The return to Skyhold proved to be not nearly as busy for Cullen as the departure had been. For one, he couldn't simply hop on a horse and ride up and down the lines to inspect the soldiers. No, this time, he traveled in a carriage specially modified to give him as smooth a ride as possible. On top of that, with his knee and wrist wrapped in splints both physical and magical, he endured the healer's scrutiny several times a day to ensure that the healing was progressing as it should. The first - and only - time he'd objected to 'all the fuss' and demanded a horse, Vivienne had been summoned.

Her expression told him the battle was lost before the first engagement. "Oh, I am so sorry, my dear, but I was under the impression you wished to walk again," she noted in that oh-so-reasonable tone she reserved for dotards and dullards. "Was I perhaps mistaken?"

And that was the end of that.

Resigned to his fate, Cullen slumped in the admittedly quite comfortable seat of the carriage, ensured all the windows were open as wide as he could manage, and tried to keep himself distracted by reports and the occasional visitor. In the end, however, the primary occupant of his time was his thoughts. They wandered incessantly through his memories, from Kinloch Hold to Kirkwall, and from Haven to Skyhold. He recalled significant meetings, with Amell and Hawke, and later with Leliana and Cassandra. The two which truly drew smiles to his face were the ones with Mailani, in the midst of the devastation of the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, and Dorian, who had practically fallen into his arms at Haven.

The latter, in fact, was on his mind as the carriage slowed to a halt and the door popped open, revealing a man who apparently could add mind-reading to his list of skills. As Dorian hopped in and settled into the seat across from Cullen, he said, "I thought I'd come in and keep you company for a while. It must be dreadfully boring watching all that desert go by endlessly."

Cullen gave him a warm smile. "Company is always appreciated, thank you."

One of Dorian's eyebrows rose. "Surely I'm not the first one."

"Well, no," Cullen admitted. "Cassandra has been by, of course. Bull popped his head in, but more of him wouldn't fit through the door. Varric came by, and we… we talked. For quite a while, actually." A sad smile touched his lips. "I think he wanted to compare notes about Hawke."

"Poor man," Dorian said with a sigh. "After Hawke told us the truth about Amell, there were a few brief moments where I saw someone I actually liked. I imagine it was the same for Varric, and given their history…" He shook his head. "Varric sent letters to Kirkwall to inform them of the death of their Viscount. Then muttered something about how he was glad he wasn't there so he wouldn't have to suffer through the politics as a new one was selected, but... Well, it was a lackluster effort at humor at best."

"It's just so strange to think that what I thought I knew of Hawke was so skewed," Cullen admitted. "But then, he might have just walked out of the Fade and back into that waking nightmare again."

"Sans demon, yes, but I agree. I half-suspect that possibility played a factor in his decision to remain behind. I'm sure we could have helped him, but perhaps not in time." Running a finger thoughtfully over his mustache, he added, "But this conversation is a trifle more morbid than I intended. Perhaps we could move on to something else?"

"Gladly," Cullen said in a relieved tone. "I was actually thinking about first meetings when you hopped in."

Lips twitching, Dorian tilted his head. "Mine included?"

"Yours included," Cullen assured him with a chuckle.

Dorian raised an eyebrow as a gleam of humor came to his eye. "You seemed quite eager to take me in your arms, as I recall."

Instead of taking the comment amiss, Cullen just laughed. "And then we argued in the Chantry. You accused me of being a blood mage."

"Of thinking like a blood mage," Dorian corrected astutely. "An entirely different sort of insult."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, you're right," Cullen said with a roll of his eyes. "That is entirely different."

Dorian laughed. "A bit of a rough beginning, I'll admit."

Giving him a cocky grin, Cullen said, "I've had worse, though not many."

"You were simply overwhelmed by my incredible charm and grace, I'm sure," Dorian said as he set his hand on his chest. "Most southerners would be. I have no equivalent down here, after all."

"That must have been it," Cullen said with mock seriousness. "We poor southerners are simply blinded by your eminent perfection."

Dorian's finger smoothed over his mustache as he gave Cullen a wink. "As well you should be."

"Maker," Cullen said, reduced to laughing again. "I think Mailani once told me that Pavus meant peacock. I just never realized how much you were truly living up to your namesake."

"She gave away all my secrets to you, didn't she?" Dorian lamented, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. "I am stripped bare before you because of her."

Cullen tilted his head as he looked Dorian up and down. "No. You have far too many buckles for that to be true."

"That's called fashion, not that a Fereldan would understand," Dorian corrected him in a condescending tone.

"No, because in Ferelden we believe in a little something called keeping warm," Cullen sallied back.

Looking pointedly at Cullen's unadorned shoulders, then the pile of fur sitting next to Cullen on his seat, Dorian said, "Which apparently has its limits."

"We're in a desert," Cullen pointed out, gesturing to the featureless sand dunes as they slowly passed by outside the window. "I don't need fur on top of all that."

"True. I'm finally warm enough, but I have sand in places I'd rather not mention in polite company, or even yours, if it came to that." His mouth formed a moue of distaste as he blithely ignored Cullen's snort. "I wouldn't particularly call that an improvement."

Cullen stared at Dorian for a moment, then started to laugh helplessly. "I'm sorry, but your expression..."

"Oh, no, please laugh at my discomfort," Dorian said with a tragic sigh. "I'll just sit here and try to get the sand out of my hair before I go."

"You're not going already, surely?" Cullen asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "I wasn't actually planning on it yet, no."

"Good." Cullen sagged back into his seat.

"I didn't realize you were enjoying my presence so very much," Dorian said in a light tone.

Cullen chuckled in response, though suddenly he realized that the statement, though flippantly made, was true. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed around anyone save for perhaps Mailani and Alistair. The realization stole a bit of the strength of his smile, but also reinforced just how important Dorian had become to him. When he realized that Dorian seemed to be waiting for a response while Cullen just sat there staring at him, he cleared his throat and nodded. "I am. And not just because I'm bored out of my skull, mind."

"Oh, that's good to hear. I'm better than sheer, utter boredom," Dorian drawled. "I could do tricks, if you like. Perhaps that would entertain you. I'm quite talented with scarves, I'll have you know."

"That's not what I meant," Cullen protested, then glared at Dorian as the man's lips pressed together in amusement. "Oh. I see."

"You are so very fun to tease, Commander," Dorian noted, then laughed softly. The sight of Dorian so relaxed gave Cullen an odd glow of happiness, but he danced away from pondering the why of it in favor of concentrating on the conversation. "I do believe I have previously noted it to be a poor habit of mine."

"I wouldn't have you any other way," Cullen said with a gallant gesture towards Dorian in lieu of a bow.

"Pity," Dorian murmured.

Cullen blinked, then looked away, his cheeks warming as an assortment of ways he could have Dorian flashed through his mind. "A poor choice of words, perhaps," he managed after clearing his throat. "I…I prefer you as you are, teasing and all."

"I feel much the same, Cullen," Dorian replied softly, the softening of his expression subtle but poignant. "And I never thought I'd say that to a Templar."

"Ex- Templar," Cullen interjected.

Dorian conceded the point with a gesture. "True. Ex-Templar, Commander of the Inquisition Forces, and bosom companion of the Inquisitor. That last part has a rather nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Very nice, yes," Cullen said with a smile, even as that peculiar warmth stole over him once more. "One might almost consider it promising."

"Promising for what?" Dorian asked, again raising an immaculate eyebrow.

"Ah…" Cullen cleared his throat again. "That's a good question," he said a bit sheepishly.

"Do let me know when you find the answer, hmm?" Dorian asked in an amused tone, one corner of his mustache twitching upwards. "Surely you wouldn't leave me breathless with anticipation."

Cullen blinked a few times as his treacherous imagination provided a breathless Dorian-which, following on the heels of the thoughts of having the man proved to be enough to make his ears heat as he pulled his gaze away and looked into the desert. "I'll let you know."

"Excellent. I do so hate to leave such matters of importance dangling like that." When Cullen looked at him sharply, he found Dorian looking out of his own window with a thoughtful expression on his face. "It does make me wonder, though."

Relieved but also obscurely disappointed that Dorian had moved the conversation along, Cullen asked, "Wonder what?"

"What is to come, of course," Dorian said. "For Thedas. For the Inquisition. For us." Cullen's throat tightened as those grey eyes turned towards him once more and met his own. "The world has proven to be vastly different than what we knew only a month ago, after all." Scooting to one side, Dorian leaned forward and settled his hand on Cullen's uninjured knee, face sober. "You will let me know if you need anything, won't you?"

"What do you mean?" The warmth of Dorian's touch spread throughout his leg strongly enough that Cullen almost suspected magic. Settling his hand on top of Dorian's, Cullen squeezed it and smiled. "I'm perfectly fine. Or will be."

Dorian's brows drew together. "Are you?" When Cullen opened his mouth to respond, Dorian reached up and put his finger on Cullen's lips. "I was with you last night as you slept, Cullen, as I have been since we left Adamant behind," he said in hushed tones. "I've been protecting your dreams as I promised. It is plain to see that whatever you suffered at the hands of that demon lingers. Since I know no demon or man has invaded your sleep, I must conclude that your pain comes from within."

Cullen swallowed harshly and squeezed his eyes shut as he ducked his head down. He had been trying to forget those nightmares all day, particularly the one where Dorian had been burned to a crisp by Amell. "I'll be perfectly fine. I promise. I've survived nightmares before."

"I know. You're a strong man, Cullen," Dorian replied. "But even strong men shouldn't try to shoulder everything alone."

"You're the Inquisitor," Cullen said, then took a shuddering breath. "I can't impose-"

"It is no imposition to help a dear friend," Dorian insisted. Cullen felt a finger hook under his chin, and he opened his eyes as Dorian pulled his chin up. The wistful little smile on Dorian's face brought one to his own. "Bosom companion, remember?"

Again that warmth spread through him, easing away the chill of the previous night's horrors. "I seem to recall those words being bandied about."

"Good." Dorian reached up to cup Cullen's face with one hand. "You have endured much for the sake of the Inquisition, for the Inquisitor, and for me. Do not feel that you must bear the consequences of that sacrifice alone. Promise me you will let me know if you need anything."

Cullen blinked a few times, then slowly nodded. "I promise."

"Excellent." Dorian patted Cullen's cheek and then sat back in his seat. "You had me worried there. For a few moments, I thought you might try to remain stoic and aloof, the perfect warrior in a world gone mad."

"I have a feeling you wouldn't let me remain that way even if I tried," Cullen noted. His cheek tingled from Dorian's touch, and he swallowed as Dorian smiled at him.

"No, I wouldn't. And you'd best remember that, or I shall be forced to take action," Dorian told him with mock severity.

"Such as what?" Cullen asked, lips suddenly dry. Or perhaps he was just noticing the dryness for the first time, and realizing how fast his breathing had become.

Dorian tilted his head ever so slightly as his gaze dropped from Cullen's eyes to somewhere lower on his face. "Isn't that obvious?"

Before Cullen could answer, however, a loud knock could be heard from the front as the driver banged on the outside and shouted, "Commander! The healers are here!"

Straightening in his seat, Dorian shifted quickly towards the door. "Ah, well. Apparently that is all the time I am allowed to steal for us. Even the Inquisitor is helpless before the efficiency of the Inquisition healers, hmm?"

Cullen chuckled, though the sound echoed dully behind the blood pounding in his ears. The glance had been subtle, but unmistakable, and just that little bit had proven to be quite the provocation. There was no time to pursue it, however, as Dorian pushed open the door of the carriage and made to leave.

"I will see you later, won't I?" Cullen blurted before Dorian left entirely.

"But of course, Commander," Dorian said with a wink, though the shift back to using Cullen's title signaled the return of the Inquisitor more than any other indicator. "Now, do be a good little ex-Templar and try not to antagonize the First Enchanter this time, hmm?"

Cullen gave him a dark look, then stuck his tongue out at Dorian.

"I am shocked! Such vulgarity," Dorian said in a tolerable mimicry of Vivienne, then laughed as he pushed himself out of the carriage. "Until later, Commander. And perhaps next time I shall bear wine."

"I look forward to it," Cullen said, though it was more the company and less the wine that he would enjoy. As Dorian left and the healer climbed in, he settled back and waited for the inevitable poking and prodding.

And through it all, the smile remained on his face, even after his pulse returned to normal. Things just seemed a little better than before.

It proved surprisingly difficult to simply sit and watch others set up his tent for the night, especially when he couldn't pace back and forth. He'd never realized how much of the work he did himself, and how easily he issued orders when he wasn't. Once the tent was up and ready, however, the healers helped him inside and settled him down, then began an intensive healing session.

When it was done, they were able to remove most of the bandages. He would have a surfeit of new scars, but at least he wouldn't be so stiflingly hot wrapped in all those linen strips. The wrist and leg remained bound, however, and he sighed as he tried to get comfortable in his cot despite his awkward position. An elevated arm and leg promised a restless night. He was contemplating the potion they'd left in case he needed a bit of help going to sleep when the sound of someone clearing their throat drew his attention to the tent flap.

"C-Commander?"

He smiled. "Jim! I've been wondering where you've been hiding. Come in, come in." Maker, he'd take an entire ream of reports right now if it meant he could feel useful. "What brings you here? A report, maybe?"

"No, Commander, ser," Jim told him as he entered the tent. He had a large bandage around his head and a sling on one arm, but otherwise he seemed intact. "I just- I mean, we just…"

"We?" Cullen asked, peering past Jim to see shadows outside the tent. His eyebrows rose. "There are quite a few of you in this we of yours."

"Yes, ser, Commander, ser." Jim cleared his throat, then turned and whispered animatedly with someone still outside. Finally he turned and stepped a bit closer to Cullen while some more people entered, crab-stepping their way into the tent due to holding something behind their back. "Well, Commander, when word came that you'd disappeared with the Inquisitor, ser, well, some of us went looking for you."

Oddly touched, Cullen smiled warmly at the soldiers. "I'm grateful. It must have been difficult when you didn't know what had become of all of us."

Jim's head bobbed up and down, and he looked at the other soldiers, who made a Get on with it gesture. Straightening, he said, "Well, when we heard you'd come back injured, we went back and looked some more, ser. Since you came back empty-handed and all."

Cullen grimaced. "My sword broke," he said. "Pity that. And my shield is probably buried under half of Adamant at this point."

Shaking his head, Jim gestured at the soldiers behind him, beckoning them forward. "No, ser. That's why we're here." As the soldiers lifted a heavy, cloth covered object between them, Jim pulled something smaller from behind his back and held it out to Cullen. "I'm sure Dagna or Harritt can repair them," he added, as the soldiers pulled the cloth back to reveal his shield.

After a moment of staring at the battered but still whole shield and the hilt of his sword, Cullen felt a smile come to his face. "You lot went searching through all that rubble just to find my sword and shield?" he asked.

Jim nodded. "We can't heal you, ser, and we can't do what you do for the Inquisition. But it is what we could do for you , Commander."

"I-Thank you." Cullen reached out to run his fingers over the dented shield, touched by his troops' concern. "I'm astonished you even thought to look, and even more amazed you actually found something."

"Well, we had a bit of help," Jim admitted. "The ghost boy, he led us to the place where we found them. He seemed very concerned that nothing be left behind."

"Huh." Now why would that concern Cole at all? Still, that didn't matter nearly as much as the fact that his soldiers cared enough about him that they'd gone digging through a pile of rubble bigger than Haven just to show their respect for him. He gravely raised his hand in a salute, and the soldiers in the tent-and outside, as far as he could tell-followed suit. "Your Commander is grateful," he said in a carrying voice. "More than you know."

"They say you'll get better, Commander," one of the soldiers behind Jim piped up. "They say you'll fight again."

"With all of you as my inspiration, how could I not?" Cullen asked with a chuckle.

All the soldiers stood a bit straighter, grins on their faces as they looked at each other. "That's good to hear, ser," Jim said, setting the sword hilt down on the table. As the others carefully arranged the shield next to it, he added, "You'll be up and about in no time, Commander. I'm sure of it."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Cullen said with a wide smile, mood immensely improved. "I look forward to running you into the ground during a morning patrol when we get back to Skyhold."

There was a general good-natured groan in response to that, just before a sudden scramble in the back as one soldier could be heard whispering "The Inquisitor!" Suddenly all the soldiers were standing to attention as Dorian, bottle of wine in one hand, slowly made his way into the tent with a quizzical look on his face.

"Are you mustering the troops to storm the healers' tent for a reprieve, Commander?" he asked as he took in the assemblage.

"At ease," Cullen told the soldiers before he continued. "No, Inquisitor. They were just returning my things." With an awkward gesture, he indicated the items now on the table.

Dorian's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the hilt and shield. "My word, are those yours ? I would have thought them lost forever, given the circumstances." An approving look came to his face as he turned to the gathered men and women. "Excellent work. I take it all of you were involved in the recovery?"

"Yes, Inquisitor!" Jim said.

"Good initiative, that." He looked to Cullen, then back to the soldiers. "I see I'll have to keep my eye on all of you." His eyes swept over them, and then he nodded. "Jim, Elias, Corra, and… Samara, yes?" As the soldiers nodded, faces showing their surprise that the Inquisitor knew their names, Dorian added, "Draw up a list of everyone who helped and get it to Cassandra, would you? I have a special project in mind for all of you."

Jim beamed as he saluted Dorian along with the others. "Yes, Inquisitor!"

"Capital." Dorian gave them a little bow. "Now, if you don't mind, I have something to discuss with the Commander myself."

"Oh. Uh, yes, milord. Inquisitor, ser. Inquisitor!" Jim cleared his throat and then turned, dashing out of the tent with the rest of the soldiers.

"Maker, they make me feel positively ancient," Dorian noted as he turned to Cullen. "And I think they'd follow you to the ends of Thedas."

A smile came to Cullen's face as he looked up at Dorian. "They're good soldiers. They deserve my best. It's a pity I'm reduced to this." He gestured down to his leg, propped up on a bolster. "I should be out there with them. Not that you should tell Lady Vivienne that I said that," he added hastily.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Commander," Dorian assured him as he stepped further into the tent. "I see you're settled in for the night. I imagine the healers have told you to get a good night's rest, yes?" Holding up the wine, he said, "Hopefully this will help."

"I'm grateful for your visit, but…" He glanced to the now closed tent flap. "Aren't you worried about what they'll say?"

"I don't see why not," Dorian said as he looked around the tent. "I've shared wine with most of the important people in the Inquisition. In the Imperium, it's simply another way to talk business."

"Yes, but-" Unable to articulate why it was different for Dorian to be seen alone with him, Cullen finally sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me. Apparently I'm finding phantoms to fret about."

Dorian made a little tsking sound. "Sounds like you need something to occupy your mind. Do you have any glasses in here?"

"In my chest," Cullen said, indicating it with a vague gesture. "I haven't really unpacked anything yet."

"Ah, good." Setting the wine on the table, he moved to the chest and began to rummage inside. "Hopefully they're still intact."

"Well, they're not made of glass, per se. They're more like metal mugs," Cullen admitted.

Dorian wrinkled his nose, then shrugged. "That still works, even if it is a trifle inelegant." Suddenly he paused in his search and canted his head to one side. "Is this… Why, I believe it is." Pulling a modestly adorned box from the chest, he turned it over in his hands slowly. "Isn't this your chess set?"

"It is," Cullen said. "After Haven, I just got into a habit of making sure it was always near me. I don't want to lose it."

"Your sister gave it to you, didn't she?" Dorian asked as he traced one of the designs with a careful finger.

"Mia, yes." Cullen smiled affectionately. "Maker, I'm overdue to write her a letter again."

A thoughtful look had come to Dorian's face as he smiled slightly. "Perfect."

"Perfect that I am, according to my sister, the worst correspondent since Maferath?"

"No, I meant-" Dorian paused, then glanced at Cullen. "Did she actually tell you that?"

A sheepish look came to his face as Cullen said, "She might have been a bit upset with me at the time."

"Oh, I definitely need to meet her," Dorian said with a chuckle as he set the box next to his feet. "I meant it's perfect for what I have in mind."

Taken aback, Cullen asked. "Oh? For what?"

"Trust me," Dorian told him with a beatific smile.

"I do… except when you smile like that," Cullen told him. "Now I'm just worried."

"I know what I'm doing. Oh, and look what was beneath it." Pulling out a couple of metal goblets, he said, "Much better than the steel mugs I was fearing, too." Closing the lid of the chest, he stood and moved to the table. "We might actually be able to make a civilized night of it."

As Dorian poured the wine, Cullen struggled to think of a topic that wasn't obviously forced. Their earlier conversation had sparked a bit of curiosity, however. "I was wondering-" he began, then hesitated. "No, never mind."

"Oh, don't think I'm going to let you get away with that little trick," Dorian scolded him as he brought the wine over. Handing off one goblet to Cullen's good hand, he settled a chair next to the cot and gestured expansively. "Go on."

"You said you wanted to meet Mia," Cullen explained. "And I realized that I don't really know enough about you to know who to want to meet. I mean, other than your father."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "You want to meet him?"

"That's usually the best way to punch someone in the face," Cullen muttered darkly.

The answer clearly caught Dorian by surprise. In the next moment, he burst into laughter before leaning forward to put his hand on Cullen's leg. "You really are from Ferelden, aren't you, my dear man?"

Cullen felt his ears burn, though whether it was from the words or the touch, he couldn't say himself. "He certainly deserves it."

"Oh, I completely agree. It simply never would have occurred to me as an option. The Imperium expects a… well, a different sort of reaction to those who have… treated you poorly."

"Treated you poorly?" Cullen said incredulously. "You make it sound like he mildly inconvenienced you."

"By Imperium standards, my anger at my father is completely unjustified," Dorian said mildly.

Cullen frowned. "How could it possibly be unjustified?"

"Because he did it for a reason they would understand," Dorian explained. "For the purpose of increasing the power of his House. That's how I was trained, you see. It wasn't about what I wanted, or needed. Nothing mattered about me save for what I could do to strengthen House Pavus in the Magisterium. To do that, I had to be powerful in magic, lauded for my skill in it, and marry the woman my father-well, my parents, really-chose for me to finalize an alliance between our House and hers. Oh, and becoming Archon would have been nice, of course, but I quickly proved unsuitable for that. I had the magic, but not the willingness to do as I was told. It wasn't my interest in men that was the problem, or at least, that could have been shuffled to the side in such a way that it wouldn't pose a problem. The problem was that I refused, either to hide who I was, or to follow my father's plan for me. In his mind, I betrayed him. And not just him, but every member of House Pavus up to the fiftieth generation."

Cullen stared at Dorian for a few moments, trying to wrap his head around such an alien concept. "Surely you're not serious?"

"Oh, I'm completely serious," Dorian told him. "Breeding for magic is part and parcel of being a power in the Imperium. I was the end result of an extended breeding program that encompassed more than two Ages, as was the woman selected to be my fiancee. If I could not be the next Archon, perhaps our child would. The negotiations between Houses for such marriages can be formidable, particularly if both children are the only scions of their lines. More than one child is necessary, in that case, and which child will be designated for which House? My mother had siblings, or so would I have, despite my parents' marked distaste towards being alone in a dark room together. And that's when you're only dealing with children born of your own body. We also have an extensive system in place for adopting heirs, as many in the Magisterium thought Alexius should have done when Felix proved to have little ability in magic. Becoming Archon, rising to the pinnacle of power in the Magisterium - those are the ultimate goals of the nobility in Minrathous, or so that is how I was raised."

After blinking a few times, Cullen finally shook his head. "I cannot imagine such a soulless place."

"Oh, not everyone has a staff up their ass," Dorian conceded. "It's one reason why I so adored Alexius, in fact. He loved his wife-married her for love, though she wasn't from some ancient, magically gifted line. He loved Felix, a man with barely enough magic to light a candle, and was willing to go to any lengths to protect them both, even to the detriment of the entire world. I cannot agree with his methods, but I admire his passion a great deal. Of course, it did him little good in the end. I can only hope that the Venatori killed him quickly." A melancholy expression came to his face. "I envied Felix so very much, to have the unconditional love of his father. I wanted that for myself, you see. But my father had other plans."

Wishing that he could rise from his cot and do something to wipe that expression from Dorian's face, Cullen frowned. "Not anymore, surely. Not after what he did to you."

Dorian's gaze grew distant. "Sometimes I wonder if that little boy inside will ever stop seeking his father's approval," he said quietly. "The oldest habits can be the hardest to break."

Frustrated by his inability to offer much in the way of comfort, Cullen set his wine down and took Dorian's hand with his own. "He's not worth it, Inquisitor," he said firmly. "It sounds like we need to find you some new habits, ones where you can accept that you are loved by others now and don't need him anymore."

A curl of Dorian's mustache rose slowly as he met Cullen's gaze. "Do you number amongst that limited multitude of others, Commander?" he asked quietly.

"You know I do," Cullen insisted. "Maker, Dorian, if you don't know how much I value our friendship by now, then… then…" He sighed, unable to articulate it as elegantly as he'd hoped. "Well, then Mailani needs to haunt your dreams some more so that she can slap some sense through your thick skull."

As he'd hoped, the silliness of the suggestion made Dorian's half smile turn into a soft laugh. "She would, wouldn't she? Just to prove her point." Dorian shook his head with a smile on his face before draining his goblet. "But I should leave you to your sleep," Dorian told him as he sent the empty cup to the table with a touch of magic. "After all, you have a lot of vigorous sitting on your ass tomorrow. I'd hate to tire you too much."

"How considerate of you," Cullen said dryly. Lying back down on the cot, he adjusted himself as best as he could, grunting in effort as his pillow eluded his grasp.

"Allow me," Dorian said, leaning over to adjust the recalcitrant pillow with ease.

Cullen simply lay silently and let Dorian do his work, licking his lips as the scent which always seemed to linger around Dorian suddenly filled his nostrils. An odd flutter in his stomach arose without warning, and he wasn't quite ready to process what the sensation actually meant. When Dorian stepped back and gave him a questioning look, Cullen nodded quickly. "Yes, that's perfect. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," Dorian said softly. "And the light?" At Cullen's nod, he moved to the lamp and blew it out, leaving only the torches outside to give any sort of illumination through the tent. "There." His shadow moved around the tent for a few moments, the slosh of the wine bottle telling Cullen what he was doing as the man retrieved it, then moved to the tent flap. He paused and looked back, the light of a torch hitting his face just enough to highlight the perfection of his profile. "Good night, Commander. I will see you tomorrow."

For a moment Cullen closed his eyes, trying to see a night of rest and failing. Perhaps it was the empty darkness behind his lids, or the stark lack of warmth where Dorian's body had pressed against his mere moments before. In his state of mind, it might even have been the chasm which seemed to yawn between them every time Dorian used the word Commander rather than his name. Regardless, Cullen suddenly gasped as his eyes opened wide. "Dorian!"

Brows pinching in concern, Dorian returned to his side immediately. "Yes? I haven't left yet."

"I-Please stay." Cullen reached out blindly to seize Dorian's hand, squeezing it tight. "I need someone to stay, to-" His voice trailed off as the terror which had plagued him each night since returning from the Fade arose within once more.

Dorian's expression grew sympathetic. "To be with you in the darkness?" he murmured. "To be a light when the Fade threatens to take it all away? Cullen…" He raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Cullen's white knuckles. "You need not even ask. I am here for you."

A tension released deep inside, leaving Cullen limp in the blankets. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm not strong enough-"

"Now, now," Dorian said quickly, cutting him off. "You were strong enough to bear the full attention of a demon powerful enough to garner the attention of the man who started the Blights. You were strong enough to think through that pain and that fear to guide me to the right solution for dealing with it. And you're strong enough to admit that you cannot face the fear alone. Bravery does not always involve hitting something with a stick, after all. Sometimes it is far braver to stretch out a hand than to thrust with a sword." Pulling up the chair next to the bed, Dorian settled into it and leaned forward until his elbows could rest on the bed, all without releasing Cullen. "I would be a poor friend indeed were I to leave you to deal with such things alone."

"Thank you," Cullen breathed. He'd always slept better when Mailani had been with him, after all. Why Dorian's presence felt equally calming was a consideration to tackle for another day, but for now, the warmth of the hands around his own and the knowledge that he wasn't alone were enough. His eyelids sagged shut as his breathing evened out, and his heartbeat slowed from a rapid jitter to something slow and deep.

He was on the brink of sleep when he felt a hand settle on his cheek, and something equally warm but much softer press against his forehead with a little tickle of hair mixed in, and a hushed whisper filled with an intense emotion which resonated deep within reached his ears. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Cullen's lips curved ever so slightly into a tremulous smile, even as his consciousness fled. It was a promise he could trust, and that was the most precious gift ever offered to him.

Perhaps someday he could return the favor.

The next few days of their journey to Skyhold proved challenging on several different fronts, in ways Cullen hadn't anticipated. He'd expected to be frustrated and in pain, given what he knew of his own limitations and impatience when recovering from injury. Dorian's presence, though a welcome gift, wasn't enough to fend off the night terrors completely. Even if Amell couldn't invade his dreams, the effects of the Nightmare and his torture lingered, rendering Cullen poorly rested and uneasy in his own mind.

The healers did what they could, of course, and each day his body grew stronger as they plied his injuries to the fullest extent of their abilities. Yet that didn't prevent cold sweats every time a loud sound reached his ears, or the pounding of his heart every time he nodded off and faced one of a variety of horrors which haunted the darkness behind his eyelids. The demons which haunted him need not come from the Fade to be effective, and he knew it.

Yet there proved to be one particular demon far worse than any night terror or echo of torture. It began as a small whisper, a faint keening which irritated without truly presenting a problem. At first the sensation refused to register with him, and he simply assumed the dull aching headaches and shaking hands derived from his weakened condition and restless nights. It wasn't until Ser Barris joined him in the carriage for a review of the role of the Templars in the Inquisition's activities that the truth hit him.

Or rather, hit his nose.

Barris was a Templar through and through, built on a bedrock of faith and care for his task to protect the world from the ravages of magic gone wrong. He and Cullen shared quite a bit in common, up to and including being the servant of a corrupted leader, and had fallen into an easy camaraderie with each other. The Templar reminded Cullen of the nobility he'd originally felt in his calling. And yet, closed up in that tiny space with the Templar as they settled in for a serious discussion, a tickle set in at the back of Cullen's nose. Quickly he pinched it to keep a sneeze in, but the very familiar act finally alerted him to the danger.

And, in that moment, he wasn't sitting in a carriage slowly making its way out of the Western Approach. Instead, he was

dangling helplessly in the grasp of a monstrosity too great for the mortal mind to comprehend, struggling against its tight, hard grip. Something slippery and drenched with lyrium was pressed against his lips, though he twisted his head in a vain attempt to escape it. Cullen shuddered as the slow tingle of its seductive song spread through him, dismayed by how wonderful he felt in that moment, and fought not to reach for the source when it pulled itself away.

"No," he mumbled as he felt the familiar ache of despair grip his heart. "Never again. I… I promised." He'd made that oath to Cassandra, to Mailani, and yet now… now he simply wanted more, regardless of the strength of his oaths, and the realization hurt him bone-deep.

"Do you find your fear to be more than you expected, more than you can endure?" the Nightmare demon taunted him. "I have found your fear, and I will break you with it. I will make you beg for mercy, and then I will make you beg for more."

And when Cullen did finally beg, sobbing with the desperation of his need, the Nightmare's ghastly laughter echoed in the Fade around them, filling Cullen's ears with the dark, raspy chuckle of fear itself.

"Commander?"

Cullen blinked a few times, pulling himself from the horror of the memory and back into the sunlit, warm interior of the carriage as it bounced over the old road left by pilgrims of the Chantry ages past. For a moment he stared blankly ahead, then turned to the man seated across from him. Barris. Yes, it was Ser Barris, Knight-Captain-and, if Cullen's recommendation was followed, soon-to-be Knight-Commander-of what remained of the Templars, and a friend. This was real, and not a nightmare or a punishment. Yes.

This was real.

"Is everything all right, Commander?" Barris asked, leaning forward with a furrowed brow. "Shall I fetch the healers?"

"That's not necessary, Ser Barris," Cullen hastily assured him, as much for his own sake as for the Templar's. Maker. I should have known. "Just a bit too much a bounce for my leg, that's all."

Face softening, Barris nodded in sympathy. "I daresay we've all been on the wrong end of a practice thrust gone wrong or an unexpected kick from a bronto."

"Oh, definitely-" Cullen paused, his distracted mind quickly returning to the conversation at hand and away from his burgeoning panic. Seizing on the distraction, he asked, "Wait. A bronto?"

"Now there's a tale," Barris said with a grin. "One of the first apostates I had to track down, in fact. We'd gotten reports of a mage setting fields on fire and using the distraction to rob farmers' houses. As a newly minted Templar, I was selected to go with the patrol to investigate." From there, Barris launched into an entertaining and highly dubious story about tracing the steps of an apostate who had found a home with the most unlikely of allies: a herd of feral brontos.

Cullen forced his eyes to stay on Barris' lips, and not to let his gaze wander down. He forced his lips to remain pressed shut as he made appropriate noncommittal noises in reaction to the story, all the better to keep himself from asking that one burning question for which he would never forgive himself: do you have any lyrium with you? Instead, he let himself be pulled into the story, welcoming anything which would distract him from both the memory and its implications. Only after Barris left him to attend to his other duties did Cullen turn to stare sightlessly out of the window and contemplate this final, most insidious blow from the Nightmare demon.

The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. The irritation, the headaches, the dry mouth, the shakes-all easy to blame on his injuries, and yet all too insidiously familiar. Tempting as it was to blame all his problems on the injuries and ignore the dragon in the room, he knew he had to take the bronto by the horns and face facts: whatever else the Nightmare demon had done to him, it had re-awoken his body's hunger for lyrium. Even now, the melody danced in the back of his mind as the keening shifted into the siren song he remembered all too well. His eyes closed as he took a deep breath to steady himself, bringing to mind his mantra of old.

I won't let the demon win.

Those six words had often stood out in the forefront of his mind in times past, whether he'd woken sweat-drenched from nightmares or fought the deep-seated ache of need for that precious blue liquid. It didn't matter whether the demon was from the Fade or within his own mind-he would not let them win.

Ever.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage as his mind settled into a series of mental exercises developed specifically to distract his mind from his desires. The enemy was in his sights, and he wouldn't let himself be taken by surprise again. Hopefully, that would be sufficient.

Unfortunately, it seemed that acknowledgement of the problem led to a heightened awareness of lyrium. He smelled it on the breath of the Templars with whom he consulted, and the hands of the healers as they worked on his injuries after he'd settled in for the night. When Dorian arrived for his nightly chess match before they left, Cullen braced for the worst, assuming that a faint miasma would linger around the mage as it had around the mages in the Circles.

"You're early," Cullen noted.

"I am indeed," Dorian told him with a brilliant smile as he started to arrange the chess pieces for what had become their nightly ritual. "I wanted to make sure to get here while the healers were still present so that I could convey my most ardent thanks for their tireless efforts."

"We're not about to let the Commander go untended, Inquisitor," the healer scolded him without looking up from her task of holding Cullen's leg in place while his bandage dried into stiffness.

Dorian grinned widely. "No, but I know that he can be a bit of a bear sometimes, possibly because of that rug around his shoulders."

"It's not a rug," Cullen growled, then blinked when the healer laughed. "Maker. I walked right into that one."

"There, you see? Utterly incorrigible," Dorian said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, he's been quite the gentlemen, the poor love." The healer gave Cullen a pat on the thigh. "Maybe a bit stubborn about eating his dinner, but quite polite to me and the gels. And Lady Vivienne speaks quite highly of him."

Cullen's brows rose a bit, surprised by the last comment. "She does?"

The healer chuckled and shook her head. "In her own way." Without another word on the subject, she patted the stiffened bandage around Cullen's knee and nodded in satisfaction. "There we are. Ready for a night of healing." Taking the small basket of potions they always brought with them, she placed it next to Cullen's cot. "And if you awaken in the middle of the night, don't be stubborn. There's nothing wrong with a bit of red relief, especially if it means you won't spasm in the middle of the night again."

"What's this?" Dorian asked, obviously surprised by this bit of news.

"I promise to drink a potion if I need it," Cullen said hastily, hoping to head off Dorian's curiosity quickly. "And thank you. You've a gentle touch, and it is much appreciated."

"Well, it's the closest I'll get to a handsome young bantam like you at this time of my life," the woman told him with a slow wink.

Cullen felt his ears darken as the younger healer hid a laugh behind her hand. "Ah... thank you. I think."

"And I thank you as well," Dorian said with a broad grin. "Red does wonders for his complexion, doesn't it?"

"That's enough," Cullen grated.

"And we're back to the bear," Dorian said with another extravagant sigh.

The woman smiled as she stood and gestured the younger healer to follow her. "I'll leave you to your game, Inquisitor," she told Dorian with a little curtsy.

"Ah, but I would be remiss if I didn't offer the formal thanks I intended." Dorian reached down and picked up a bottle of wine. "It's not much, but I do hope you have a relaxing evening. You and all the healers. The Inquisition is grateful."

With a smile, the woman graciously accepted the wine. "Thank you, Inquisitor."

Dorian's face grew a bit more serious as he added, "I know that this was not an easy journey for you," he said softly. "There were numerous wounded after Adamant, enough to keep you busy all the whole way back to Skyhold. I just wanted to make sure you know that we do notice, and we are grateful."

"Thank you, Inquisitor," the woman said, then reached up and patted Dorian's cheek. "We know, though it is nice to hear it. Now play your game and get the Commander to relax."

"A tall order, but I shall do my best," Dorian assured her with a grin, then gave her and the younger healer a little bow. "Do enjoy your evening, fortified by a bit of wine. The very best kind of evening, some days."

The healer gave a little sigh. "A sadly true statement, Inquisitor." With a last wan smile to Dorian, she left the tent, the younger healer in tow.

"They truly have worked miracles," Dorian said softly. When he turned around, Cullen saw the line on his forehead that he'd come to know meant concern. "You didn't have to see you, when we first found you in the Fade. When I saw the blood, I…" His voice trailed away as he closed his eyes, knitting his brows together.

"You feared the worst?" Cullen asked.

Dorian seemed to struggle with the words for a minute, then moved to sit next to Cullen to take one hand between his own. "I feared it would be like Mailani and the cave all over again," he whispered, still not looking directly at Cullen.

That made Cullen swallow harshly as a shiver ran down his spine. He still remembered finding Mailani's body in the rubble of the cave-in, remembered how small and twisted she had seemed amidst the destruction around her. But he hadn't seen the blood when it was fresh, or her struggles to breathe, or her life slipping away. Only Dorian had, and he knew now that Dorian had loved Mailani as fiercely as Cullen had, though in a very different way. Clearing his throat, he pulled his hand away so he could reach up to lift Dorian's chin, forcing eye contact. "I'm still here," he said firmly. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

That elicited a snort from Dorian, cracking the tension a bit. "Easily, he says, as if a romp in the Fade domain of a powerful demon is easy . Either you think too highly of yourself, or too lowly of the demon."

"Or maybe," Cullen said with a crooked grin, "I think just right of the man who I knew would come for me."

Dorian's eyes suddenly widened, and his lips spread into a grin. As it slowly dawned on Cullen that perhaps he could have made a better choice of words, Dorian pressed his hand to his chest and said in a scandalized tone, "Commander!"

"Yes, yes," Cullen snapped, quite aware that his ears were burning red. "You know what I meant. Bring the board over here."

"I do, more's the pity," Dorian said with a laugh as he turned to retrieve the game-board. "All right, let's see who comes out on top tonight."

Determined not to let Dorian think he was unable to meet the challenge of mistaken words, Cullen quickly seized the opportunity to turn the teasing right back on him. "I think we both know who would be in what position, but honestly I don't think I have enough energy for that and a game of chess, so bring the board over here so we can start."

Dorian stared at him for a moment, eyebrows rising almost to his hairline. "Are you sassing me, Commander?"

"Merely stating the facts," Cullen replied with a decided smirk. Maker, but it felt good to relax and not care about his injuries or his fears. He grinned as Dorian threw back his head and laughed, waiting for the man to take a deep breath before adding, "I notice you didn't disagree with my assessment."

"I'm afraid I would need a hands-on experience before I could issue a position of my own on the matter," Dorian sallied back with a grin, then tilted his head as he looked Cullen up and down where he lay. "Care to volunteer?"

For a breath or two, Cullen was unsure whether or not Dorian was joking. And, in the next breath or two, he was unsure whether or not he wanted Dorian to be joking. Before he could work through either his thoughts or the surprising surge of heat that shot from head to toe, however, the entrance to his tent burst open to allow Bull's horned head to poke through.

"Good news, boss," Bull declared when both men turned to look at him. "A patrol sighted a dragon. A big one! Oh, and a rift. A big one!"

Dorian groaned and buried his face in his hands. "That isn't exactly good news, Bull."

"Yeah, you're right," Bull admitted, then grinned broadly. "It's fantastic news!"

"Bull..." With a shake of his head, Dorian rose to his feet and set the chess board aside. "And I suppose you've already rounded up a competent complement of companions for the battle?"

"I might have told Solas and Varric to get ready while I found you. Figured you'd be here if you weren't in your tent." He nodded to Cullen. "Cullen."

"Bull," Cullen nodded back to him, uncertain how he felt about Bull's assumption that Dorian would be in this tent. Logically, it made sense considering how much time Dorian had spent with Cullen as he'd recuperated following his capture at Adamant. Cullen simply hadn't registered that of course that time spent together would be noticed and remembered, much as his time with Mailani had been. Of course, this was different than that.

Mostly.

That treacherous word slipped through his mind even as Dorian shooed Bull out of the tent and turned back to Cullen. "My apologies for the uncouth interruption," he said with a sigh. "We shall have to continue our game at a later date. I dare say that once I venture forth, I will find several more loose ends to tie up. Pity."

"I suspect you are right about that," Cullen said, deliberately keeping his voice light despite the stab of disappointment-an all too familiar feeling, though he'd never felt it about Dorian before, at least, not with this strength. "I'd give you some sort of advice for fighting the dragon, but I'm not sure Bull would heed it anyway."

Dorian snorted and rolled his eyes. "The beast. Still, he is good at it, even if for all the wrong reasons. As long as he doesn't keep shouting that phrase over and over again, I can usually handle his enthusiasm in the fight."

Cullen's eyebrow rose. "What phrase?"

"Oh, Maker. Do you really want to know?" Dorian's lips pursed together in distaste. "It's in that Qun gibberish, of course. I couldn't possibly repeat it, and the meaning is even worse. You should probably just trust me on this one, unless you want to know a little too much about the buffoon's amorous relationship with his hand."

"With his-" Cullen puzzled through the words for a moment or two, then laughed aloud as they fell into place in his mind. "That certainly sounds like him. He'd have fit right in with my mates back in the barracks during training."

"Oh, there you go, planting seeds in my head of stories to ask about later," Dorian teased him. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of tales of Templar recruits and their passionate pursuit of romance with their hands. Do regale me with them upon my return, hmm?"

With a laugh, Cullen waved Dorian away. "You should get going. Bull doesn't like to be kept waiting, remember? Not when a dragon fight is in the offing."

"Ah, that is true." He gave Cullen a florid bow. "Do take care, Commander. I would be absolutely devastated if something devastating happened to you."

"I'll take that under advisement," Cullen said with a faint smile. "And I do hope you know the feeling is mutual."

Dorian gave Cullen a wink as he rose from his bow. "Naturally. I do have a tender hide, after all, and it would be a shame if something were to happen to it. Until later, Commander."

As Dorian swept out of the tent, Cullen let his body sag into the cot. A welter of emotions swept over him as he wrestled with the odd shifts and turns he'd felt in the past few moments. Out of all of them, his mind honed in on one in particular, the one which he seemingly could not stop pondering.

A hands-on experience... A warmth trickled down his spine, leaving a tangle of tingling in its wake. What had Dorian meant by that? Was it simply another teasing moment, or a serious offer? He'd gotten so used to Dorian's sly remarks that it was difficult to tell the difference between the two, and Dorian had been called away before Cullen could do more than wonder.

A frown came to his face, contemplating the danger Dorian would face-not just in hunting the high dragon, but after. True, he'd gone out and closed rifts and faced dragons before, but that had been... different. Before, he'd been the man trying to fulfill Mailani's tasks, a fellow soldier in the Inquisition with a rather unique skillset. Now, he was Inquisitor, with all the duties and dangers associated with that.

More than that, though, Cullen realized that the same fears and worries he'd felt about Mailani in her travels around Thedas had awoken again, this time on behalf of Dorian. They'd learned that Mailani had met her fate not due to chance, but to deliberate action. And they still had no idea where to find Amell, or what his next move might be.

Suddenly Dorian's travels seemed far more risky, and Cullen found something entirely new to worry about when it came to his Inquisitor.

As sleep dragged him inexorably into its grasp, Cullen struggled against it, knowing that the fear and doubt now plaguing him would simply invite the demons of his sleep that much more quickly. Without the benefit of a companion to keep him alert, however, the potion given to him by the healers did its work, and he fell into slumber.

And there, the nightmares awaited him.

He burst from a slumber filled with flame and fury, sitting bolt upright with a stifled cry. A moment later he toppled from the cot with a groan of agony as his healing wrist failed to support the sudden pressure. He fell with a heavy thump, lying on the ground for a moment as he tried to remind himself that the nightmare was not real. That he was in his own tent surrounded by Inquisition troops. That he was safe. That the vivid image of demons delicately pulling his skin off inch by inch while the Nightmare mocked his pain was not real, and he was safe.

As his breath recovered and he managed to gather enough awareness to maneuver himself, slowly and painfully, back onto his cot, he allowed himself the small solace of acknowledging the saving grace of these nightmares: their familiarity. Just as with the nightmares following the Blight, these nightmares remained only elaborations of the tortures he'd suffered under the Nightmare. No hand guided them beyond his own memories, not even that of a somniari, just as Dorian and Solas had promised. His nights, though horrific, remained his own.

"Maker and his blessed Andraste will it to remain that way," he breathed as he sagged into his cot and closed his eyes.

After a moment or two, however, he realized that simply falling back asleep was not in the cards. The fall from the cot had awoken a throbbing pain in both wrist and knee, and his mind still spun around the fading remnants of his dream. With a sigh, he reached down to the little basket the healers had left and grabbed a bottle. "Just a red a day keeps the healer away," he muttered, even though the old Templar mantra wasn't really true for him at this moment. Still, if the potion could help him rest until the healers came in the morning, so much the better.

Popping the cork out of the bottle with an experienced flick of his thumbnail, he raised the bottle to his lips and poured the contents into his mouth with one swift motion. It was only after the bottle had emptied and the liquid coated his tongue and throat that he realized the error of his ways.

Lyrium.

The smell overwhelmed his nostrils even as the liquid burned down the back of his throat. Careless of the pain the movements caused, he swiftly turned on his side and tried to bring the damned stuff back up, even going so far as to jam his fingers down his throat. No amount of gagging and choking helped however, though his efforts contorted his body enough that the bottle shattered in his other hand. Eventually he collapsed back onto the cot, gasping and wheezing as the effects of the lyrium coursed through his body.

As the blood dripped from his lacerated palm, washing the lyrium away before falling to the ground to be absorbed by the dirt, he stared up at the ceiling of the tent. The melody of the lyrium swept over him and through him, filling his senses with its seductive siren song. In an odd way, it did help with the pain, simply by putting it at a distance and making it a curiosity more than a concern. All Cullen cared about was the song, even as, somewhere deep inside, another Cullen was beating against the walls of his mind and raging.

He tried to ignore that Cullen, though. For now, there was only the song. Time seemed to slow, and Cullen found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open at all.

By the time a rustle came from his tent flap, Cullen could barely open his eyes to a slit. It was enough to see someone shrouded in a hooded cloak enter the tent, a familiar basket tucked under their arm. They moved to the side of Cullen's cot, and did something that caused a great deal of discordant clinking which marred the beauty of the lyrium's song. Then the figure slipped out of the tent, fading into the darkness and leaving Cullen alone once more.

Alone with the beauty and the madness of the song.

"Maker help me," he breathed, though he wasn't quite sure why. It simply seemed an appropriate time to say it.