looking to the two mages near him. "Do you know why some of you woke up before others?"

As Matt laughed, one of the other mages woke and Reinald hurried over to check on her. "It has to do with how used to this sort of stuff you are. I think the Inquisitor was trying to find something, too. She said we didn't need to wait around for her, so we didn't. I imagine a few stayed back to make sure she'd be fine." When he noted Cullen's surprise, he added, "No one was willing to leave until Lady Vivienne did so. And Solas. Then the rest realized it really wasn't an issue if the inquisitor's closer friends didn't mind leaving."

"Maferath's hair balls, but if I never go back in the Fade, it will be too soon!" Dorian's voice interrupted Matt's explanation, and Cullen looked to see that everyone save Finley had woken.

He moved over to where she lay, noting that she hadn't any lyrium near her. As he thought back, Solas and a few others hadn't either, though they had all helped with the cleanup.

"She wanted to know what happened the first time she was in the Fade, without all the prying eyes," Dorian explained, brushing a few wrinkles out of his clothes as he trotted over to Cullen. The other mages headed downstairs. "Thought it might help to know what had happened to the Divine and all her missing time from the last few weeks, too."

"And you left her?"

"I watched her memories play out last time," Dorian murmured, face falling. "No one should be privy to something so personal. And a few of her Wilds' friends are still there, so it's not like she's alone."

"Won't they see her memories?"

"Probably." Dorian frowned. "I can only make decisions to be decent for myself, commander."

"I'm just glad she's not alone," Cullen murmured. "I wouldn't want her having to face something on her own."

"Like she couldn't?" Dorian laughed. "She's quite good at smiting demons, I assure you. It helps that she's had all the practice from the rifts. But I suppose it wouldn't do to have her attacked by some lesser wisp while she's reclaiming the stolen pieces of herself, would it?"

As Dorian considered his own words, he looked back at her and then the last remaining bowl of lyrium, like he might try to go back to make sure she'd be alright after all.

Before he could try anything, Finley let out a sharp cry and bolted upright.

In a breath, Dorian was on one side of her and Cullen the other.

As she evened her breathing, she grumpily told Dorian that she was fine, though she stopped midsentence when she saw Cullen.

The gazes barely had time to meet before she flung her arms around his neck and crushed him against her as she kissed him. He nearly fell on top of her, but managed to catch himself. He held her to him, relishing the touch of her lips and wishing that he hadn't worn all his armor today so that he could feel more of her.

Too soon, she pulled away to peer up at him, a light flush on her cheeks.

"Were you here long?"

"Not as long as I should have been," Cullen murmured, cradling the back of her head and pressing his lips against the top of her ear. "I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay," Finley murmured, letting go of his neck so that she could snuggle closer to him.

"It's really not."

"You're here now—"

"Could you wait until I'm not here to start on whatever mush this is…" Dorian said, interrupting them. When he had both of their attention, he rose to his feet again, making a show of not looking at them. "Honestly, I feel like you're going to start stripping each other right this second."

"I don't share," Finley said, giving Dorian a pointed look as she hugged Cullen around his midsection. "You'll have to find someone else for a striptease."

"Oh ho," Dorian let out a sharp laugh and then eyed them. "How long has this been going on then?"

Cullen coughed, part of him wanting to walk Dorian out and the other part wanting to just stay near Finley. The second part won. "That's not really any of your business, now is it?"

"But you've…this," he pointed between the two of them, "this isn't new. You've been together?"

As Cullen frowned and asked what exactly Dorian was asking, Finley nodded. "Since before Denerim."

Dorian's lips moved to answer, but no sound came out. He tried twice more before he finally found his voice. "I can't believe this."

And then he turned sharply on his heels and headed out, pausing only to call over his shoulder, "Be good you two! Or not. Not tends to be more fun…"

And they were alone.