In the end, Cullen told no one.

The shame of the deception weighed on him, adding to the feeling of isolation hovering around him like a cloud. Trapped in a carriage, bereft of Dorian's companionship, and now bearing the burden of a self-imposed secret, Cullen sat listlessly and stared out the window, seeing and feeling nothing as the carriage advanced from the outer edges of the Western Approach and passed into the foothills of the Frostbacks.

When the door swung open, he jumped slightly, then winced as the surge of adrenaline and blood from the surprise spiked the pain in his head. Ser Barris paused in the act of pulling himself into the carriage, a precarious position since they were still in motion. "Forgive me, Commander. Is this a poor time?"

"What? No, no," Cullen assured him hastily. He'd forgotten that he'd arranged a meeting with Barris, and felt embarrassed about that as well. "I simply lost track of time. Sit, please."

Barris nodded amiably as he settled into the cushioned seat. "I'm not sure how one can keep track of time properly in this place," he noted with a chuckle. "My Templars are glad to finally be leaving the desert behind them, however. Sand and armor are not a good mix."

The comment made Cullen smile. "Oh, Maker, yes. In Kirkwall we had some stretches of beach where the sand was so deep that a single misstep could be a nightmare. Getting the stuff out of your joints and tabard alone was bad enough, but then you'd end up shaking it out of your gambeson for months after."

"Exactly!" Barris laughed, and Cullen fought to keep a pained look from his face as the sound echoed in the tiny confines in his carriage. Normally he would have enjoyed the Templar's easy-going nature, but at the moment, it grated. "We serve the Inquisition, but perhaps you could arrange it so our next mission involves less desert and more mountain."

"Are you saying your favorite task thus far was closing the Breach?" Cullen countered.

Barris shuddered. "Not as such, no. Unless you can figure out a way to keep dragons away from the battle theater."

"Good point. We should leave the dragons to Bull," Cullen said, then faltered as the words reminded him not only that Dorian was not here , but was also in decided danger as well. The thought of Dorian fighting a slavering beast the size of a trebuchet made him wince and look out the window once more.

"Are you all right, Commander?" Barris asked, the concern clear in his voice.

Waving his hand in a vague gesture, Cullen forced his gaze back to his visitor. "I woke up with a headache, that's all. It will pass."

The Templar glanced down at the basket of bottles between Cullen's feet. "And the healing potions aren't helping?"

"Those are there in case my pain flares up in my knee and wrist," Cullen explained. He'd checked each and every potion himself to make sure they were red this time, though half of him only did it to see if another lyrium potion had been slipped in by mistake-an impulse of which he was not proud. "I did try a sip or two, but it didn't touch the headache." He knew why, of course, but dared not speak the reason. "Perhaps the cooler air in the mountains will help."

Barris grunted in acknowledgment. "The desert certainly does no favors for headaches. After the battle, we had to beg for additional lyrium from the healers to help with the damned things."

Cullen stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge the whether the comment was deliberate or happenstance. Finally something clicked together in his mind, and he relaxed as he realized that the statement was simply coincidence. "You mean post-battle exhaustion."

"Exactly. We'd over-extended our talents-not a surprise, given the intensity of the battle-and the desert was making it even harder for us to recover." Barris' eyes narrowed slightly as he examined Cullen. "With all due respect, Commander, are you sure that's not your problem? I heard you were in the thick of things in the Fade, and your injuries indicate a battle." Before Cullen could respond, Barris dug into the small carrying pouch at his waist. "Here. Have some of this and see if it helps." Withdrawing a small vial filled with something of an achingly familiar blue hue, he held it out to Cullen. "It can't hurt, at least, you being a former Templar and all."

And there it was: temptation incarnate, offered with the best of intentions. The battle which raged within Cullen proved fierce but, ultimately, brief. His hand shook as he reached out and claimed the vial slowly, cradling it for a moment before he offered a smile to Barris. "You have my thanks."

"We are all in this together, Commander," Barris told him. "We must support each other to ensure we achieve victory."

"Yes. Victory." Cullen contemplated the vial in his hand for a moment, then loosened the cork out with a practiced flick of his thumbnail. Somehow he managed not to down the entire vial with one swallow, but instead took a moderate amount, then pushed the cork back in.

"I know it won't be as effective as a full draught, but it should at least soften the headache." Barris watched him closely for a moment, then smiled. "There. Your color is returning already."

"Indeed." The headache had, in fact, already dimmed. Unfortunately, the song of the lyrium rose in its place, seductive and soothing. He strove not to fall into its beauty, and yet... "I do feel better. Thank you."

"I am glad to help, Commander. I only wish I had thought of it sooner. I know you've not had an easy time since Adamant." He glanced out the window. "We're not that far from Skyhold now. Maybe a day or two away now, if I'm any judge."

Cullen gave a noncommittal response, staring out the window as the sense of dread returned. How could he return to his duties, regardless of his health, after succumbing so easily to his base desires? How could he look Cassandra in the eye-or worse, Dorian-knowing he'd failed himself, and the Inquisition, so badly? When Barris said his name, he started and turned to face him. "My apologies, Ser Barris-" he began, but Barris waved the words away with a sympathetic smile.

"I understand, Commander. My report, thankfully, is mostly perfunctory." He pulled a roll of paper from his pouch and leaned forward to set it on the seat next to Cullen. "We can discuss it tomorrow morning, at any rate. Most of it is simply the long-term projection of our field readiness based on the latest healer reports."

"Tomorrow, then," Cullen agreed hastily. The song kept swelling in his mind, and, much as he hated to admit it even to himself, he wanted to lose himself in it for a while.

With a small, modified salute, Barris said, "Until then, Commander." A moment later, he was gone, leaving Cullen alone once more.

Cullen had enough awareness to shove the partially consumed bottle into his pocket before he let his head fall back and closed his eyes. The song immediately filled his awareness, calming and soothing as it slowly eased away his concerns. After a while, the future didn't matter anymore.

Only the song mattered.

Your lips move slowly over the body of the man beneath you, tracing each curve of muscle and line of tendon with a diligence normally saved for the battlefield. The dusky skin radiates the heat of passion, and you feel each groan and gasp echo down the length of your spine to pool in the hardness between your legs. Fingers sink into your hair and curl tightly as words in both Trade and Tevinter urge you to continue downwards. Though that is ultimately your intent, you take your time doing so, teasing him with an alternating barrage of kisses and soft bites which nevertheless still move you towards your intended target. You feel short, springy hair tickle your chin and smile, kissing the start of the trail that will lead to the treasure, and pause to glance up.

Flushed cheeks and parted lips make for quite the sight beneath a head of tousled hair, and you lick your lips as you hear the man's silent plea as if he'd spoken it: More.

All too happy to continue, you lower your face again and close your eyes, following the soft curls of the trail downward, ever downward, until you feel a heated shaft on your cheek. Slowly you kiss and lick your way along his length, then pull the tip into your mouth. You smile as another moan echoes in the chamber, and hum for a moment before pulling your lips off at a teasingly slow pace. "More?" you ask in a husky voice as you look up again.

And freeze.

"You always were good at this part," Amell tells you, even as the fingers in your hair tighten to keep you in place. Amell's eyes glow red, stealing the warmth from the room and replacing it with a sinister chill. "A little out of practice, perhaps, but I'm sure you'll remember how to please me properly with a few more tries. Now get to it, Rutherford."

You try to shove yourself away, but Amell seems to have gained superhuman strength. Clamping your lips tightly together, you continue to struggle against the hold on you with all your might. In the next moment, hands grab your shoulders and pull you roughly into a kneeling position, then hold you there. What is happening?

"Oh, come now, Rutherford," Amell whispers into your ear. You try to flinch away, but fail to budge so much as an inch. "You have something I want, in your talented tongue. And I have something you want."

"You have nothing I want," you grate, recalling all too well what you'd endured when last you had begged Amell for aid.

A dark chuckle echoes in your ears and mind. "Oh, you can deny it all you want, Rutherford. But I have seen your dreams. I have tasted your desires. And I know what you crave as you try to force yourself to settle for a poor substitute." Something cold touches your lips, and you struggle to twist away as a terrifyingly familiar scent fills your nostrils: lyrium, but far, far more dangerous than what you've used before. "I have all you need waiting for you."

You shake as the vial against your lips tilts, coating your lips with a crackly, gritty substance. You refuse to speak out of fear of letting it into your mouth, so you simply shake your head vigorously.

"Never, hmm?" Amell's hand suddenly locks onto your jaw and force your head back as fingers dig deep. "Then I will make you succumb to your desires."

It takes every ounce of strength to keep your jaw clenched against the pressure trying to pry it open, and in the struggle, you open your eyes. Jorath hovers above you, his half-burnt face even more horrific than you remember, seeming to almost melt off his skull as the red eyes gleam. Trying not to let the man mesmerize you as you've seen happen to others, you force your gaze down to look at the vial pressed to your lips, and the tempting yet damning red liquid within.

The scent mixes with the sight of it, and suddenly you feel a longing surge within you, just as Amell's fingers find the end of your ability to clench your mouth shut.

As the red lyrium pours over your tongue, you hear Amell croon, "There we are, Rutherford. Soon you will be mine, my little pet."

And that-that was all you need. That triumph of possession spoken aloud, something to galvanize you with fear and anger both. With a great shout, you shove Amell away, using the rage to unleash a smite similar to the one you'd used on the Nightmare demon. "Never!" you roar, then reach for the waking world and pull with all your might, just as Dorian had taught you.

In the next moment, Cullen found himself hunched over tightly, breaths ringing harshly in the compact space of the carriage. Pressing a hand to his pounding heart, he reached up and explored his mouth, relaxing only when he found it dry as a bone. Whatever the nature of his nightmares, at least they could not carry over their terror from the Fade.

Yet.

The word ghosted through his mind, leaving a trail of terror in its wake. Amell was a somniari, after all. it seemed that he had found a way to get around the wards Dorian and Solas had placed around his dreams-who was to say what else the man was capable of?

The urge to flee struck him like a shield to the head. Everything was wrong, all at once: the carriage window too tiny, the air in the cramped confines too thick, and the roof too low. His body began to shake, and he clutched his head in his hands as the world darkened around him. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, you won't have me!"

And, just like that, he snapped. He'd endured the limited space of the carriage for days on end already. Realistically, he knew that it wasn't that long-certainly nowhere near as long as he'd been on the ships which had taken him to and from Kirkwall, and the tiny, windowless cabin he'd suffered in them. But the dreams, combined with his fear and his memories, spurred him onward. Without thought, he lashed out with his uninjured leg, kicking the door open so that he could push himself out. The pain of landing on all fours, considering the still tender condition of his knee and wrist, almost knocked him out, but it was nothing to the relief that flooded him as he felt fresh air on his face.

He heard a few cries of surprise, but they echoed in his ears as if he were in a canyon. At least now, if he had to, he could escape, and that was all that mattered.

How long he remained on the ground, he didn't know. Long enough for his heart to slow, and the death grip his fingers had in the dirt to relax. He seemed to float in a little world of his own, uncaring of the world around him, but at least he wasn't in his nightmares.

When the hand landed on his shoulder, he instinctively jerked away, but the hand followed, keeping its hold firm. The echoing in his ears finally resolved into a word- Cullen- and a voice. After the word repeated enough times, he slowly opened his eyes and looked up into a familiar pair of warm brown eyes.

"Cassandra," he gasped.

"Cullen," she breathed, the relief evident in her face. "Can you rise?"

He swallowed, keeping his gaze locked on her face. "I think so."

She nodded and held out her hands to him. "Then let's get you up."

His gaze transferred to her hands, and he swallowed again, then reached out one shaking hand and placed it in hers.

"Good, Cullen," she said in a soft voice. "Now the other hand."

He nodded, then raised the hand that hurt and settled it into her own.

"Good," she repeated. "Keep your eyes on my face now. Let me do the work."

Slowly, in fits and starts, she helped him to his feet, giving him the time he needed to adjust for his still healing knee. By the time he was on his feet, she'd managed to work her arm around his body, supporting him firmly with her quiet, unyielding brand of strength. Only once he was fully upright did he dare to look around.

He blinked when he saw the position of the sun, and frowned. "How long-"

"Don't worry about that, Cullen," Cassandra urged. "Let's get you moving."

"I'm not going back to the carriage," he declared. "Never again."

"I know, Cullen," she told him. "I had a mount prepared for you."

At those words, a tightly held coil of tension deep within relaxed all at once, and he sagged in her arms. "Thank you," he whispered.

She gave a small sigh. "I should have done so earlier, but I admit I'd forgotten about your aversion to enclosed spaces until I saw you- Until now. I am sorry. I should have made other arrangements as soon as I saw the carriage."

"No, Cassandra," Cullen told her, trying to sound firm but wondering what she had been about to say. "I did need it. Or at least my knee did."

"Perhaps. But I spoke with Vivienne, and with Dennet's assistant, and we found a mount which meets all our requirements." Her hand, still resting on his side, gave him a little squeeze. "I had all your belongings from the carriage put into your saddlebags already. Let's go, now. One step at a time."

As they moved along, step by slow step, he glanced down at Cassandra a few times until he could no longer keep silent. "How long?"

"How long?"

"How long was I like that?"

She sighed. "Long enough that we'll need to catch up with the troops. They'll get your tent ready for you as before, and the healers will be waiting for you."

"Long enough for the soldiers to see me?" he asked, wincing at the idea.

"The rumor will be that you tripped on your way out of the carriage and hurt your knee, nothing more." She looked up at him, expression grave. "They will not think less of you."

"How long, Cassandra?" he pressed. "The sun is not where it was when I left the carriage, and you had time to find a mount, and get my saddlebags ready. How long?"

With a grimace, she looked away. "Several hours. You-you could not hear me, or anyone. When they brought me, you were... talking to yourself."

Cullen closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst. "What did I say?"

"I had to get quite close to understand any of it, but you did not sound... entirely in your own mind. It reminded me of some of your worst nights during the trip from Kirkwall to Ferelden." She looked ahead, then squeezed him again. "There. Your mount awaits."

He squinted up ahead, then widened his eyes as he saw what waited for them. "A halla?"

"They have the smoothest gait of all those in the stable," Cassandra explained. "Vivienne said it was the only one she would accept, so it was prepared for you. I... I hope Mailani would approve."

Of all the things Cassandra could have said, that was both the best and the worst thing for Cullen to hear in that moment. Regardless of the guilt he felt, though, it did bring a smile to his face. "I hope so, too."

As they walked up to the halla, it- she, Cullen corrected quickly after a little peek-knelt on the ground and waited patiently as Cassandra helped get Cullen into place. "Vivienne and the healers designed a special sling for your leg," she explained as she wrapped an extra piece of leather around his leg, holding it in a specific position. "She told me to let you know that if it ever comes undone, she will be most disappointed in you."

That made Cullen smile, since he was easily able to picture the First Enchanter saying exactly that. "I shall keep that in mind," he said with a chuckle.

"Hold on to the saddle, I'm going to ask her to stand up." After his hands locked into place, Cassandra moved to the head of the halla and took the reins in her hand, then tugged them gently upwards.

The halla rose with the same grace it had displayed earlier, and Cullen marveled that he felt not even an ounce of discomfort. "She's incredible," he said with a smile, leaning forward just enough to smooth his hand down her neck. "I didn't feel a thing."

Cassandra echoed the smile. "That sounds like a fair start."

Cullen mulled over those words as Cassandra mounted a horse next to him. As the terror he'd first experienced when waking from his nightmare faded, he made himself take a hard look at what had happened over the last day and night. As they set into motion, the halla's gait as smooth as promised, his hand stole to the half-full vial of lyrium in his pocket, stroking it thoughtfully with a finger as he compared the timing of taking lyrium and the invasion of his dreams by Amell.

Clenching his teeth together, and before he could give it a second thought, he wrapped his hand around the vial and jerked it from his pocket, throwing it as far as he could manage. The sense of relief he felt as the glass glittered in the sun before vanishing from sight proved almost palpable, a wave of rightness washing over him which couldn't be denied.

"What was that?" Cassandra asked curiously.

"Nothing important," Cullen told her, trying wholeheartedly to believe it. "Let's pick up the pace a bit. I'm eager to rejoin the others."

As they rode in the footprints of the Inquisition forces, he quietly acknowledged that it probably wasn't the end. But at least it was a step in the right direction.

When that night, then the one after, passed with only what he had come to consider his normal nightmares, Cullen dared to hope that the worst had indeed passed. Even though they'd received the disappointing news that Dorian had traveled back to Skyhold after dealing with the dragon rather than returning to the bulk of the troops, Cullen felt better than he had since Adamant. The simple act of riding out in the open did much to restore his flagging spirit, and he took the time to seek out and speak with all those who hadn't had a chance to visit his mobile cage.

The first day, he took note of an odd absence rather quickly. After riding up and down the length of the troops twice, he resumed his place near the head of the bulk of the forces with a little frown on his face. When Cassandra's horse settled in next to his halla, he turned to her. "Where's Jim?"

"Scout Jim?" she asked. When Cullen nodded, she said, "He was sent ahead to Skyhold by order of the Inquisitor."

"Really?" Cullen frowned slightly. "I wonder why."

"I'm not allowed to say," Cassandra said blandly.

He gave her a sharp glance. "You mean you know?"

She nodded.

"And you're not going to tell me," he guessed.

She shook her head, clearly a little smug about the matter.

Giving her a good glare, he muttered, "You're a terrible person, you know that?"

"I keep my promises, Cullen," Cassandra told him. "It is a principle I hold very dear to my heart."

"But especially when it annoys me, right?" he shot back.

"That is not a polite implication," she said in a scolding tone.

"And that is not a denial."

She hesitated for a moment, then made a disgusted noise. "You are incorrigible."

"Ah, ha. I knew it." He frowned. "Not that it helps me figure out why Dor-the Inquisitor sent Jim ahead to Skyhold."

"You will learn soon," she assured him. "That I can promise you."

He sighed and looked ahead of them, trying to tally the miles in his head. "Not soon enough."

After he'd made the rounds on the second day, he rode to the head of the column and settled into position next to the banner-bearers. The ascent to Skyhold had begun, and he found himself yearning to see its towers and walls for himself. Quietly, he admitted to himself that what he truly wished to see was the curve of lips under a certain mustache and the gleam of the sun off a multitude of buckles. Barring that, he would accept the sound of mailed boots on cobblestones and the ringing of the smiths hard at work repairing and crafting equipment for his troops.

When some movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye, he turned to greet Cassandra with a smile. "We're almost there."

She nodded. "I wanted to ask you if you wished to ride ahead with me to Skyhold," she told him. "Vivienne gave her blessing as long as we don't jump over any obstacles. She is quite impressed with how much you've improved over the course of the last two days."

"Maybe I just needed the fresh air," Cullen said with a grin, heart suddenly feeling lighter. "And I would definitely like to ride ahead. I won't challenge you to a race, though," he added hastily. "I'm not sure Vivienne would approve."

"I'm quite sure she would not approve," Cassandra agreed, then kicked her horse into motion. "Let us go. I am certain they are eagerly awaiting our arrival."

As he urged the halla to follow, Cullen's eyes fixed on the path he knew would ultimately lead them to Skyhold. His hand strayed down and plucked a healing potion from his saddlebag, intently double checking that it was, in fact, red-a habit newly formed after his encounter with the blue lyrium. A quick count of the remaining potions left him grateful that he wouldn't have to go back and ask the healers for more as his supplies dwindled. Though it couldn't ever get rid of the headache-at least, not until sufficient time had once more passed-he'd found they could control the shakes and the irritability. He only wished he'd known that before. It would have saved poor Cassandra from some rather tiring arguments with him.

Once they came into sight of the stronghold, Cassandra turned to face him with a smile. "It is good to see Skyhold again."

"And it will be for the troops as well," Cullen noted, a smile coming to his own face. "Have we notified them to have all baths ready? Is a feast prepared? Are all their beds-"

"It's all been taken care of," Cassandra said in a firm tone. "Just as I told you yesterday."

He glanced down, feeling a bit sheepish. "Sorry. I suppose I'm just anxious. And honestly I wouldn't mind a hot bath myself."

"I daresay there are few who would pass up the opportunity as this time," Cassandra said with a smile. After a few moments of companionable silence, Cassandra said, "Cullen, may I ask you a question?"

Cullen's shoulders tensed a bit, almost certain that Cassandra would take advantage of their solitude to ask him about the large bronto in the room-at least, from his point of view. "You may."

"You and the Inquisitor..." She glanced over to him. "What lies between you?"

Oh. Oh. That bronto. Pulling his thoughts from trying to explain why he'd succumbed to the call of lyrium to something of an entirely different vein, Cullen felt his cheeks darken. "Oh. Ah. Well." Clearing his throat roughly, his mouth opened and closed a few times before he stammered, "Wh-why do you ask?"

"Your reaction, for one," she noted with a distinct air of amusement. "I've rarely seen you so flustered."

"I wasn't expecting the question," he admitted.

"Really? I would have thought I was not the first to inquire." She shook her head. "If you do not wish to discuss it, I understand. I simply was curious."

Cullen sent her a knowing look. "Except this time you're asking me instead of the Inquisitor."

"Cullen!" Spots of red appeared on Cassandra's cheek. "Surely Mailani did not-"

"Oh, she did," Cullen said smugly, quite happy to flip the conversation against her. "Every single question, and every single answer. Including the one about-Hmm, what was it? Oh, yes, the creative use of silk and arrows. I always wondered, did you get those ideas from Varric's books?"

Cheeks now flaming, Cassandra snapped her reins, encouraging more speed from her mount. "We should go faster," she declared. "There will be much to do once we arrive."

"Excellent idea, Seeker," Cullen said, his grin now stretching from ear to ear.

Skyhold seemed oddly empty as they crossed the bridge and entered the courtyard proper. Everyone they did see was bustling and busy, presumably in preparation for the return of the troops, but it reminded him more of the early days after Haven than more recent times. Only that thought made him realize just how many people were now in the Inquisition, far more than had been a part of it even at the time of Mailani's death. He paused in the act of dismounting, allowing himself a moment of poignant sadness at the thought mixed with a burst of satisfaction that what she had led had not failed, even after its most trying hour.

With a shake of his head, he undid the sling for his leg and dismounted slowly, easing weight onto his leg at a rate he felt comfortable with. Taking the reins of the halla, he followed Cassandra to the stable and handed her off to Dennett. "She did a splendid job," he told the Horsemaster. "Make sure she gets all the treats you have."

"Will do, Commander," Dennett said cheerfully. "She's a special one, she is. She was the first Inquisition's preferred mount, you know."

"Truly?" Cullen smiled a bit wistfully and ran his hand down the halla's neck. "I can see why." With a friendly nod to the man, Cullen turned and looked for Cassandra, who he found already in consultation with Josephine. Oddly, a quick glance around the area showed no other personages of note. Where was Leliana?

More importantly, where was the Inquisitor?

He hurried over to them as best as he could, striving to hide the hitch in his step as he did so. When he arrived, Josephine turned to him with a sympathetic smile. "Commander."

"Lady Ambassador," he said in return, then opened his mouth to ask about Dorian.

Before a word could emerge, Josephine said in a bright tone, "You are looking much better than I feared based on the reports sent back to Skyhold. I am glad to see you walking again."

"Thank you," he said, "but-"

"Cassandra has informed me that the rest of the troops will arrive today," Josephine continued blithely. "I will ensure the requests I received from you yesterday are executed down to the smallest detail."

He gave her a stiff smile. "Yes, that's wonderful, but-"

"I trust you will find the meal and bath awaiting you to be exactly as you desired," Josephine continued, glancing down at her ledger. "The water will remain warm. One of the acolytes we took in from the Hinterlands developed a way to sustain the heat in a bath with minimal amounts of magic. Isn't that marvelous?"

"That sounds incredibly useful, but-"

"Oh, and one more thing." She pulled a piece of folded paper from under the bottom of the pile on her ledger and presented it to him. "This is for you from Inquisitor Pavus. Some Inquisition business arose which required his attention."

Cullen deflated a little as he reached out to take the sealed missive. "He's not here?"

"I'm afraid not, Commander," Josephine told him with an earnest sympathy. "Shall I send a messenger to you when he arrives?"

"I would appreciate that." Staring at the paper in his hand for a moment, Cullen gave a little sigh and tucked it into a safe place. He suspected he would handle whatever the contents were better if he were in private. "Thank you."

"You are quite welcome, Commander," she told him warmly. "Welcome back to Skyhold."

He straightened, belatedly realizing that perhaps he'd had too strong a reaction to the news that Dorian wasn't here. "Ah. Yes, well... I'm glad to be back."

"If you'll excuse me, Commander," Cassandra interjected, "I need to speak with Josephine alone."

More than a trifle confused, Cullen looked around the courtyard once more. "What about Leliana? I would have thought she'd be here, at least. I wanted to talk to her about-" Alistair's name died on his lips, since speaking the name made it all too real what he wanted to talk to Leliana about, and he paused for a moment. "-what happened."

Josephine's expression softened. "She departed from Skyhold on another mission after the first report following the events at Adamant were delivered," she said softly. "We are awaiting an update from her."

Cullen's confusion turned into a deep frown. "That doesn't sound like her."

"It would not be the first time someone in Skyhold threw themselves into their work in the face of personal loss," Josephine said in a gentle fashion which could only be called diplomatic.

Suddenly feeling a bit awkward, Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck. "I think I'll go investigate that meal you said was waiting for me, though if the bath stays warm as you said, I'll leave that until I've gone through the reports." He grimaced. "I'll probably need something relaxing by that point."

"I will leave that to your discretion, Commander," Josephine said with a demure nod.

Cullen gave them a nod. "Until later, then. Just send a messenger if you have need of me."

When they both returned the nod, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs that would take him to his quarters. As he moved across the bridge, he paused halfway to look over the courtyard at the bustle. By this point, the preparation for the imminent arrival of the troops had reached a frenzy, and he suspected that as soon as the troops started pouring through the gates someone would come looking for him in his office. What little leisure the journey from Adamant had provided him for the purpose of rest and healing had come to an end, and he knew it.

With a sigh, he continued on his way, slowing when he noticed that the door was ajar. Curious, he pushed it open slowly, hoping that the neat piles which Josephine claimed to be awaiting him were not strewn all over the floor by errant winds. As the hinges creaked, however, the man standing next to his desk turned to face him with a brisk salute. "Commander!"

Cullen blinked as he stepped inside. "Jim." Abruptly he remembered the conversation with Cassandra and took a few more steps into the room. "I heard you'd been sent ahead to Skyhold. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Commander!" Jim suddenly grinned. "I was assigned a very important mission!"

"By the Inquisitor?" At Jim's nod, Cullen folded his arms over his chest. "I don't suppose you can tell me any of the details?" he drawled.

"This, Commander!" Jim hurried to the wall closest to the ladder going up to Cullen's bed, grabbing one of two chains dangling from above-chains Cullen couldn't remember seeing before. "He sent me to do this!" He tugged on the chain, and then looked up, causing Cullen to do the same.

Cullen's eyes widened as he saw that the gaping hole in his roof had been replaced entirely. Not by a ceiling, no-he couldn't have borne that. Instead, a strong and sturdy window, with just enough decoration to be a step above pure function, occupied most of the space above his bed. As Jim operated the two chains, the window opened and closed with ease. As Cullen traced the lines of the chains with his eyes, he realized that they'd been arranged so that he could even operate them from his bed, if he so chose. "That's rather impressive engineering."

"I had Gatsi help me with the design, ser. He can work really fast when he wants to," Jim told him. "When I told him what I needed, he just grunted and said It's about damned time we took care of that hole anyway."

With a chuckle, Cullen walked over and pulled the chains himself a few times, marveling at the ease of the motion. The window had been well designed, and the opening had been enlarged to ensure that the view of the sky wasn't obstructed in any fashion. The latticework of steel to hold the various plates of glass were thin, designed to be unobtrusive but still provide plenty of support even against the weather beyond Skyhold. "I'll admit, this will be a welcome addition to my little home here, especially when the winter storms start up again." Granted, he had gotten into the habit of snuggling with Mailani during the worst of the cold, but before that, he'd had his share of nights shivering under a pile of blankets.

Better that than covering the hole, though. He needed that opening. And the window served both purposes-covering and not covering-nicely.

"You said the Inquisitor told you to do this?" he asked, glancing at Jim.

The scout nodded. "Yes, ser. He said it was a very important mission that had to be completed before your return. Insisted that it be a window and not a repair of the roof."

Cullen smiled as he looked up, comforted by the fact that Dorian knew him well enough to know how much he needed that freedom of the sky above. "Thank you, Jim. Excellent work."

Jim beamed at him, then saluted. "I'll go help the others, Commander," Jim said.

"Good idea. The others will be arriving soon. Besides, you know where to find me if you need me," Cullen said ruefully, then saluted Jim in dismissal. Once the man was gone, he pulled the window open and spent a few more moments looking up at it, a smile on his face as he considered the thought behind it. Finally he shook himself and turned his attention to his desk. There were, as threatened, a few neatly stacked piles of paper awaiting him, and he knew that putting it off would only mean more for later.

Settling himself into his chair, he pulled the first pile towards him along with the tray of food and began to work patiently through both. Thankfully quite a few of the reports could be set aside immediately, as they were out of date or regarded matters which no longer required his input. After finishing the meal, he really buckled down and let his awareness of the world fade away so as to focus entirely on the writing and ciphers awaiting him. Once in a while, an odd hollow ringing sounded in his head, but he dismissed it as simply an aspect of his lyrium headache and stubbornly pushed through.

As he progressed, however, that odd ringing persisted, developing a rhythm as he worked. At some point, the ringing seemed to move from inside his head out into the room, a change which did not actively register with him until the sound of ringing glass reached his ears in the same rhythm as that hollow ringing. Only then did his attention break from the report he'd been considering and force itself onto his idle hand-or, more specifically, the vial of blue liquid his fingers were casually tapping as it slowly rolled nearer to him. Nearby, a lyrium kit had been tucked into his papers and left open, the contents beckoning to him with a subtle seduction.

Releasing the offending object as if it were lava, Cullen shoved himself to his feet, stumbling as the motion put too much weight on his still-weak knee. His blood pounded in his head as he stared at the lyrium kit, mind struggling against the sudden and almost violent surge of desire which swept over him.

"Maker," he breathed. When he saw a hand reach out towards it, it took a moment for him to realize that it was his hand, and another moment beyond that for him to pull it back just before the fingertips would have brushed against that tempting blue vial. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he pulled the napkin from the tray and threw it over the lyrium vial. Taking it out of sight dimmed the raw need enough that he chanced grabbing it to drop into the kit so he could slam the lid down. He snatched his hands away quickly, staring at the box for a few moments, then quickly swept it into the drawer before closing it with enough force that the desk rattled.

With a groan, he turned and pressed his hands against the wall behind him, eyes squeezed shut and head bowed as the shudder of need thrummed through his entire being. It rode on the back of a sudden migraine which had grown out of his mostly tolerable headache, as if someone had thrust a sword into his eye and proceeded to violently jerk it back and forth. It weighed on him, making it that much more difficult to resist that insidious little voice inside that kept insisting that maybe a little bit wouldn't hurt.

Wrestling with a burgeoning panic, he fought for equilibrium using a slew of techniques he'd developed over the months. Nothing seemed to work, though: slow breathing, combing the fur of his mantle with his fingers, even shifting back and forth on his feet in a walking pattern. All of it failed, and before he knew it, he had collapsed to the floor and pulled the comfort of his mantle close, fighting the overwhelming urge to yank open that drawer and dive into the blue bliss awaiting him.

"Cullen? Is something wrong?"

Shoulders jerking spasmodically, Cullen rolled up into a sitting position and pushed himself into the wall, staring blankly at the woman standing nearby. It took a moment for the name to come to his lips, bursting out all at once. "Cassandra."

Her brows drew together as she knelt next to him, pressing a hand to his forehead. "You're feverish," she said in a soft voice. "Are you ill?"

He shook his head, then winced and squeezed his eyes shut as the pain ripped through his head again. The song of the lyrium swelled to a crescendo, then faded again, but just that much left him gasping. "I wouldn't say that."

"Are you certain?" she asked. "You were fine when I last saw you."

With a shaking hand, he gestured to the drawer. "There." After a moment, he heard the drawer slide open, followed by a gasp from Cassandra.

"Who did this?" Cassandra demanded. He opened his eyes in time to see her snatch the lyrium kit from the drawer and tuck it under her arm. "I swear to you, Cullen, I took this far away, just as I promised."

"That's not the one you took," Cullen told her. "Believe me, I knew every grain and scratch and scuff on that box. It is similar-a Templar's kit-but not mine."

"Then someone put it there deliberately," she said grimly. "I will speak with Ser Barris about this. Perhaps he knows to whom this kit belongs." She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, forehead creasing in concern. "You did not-"

"No," he said hurriedly. "No. I didn't." Swallowing harshly, he added, "But sweet Maker, I wanted it."

"You don't need it," Cassandra said fervently. "You defeated it before. You will defeat it again. You cannot let the demon defeat you in this manner."

Her faith in him, and the passion with which she voiced it, helped to steady Cullen's nerves, and he forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. "You're right," he said in a grim tone. "I would be letting it win if I started down that path again, wouldn't I?"

"You are strong, Cullen, strong enough to defeat this." She patted the box under her arm. "I believe that as firmly as I believe in the Maker." Her hand squeezed his shoulder. "You will not see this again, I promise you. I might even be willing to work with Varric to find out who put it here, if I must."

Cullen had to smile at that, which he suspected was her motivation for the comment. "Oh, there's no need to go quite that far. I have other resources, after all. I'm sure Leliana will be able to help, for example."

"When she returns. And we do not know what that will be. We need to solve this now," she declared.

He exhaled in frustration. "None of this makes sense. And I don't mean it just appearing. It's more than that." Bracing himself, he forced himself to look at the box, and again, that insanely desperate need arose. Quickly he shut his eyes. "I can't even look at it."

"What do you mean?"

"When I do, it's like... the hunger gets worse." He shuddered. "Like nothing will ever be right again until I use the lyrium. But I don't know where the box came from," he repeated. "I swear it."

"I believe you, Cullen." And again, Cassandra's tone steadied him immensely. Her faith in him seemed to be as absolute as her faith in the Maker. "Can you remember anything else about what happened? Or when the hunger began?"

His hands clenched and unclenched as he forced himself to dig through his dim recollection of going through his paperwork. "I...vaguely remember opening the desk drawer to get something, but everything between that and seeing the kit on my desk I don't recall. Not opening it, not putting it on the desk. Nothing." A chill ran along his skin. "Will you check to see if I used any of it?"

Her hand squeezed his shoulder as she nodded. "I will."

He shut his eyes as she stood, forcing himself to simply listen to the creak of the box's hinge and the rustle of cloth. A lingering fear remained that if he saw the blue once more, he would lose his mind again.

"The vial is full," she said after a few moments. "It seems that whatever is causing this urgency within you was not enough to override your will."

Cullen smiled faintly. "You give me far more credit than I deserve," he said softly.

The sound of the box being closed with a firm touch came a moment before he felt a hand touch his cheek. He dragged his eyes open and found himself drawn to meet her calm gaze. "Tell me what happened, Cullen," she said in a gentle tone.

His eyes closed, even as his hand reached out to take hers and squeeze tight. "It started in the Fade," he whispered.

The explanation came in fits and bursts after that, as he told her in stilted words what the demon had done to him. Not all of it, of course-some of the torture was intensely personal, and nothing he could properly articulate now, or perhaps ever. But the force feeding of the lyrium by Nightmare, the mocking of the demon, the sabotage of his healing potions, and the manipulation of Barris to acquire more lyrium, all came tumbling from him. "I'm sorry," he said at the end, bracing himself for her disappointment which, oddly, seemed a worse prospect than her wrath. "I didn't resist when I should have. I failed you. I failed the Inquisition." I failed the Inquisitor.

For a long moment, the only answer was silence. Then he felt a hand cup his chin and turn his head towards her. "Oh, Cullen," she said softly. "You did not fail anyone."

Slowly he opened his eyes. "I feel like I did," he whispered. "I'm not sure how to feel otherwise."

"You have been through more than any mortal should have to bear," she told him firmly. "You need to give yourself time to recover from what you endured."

A wry smile touch his lips as he reached up to touch the scar on her cheek. "You've never been one to rest when there was work to be done, either," he pointed out.

She batted his hand away impatiently. "I was not held captive by a demon as old as time," she insisted. "We should have-"

"-done exactly what you did." He sighed and shook his head. "We didn't really have a choice in the matter. Out in the desert is not really the best place to sit down with someone for a heart to heart about unspeakable horrors."

Cassandra smiled. "At least you've kept your sense of humor."

"I hope to keep more than that. Which is why I have to beat this." He looked up at her. "I don't want to be like them."

"I know." Neither of them had to speak of it, of the old Templars with the empty eyes and their Chantry nursemaids with their expressions of pity. "And you will not be." That unshakable faith was back in her voice. "Not while we both have breath. And I am not the only one who will help you, Cullen. You have many friends in Skyhold." She paused a moment, then squeezed his hand. "And one particular one is now currently in residence again."

A shiver ran through Cullen's body. "He's back." The panic, temporarily suppressed, abruptly rose to the forefront of his mind again. "I can't see him," he panted. "I can't let him see me like this."

"He is your friend, Cullen, he will understand," Cassandra said encouragingly. "You don't always have to be strong for him."

The distant part of Cullen knew this fear wasn't rational, that Dorian would understand as Cassandra told him. But the rest of him couldn't bear to see Dorian, not in this state.

"I just need... time," he whispered. "To think."

Cassandra gave a sigh, an echo of the disappointment he felt about himself. "Very well. I will not press you on the matter. But I will keep reminding you that you are not alone."

He gave her a wan smile. "I know. I just-"

Her expression softened. "I will tell him you are indisposed. It is not so far from the truth, at the moment." Rising to her feet, she held out her hand. "But I think you should start by standing."

"You make it sound so simple," he murmured, flexing his hands as he stole a moment to take stock of himself. His knee immediately made its discontent known, as did his healing wrist. Quickly their complaints were bashed to the side by the ache that seemed to encompass his entire head, and he groaned slightly. "I'm not sure I can."

"One moment." Cassandra quickly moved to the door and retrieved a saddlebag by the door, one he recognized from that last leg of the journey back to Skyhold. "I came here to tell you of the Inquisitor's return, but also to return your belongings from the halla." She dug through the saddlebag for a healing potion, then set it on the desk after pulling one out. "Here."

He took it gratefully, swallowing the contents in one gulp before letting his head lean against the wall. Slowly the worst of the pain eased, until even the headache was only a dull, distant pounding-painful, but not debilitating. "Thank you," he said. "I believe I would like to try now."

"Good." Holding her hands out, she braced her feet in preparation for his weight. "Come. We will bear this burden together."

The words made him smile, and he finally found the strength to reach out and take her hands in his own. It took a few false starts, but in the end, he was on his feet again, wounded and uncertain, but ready to move forward once more. "Cassandra," he began, then faltered, not sure what he could say.

She squeezed his hands. "You are not alone."

He took a shuddering breath, then nodded. "I had forgotten."

"Well, do not forget again." Her tone brooked no disagreement: it simply was the way it would be.

A smile touched his lips. "Yes, Ser."

She rolled her eyes. "That was unnecessary."

"Was it? I'm not so sure." He glanced at the desk, then quickly looked away again as the hollow ringing echoed in his ears. "I would appreciate it if you took that...thing away, however."

"I shall. As I said, I will consult with Ser Barris on the matter." Her head tilted slightly as she studied his face. "I will need to tell him some of the nature of your past."

"Please do," Cullen said hastily. "I should have told him myself. Perhaps I would not be in so poor a position now if I had."

"You are not to blame, Cullen," she said, with sufficient conviction that Cullen almost believed it. "Rest now. Use the bath. Seek your inner calm. Do what you need to do, then seek out the Inquisitor when you are ready."

His eyelids fluttered closed as he let the words sink deep. "I hope it will be that simple."

"It is, Cullen. Perhaps not easy, but it is that simple." She released his hands, and he heard her move to the desk and pick up the box.

"Do I have any potions left?"

"Let me check." There was a rustling on the table. "You have one left. Shall I have more brought here?"

He shook his head and dared to open his eyes to look at her. Oddly, something about Cassandra holding the box seemed to mute its effects. "No. I'll be fine." He offered her a smile. "In part thanks to you."

Her hand settled on his arm for a moment. "But mostly thanks to you. Be brave, Commander."

"I will try, Seeker."

"Then that is all I can ask for." She turned and headed towards the door, then paused and looked back. "Are you sure you do not require anything else?"

"I'm sure. The bath is ready, and my bed is waiting." With that marvelous window above. The thought of it warmed him, helped him to look forward to seeing Dorian rather than dreading it. "And please... let the Inquisitor know I will see him soon. But don't tell him about the rest of it. I would prefer to do so myself."

"As you wish," she said with a nod. "Take care, Cullen." With that she stepped through the door, silently closing it behind her.

Cullen sagged against the desk, catching himself only at the last minute. The hollow ringing was gone, but the headache was not, despite the potion he'd just consumed. He weighed the benefits of drinking the last potion now, to see if doubling it would finally eradicate the blasted headache, then sighed and shook his head. Best to use it to help me sleep, he decided. Besides, the bath still awaited him, and perhaps a long, hot soak could accomplish what elfroot could not.

By the time the hot water had worked its magic on his battered body, the sun had set and the night patrol had reported for duty. A quiet servant had retrieved the lunch meal tray and left another, presumably for dinner, and he had to admit the food sounded good now. After the slow process of easing himself from the still-hot bath and drying himself off thoroughly, he tugged on some loose trousers and a tunic before stumbling to his desk to eat.

By the time he finished that, he found he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. The whirlwind of emotions from earlier, coupled with the extended time in the soothing water, had finally done what dozens of troop reports could not: tire him enough for an early night. Yawning, he snagged the last potion and his mantle before heading to the ladder. That required his full concentration to ascend, given the weakened state of his knee and wrist.

Wrapping his mantle around his shoulders for extra warmth, he wedged himself into his bed and gave a soft sigh. The trials of the last few days seemed to seep away as he stared up at the night sky above. The stars soothed him in a way few other things could, promising a freedom which had been snatched away from him far too many times. The tension of sleeping in a tent and riding in a carriage faded slowly into the background, and he smiled.

A good night's sleep seemed like just what he needed, and tomorrow morning he would go see Dorian. As simple as Cassandra had promised.

Taking the potion in hand, he verified its red hue with a glance before he popped the cork and drained the bottle with one gulp, swallowing quickly in a bid to avoid the bitter aftertaste of elfroot.

Except, he realized belatedly, that the potion did not taste of elfroot.

It tasted of sweet rot, of stagnant water, and of brackish swamp. It smelled of the fetid air of the Deep Roads, of the harsh smoke released by a burning corpse, and of despair itself. It left a gritty residue in his mouth, a residue he remembered all too clearly from his time in the Fade.

He tried to force himself to spit it out, but his body refused to obey him. Next he tried to scream, but no sound issued from his mouth. Efforts to push himself from his bed ended with his hands gripping the sheets beneath him and locking him in place as his body shuddered and convulsed violently.

As the red lyrium slowly claimed him, its corrupted song filling his mind and stealing his thoughts, his vision grew dark. The world fell further away with each passing moment, leaving behind only the Void, or so it seemed. When he finally reached the line between the waking world and the Fade, a sinister chuckle reached his ears.

And now you are mine, my little pet.