Cullen had not been to the main hall at such a late hour for quite some time. As expected, he found it practically empty, with the only light coming from the embers of Varric's fireplace and the smoldering braziers scattered throughout the hall. The Orlesian chatter of the day had been replaced by the whispers of the night as the wooden beams creaked in sympathy with each other from the cold, and the banners whispered and rustled while they gossiped about the wind. He had several fond memories of this place at night, in particular on that large throne, since Mailani had shown a decidedly adventurous side in the dark hours of the night.

As he passed through the side door from the round room of murals, he reflexively looked towards the stained glass windows at the far end of the hall. He'd often found Mailani standing in front of them on those nights he'd promised to visit her chambers, and for a moment he almost thought he saw someone standing next to the throne. In the next instant, he realized it was only a shadow of something outside the window passing in the night, and a wistful smile came to his face. It was a fond memory, after all, and one he wouldn't mind sharing with Dorian if the mood arose.

Unlike the memory which immediately followed, of the time he'd sat on the throne with Mailani facing him while standing on its arms, hands on his head and naked from the waist down.

Hastily he suppressed that image as quickly as it arose, even as a small part of him wondered if perhaps it could be repeated with a specific someone else standing in the same place. "Maker's breath," he muttered to himself, "this is not the time."

Setting his shoulders back, he strode down the hall towards the Inquisitor's quarters with focused purpose. As he did so, a rhythmic tapping from the direction of the forge grew louder, and he smiled, wondering what new project Dagna was working on so very late at night. It was also a familiar sound, one he welcomed as he came to a halt at his destination. For a moment he hesitated, uncertainty bubbling within before he brushed it aside as sternly as he had the errant memory with Mailani.

Shaking his head, he reminded himself not to be a fool and quickly raised his hand to strike the door.

The moments between the first knock on Dorian's door and the moment it opened seemed to stretch into an eternity. When it finally creaked open, Cullen released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and stepped forward even before the door had finished opening. "Amell," he blurted. "It has to be Amell."

The sleepiness in Dorian's eyes vanished at the name. "You are certain?" At Cullen's firm nod, he reached out to pull Cullen into the room, then shut the door behind him. "Let's go up top and you can fill me in on the details."

"The nightmares are back," Cullen explained as they walked up the stairs to the Inquisitor's room. "At first it was just Kinloch Hold again, and then the Nightmare demon in the Fade and his minions. But sometimes, it's worse than…" His voice trailed off as he halted at the foot of the final flight of steps, abruptly remembering what else had occurred in those particular dreams.

And with whom.

"Hmm?" Dorian asked, pausing at the top of the stairs to turn and focus on Cullen.

At first Cullen couldn't answer, instead staring up at Dorian as his eyes caught up with the rest of him. Maker. The man was made to be drenched in moonlight, and the soft bathrobe he'd obviously thrown on in haste on his way to the door exposed quite a bit more than Dorian's normal attire. Above that, his hair, disordered and mussed as if the man had had a restless night himself, made Cullen's fingers twitch with the need to fix it, but that wasn't where his eyes lingered. No, his gaze fell to Dorian's lips and stayed there, as one of his dreams suddenly flashed through his mind and he imagined those same sensuous lips wrapped around his-

"Are you quite all right?" Dorian asked, face a picture of concern as he quickly descended the stairs and took Cullen's elbow in his hand. "Your face suddenly turned a charming but also worrying shade of red."

Those words, of course, only made Cullen's flush deepen. "I'm fine," he said, then winced as his voice cracked. Clearing his throat forcefully, he added, "I'm fine, truly. Just tired. I haven't slept well since Adamant."

"Unsurprising. We both knew you would likely have nightmares, but I thought the wards would keep Amell out of them. I take it he has returned to your dreams?" At Cullen's brief nod, Dorian frowned, then pulled Cullen after him as he guided him to the bed. "Tell me more about these nightmares. We need to get to the bottom of this immediately."

Bed. Cullen followed numbly and sat down as Dorian directed, but he had all too many vivid memories of this bed and certain activities. Granted he had shared them with Mailani before, but given the way his thoughts were trending, that wasn't as helpful a reminder as it might have been.

Especially considering that the subject of his increasingly erotic dreams was now the main occupant of said bed.

"Ah… the nightmares usually have Amell in them," he said, knowing it was a rather lame description of the erotic dreams-turned-nightmares he'd been experiencing. Obviously Amell was in them, or Cullen wouldn't have been so spooked by them. "But lately it's been worse. As if he were talking to me directly."

Dorian settled him down on the edge of the bed and then knelt in front of Cullen as he took Cullen's hands in his own and peered up with a concerned expression on his face. "Hmm, perhaps if you gave me some context it would help. Is that all you dream of, or does something else precede them first?"

"I…" Cullen paused to lick his lips. Maker, why does his head have to be down there? "He usually appears after I've dreamt of something else."

"Were they similar to each other, these other dreams?" Dorian asked, gaze keen.

Cullen nodded slowly, forcing himself to consider the dreams clinically, and not speculate about... things, such as the fact that Dorian was on his knees in front of him, and that his hair was adorably mussed, and that it would be so very simple to reach out and straighten it—or muss it further. Clearing his throat and forcing his gaze to rise to the level of Dorian's eyes, he said, "Yes. In fact, they were almost always the same type of dream."

"Describe them to me," Dorian said, stroking the back of Cullen's wrist with what he probably meant to be a soothing touch, but which instead sparked a burst of heat which shot straight up Cullen's arm and down his spine to pool between his legs. "Perhaps the similarity will give us a clue."

Sweet Andraste's ass. Completely unready and unprepared to talk about the details of those dreams to the man who figured so prominently in them, Cullen stammered, "Th-they were… a particular kind of dream." Suddenly inspiration struck him. "Of Mailani and me. In here. Doing... things."

"Ah." Dorian nodded, looking satisfied by the answer. "That explains it. The Fade reacts very strongly to human passion, after all. The strength of your feelings for Mailani would have lit up the Fade like a veritable beacon, and if the wards failed for some reason, those dreams would have made you all the easier to find for such as him." Pushing himself to his feet, he reached out and settled the tips of his fingers under Cullen's chin, lifting it slightly. "Let me get a closer look at you."

Cullen's mouth went dry, since Dorian's new position put his bare chest quite close to Cullen's face. Even in the moonlight, he could see that the musculature of Dorian's typically bare arm hinted at a promise well and truly fulfilled throughout his physique. "Ah, what are you looking for?" he managed, though half his mind was still spinning from what Dorian had said as he took the lie out and replaced it with the truth. The strength of my feelings…for Dorian?

"The ward, for one thing," Dorian murmured. "To make sure it's still intact and such." His fingers drew along Cullen's forehead, then down Cullen's cheeks and throat until they parted to fall on his fur-covered shoulders. The skin on skin contact re-awoke the fire of his blush and deepened it into a pure heat which countered the coolness of the night air around them.

He jumped slightly when one of Dorian's hands moved to cup his chin again, lifting it until their gazes met. Pulse beating rapidly in his throat, he watched as Dorian leaned down until their faces were but inches apart. When Dorian's thumb tugged at his chin, he dropped it readily, lost in a moment that seemed to have spawned from one of his dreams. His heart thudded as Dorian leaned in closer, even as the quiet voice within warned Cullen that a relationship tainted by red lyrium could only end in despair. The way the moonlight caused Dorian's eyes to glow, however, drew him in deep, and he closed his own eyes in anticipation of whatever came next.

When nothing happened, Cullen opened his eyes to see a small frown on Dorian's face as he pulled away. In the next moment, the intimacy was shattered as Dorian said softly, "I smell lyrium."

Of course. Dorian was a mage, naturally he would be sensitive to lyrium. His mouth went dry again, but this time for a different reason. "I-" But he couldn't continue, not while looking into those pale eyes.

"Cullen," Dorian said softly, hands reaching up to take Cullen's face between them. "I'm your friend. You can tell me anything and I will not judge you. I promise you that."

As their gazes locked, Cullen felt the truth of those words, as clearly as he felt the care with which Dorian handled him-and as clearly as he needed to hear those words. "I know," Cullen whispered. "I just had a hard time believing it."

"Then believe," Dorian breathed, moving his hands to rest on the shoulders of Cullen's mantle. "I'm here for you, never doubt that. Now." Taking a deep breath, he squeezed Cullen's shoulders tightly. "I know you're a former Templar, but Cassandra told me you'd weaned yourself off of the stuff."

"I did. But I-" He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to avoid the disappointment he was sure would appear in Dorian's face. "Ever since Adamant, I-I just… need it again."

"I see." There was a rustle of cloth, and then a weight settled next to him on the bed. An arm wrapped around his shoulders as a hand claimed his own and squeezed it tight. "Tell me everything," Dorian said softly.

So Cullen did. Haltingly at first, then more and more rapidly, the words spilled from his mouth as he told Dorian precisely what the Nightmare demon had done to him. He'd hinted at aspects of it before, of course, but never in so much detail. From the breaking of his wrist to the moment when he shattered his knee, Cullen spat out each moment in agonizing detail. When he got to the part which he feared most, his words finally faltered enough that he heard his own harsh, short breaths.

"There, there," Dorian said in a soothing voice. "You can pause for a while. Let's get that fur off of you, though. You're sweating like a certain oversized Qunari."

Cullen blinked, then looked at his hands as Dorian gently lifted the mantle away from his shoulders. Sure enough, they shone with moisture even in the dim moonlight, and when he reached up to wipe his forehead, beads of sweat poured down his face.

As he instinctively started to use his sleeve to wipe it away, Dorian quickly dissuaded him with a touch. "We're not barbarians," he half-scolded Cullen. "One moment." Quickly he rummaged in the drawer of the table next to the bed, then held out a small cloth to Cullen. "Here. This should work."

"Thank you," Cullen said, touched at the offer, then raised the cloth to wipe his face. All at once, his nostrils were overwhelmed by that same musky scent he'd noticed lingering around Dorian, and his eyes widened for a moment. Maker. In an odd way, though, sensual as the scent was to him normally, at the moment, it simply felt… safe. Like home. As he slowly wiped his face, the scent calmed and centered him, until finally he was able to take a deep breath and nod. "I'm ready to go on."

"All right." Dorian's tone was gentle as he again took Cullen's hand in his own. "As you can, Cullen. Don't push yourself on my account."

Cullen nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. "The Nightmare demon picked me up and… I dangled there, like a fennec in a snare, as he taunted me. I… I tried to fight him, but…" His throat seized up, and for a moment all Cullen could do was try to breathe.

Dorian's arm settled around Cullen's waist and pulled them closer together. "That's it," he murmured. "Breathe slowly. In and out, one after the other. You can do this."

The simple words helped to calm Cullen down as they got closer and closer to his true fear from his time with Nightmare. After a few more moments passed, Cullen finally exhaled, then nodded. "Something… A tentacle, a hand, I'm not sure, but something grabbed my throat and held my head while it pushed against my lips. I tried not to let it in, but that… that didn't work. And that's when it was forced down my throat."

"Lyrium?" Dorian asked softly.

"Yes," Cullen gasped. "But… remember the lyrium you saw there."

It took a few seconds for Dorian to catch his meaning, but Cullen felt the hand around his waist tighten as Dorian hissed through his teeth. "Kaffas. Not-"

"I can't think of why it wouldn't be," Cullen said, feeling a sense of hopelessness rise up in him. "I've tried to stave it off, to change it, to replace it with regular lyrium, but it's not enough. I fear it won't ever be enough." A chill passed through him again, making him instinctively burrow into Dorian's warmth. "And… and that's not all."

Dorian's brow furrowed. "No?" Before Cullen answered, Dorian made an odd little sound, one Cullen couldn't quite place. "Oh, of course. Amell."

"Amell." As Cullen told him of those dreams, when Amell had tortured him in insidiously malicious ways, he chose his words with care, relying heavily on the fact that he knew Dorian would never want to hear any details about Mailani and her Commander-even if it was just a cover for something else entirely. But the parts of the dreams with Amell? Those he did not skimp on detail, which he told with gritted teeth until he reached the most difficult revelation of them all. "And then the dreams became reality."

"Amell didn't-" Dorian started, eyes widening. "He's not here, is he?"

"No, no," Cullen assured Dorian hastily. "Not Amell himself, but…" Cullen closed his eyes for a moment. "I had a basket of potions the healer gave me. I'm… not sure how it happened, but I used the final one last night, to help me sleep. And… it was red. Just not for healing."

Dorian muttered something under his breath. "You drank it?"

"A whole bottle's worth. I swallowed it before I realized what it was," he explained.

"Do you think the healers are responsible?" Dorian asked, suddenly worried.

Cullen forced himself to think of that for a moment. "No," he said slowly. "No, I don't think so. It's more likely Amell had an agent do it. The way he taunted me about the lyrium… That speaks of knowing too much."

"Oh, there's a cheerful thought," Dorian muttered. "Well. I'll bring that up with Charter, and Leliana when she returns. In the meantime, let's get back to the matter at hand." He squeezed Cullen's hand gently. "Go on. The dreams. What happened after you drank the red lyrium?"

A shudder ran over Cullen's body. "That dream was the worst of them all. Amell had control of me, and he… he wanted me to…" He couldn't even voice it. His throat seized up and his vision darkened just remembering what it had felt like to even contemplate hurting Dorian.

"There, there." Dorian's arms wrapped around him, gently rocking him as he planted a light kiss on Cullen's ear. "You don't need to tell me. I've enough of an impression of him to know he would have wanted you to act in a way counter to your nature, to obey whatever sadistic command he gave you. Yes?"

It was that, and it was also more than that, but Cullen simply couldn't force the words out yet. Instead, he allowed Dorian's statement to stand with a short nod. The man's touch was comforting, more than it had any right to be, and slowly his shoulders and throat loosened. As Dorian's hand began to stroke his hair, Cullen realized that he wanted this now, and later, and forever, but he could never admit it out loud.

Not now.

"No one has ever survived the bloom of red lyrium, Dorian," he whispered, again feeling the hopelessness of the situation. "I don't know what to do."

Pressing another kiss to Cullen's hair, Dorian said, "No one until you , that is. I'll make certain of it. We'll find a way. We have to." Dorian's arms tightened around him for a moment. "I'm certainly not going to face Corypheus without you. That wouldn't be very fair, would it, to take all the glory?"

That did make Cullen smile, thought it was but a faint curve of his lips. "I don't need any glory." Not if I could have you instead.

"Well, perhaps not, but I need you," Dorian said firmly. "I didn't let the Nightmare keep you, and I'm certainly not going to let this red plague claim you either. You're my Commander."

And again, the words comforted Cullen, and the warmth they inspired in him helped to wash away the chill edge of despair. "Thank you, Inquisitor," he said quietly. "That… that means a great deal."

"Yes, well, just don't you forget it," Dorian huffed. "Still, what you told me does explain one thing: how Amell got into your dreams."

Cullen blinked, realizing that Dorian's touch had managed to distract him so much he'd honestly almost forgotten why he'd come to Dorian in the first place. "Truly?"

"Oh, indeed. You see, the wards for protecting dreams differ between those who don't use lyrium and those who do, because of the way that lyrium interacts with the Fade. It's one of the reasons why mages need more protection from dreams than non-mages. It's also why Templars reside in a grey area with regards to the Fade," Dorian explained. "My working theory is that the ward worked perfectly before you began using lyrium again, and then got progressively more ineffective the more lyrium you consumed."

"I-Hmm." Cullen ran the words through his mind, silently tracking back his usage of lyrium and comparing it to the increasing intensity of his nightmares and Jorath's appearance. Horrific as it was to finally know that it was, in fact, Amell in his nightmares, a sense of relief still swept through him. "That's exactly it," he breathed. "Thank the Maker. I feared the ward wasn't working because Amell could not be stopped."

"Oh, he's a sneaky bastard, that is certain," Dorian admitted, "but now that we know why the ward failed, I can fix the problem. Here, lie down."

Cullen blinked. "Pardon?"

"You look exhausted, Commander," Dorian told him. "So I'm going to force you to sleep for a few hours while I go investigate a few possibilities for your other little problem."

Unable to help himself, Cullen snorted in disbelief at the description. "Little?"

Suddenly Dorian's face sobered, and he released Cullen's hand long enough to cup his face. "I've been to Emprise de Leon," he said softly. "I saw what happened to those exposed to red lyrium up close. I will not let that happen to you." He pressed a kiss to Cullen's forehead, then stood. "Now lie down. You need to rest, and I need to get to work on a solution."

Resisting the urge to reach up and touch his forehead, Cullen swallowed and nodded. "You're a good friend, Dorian."

"I know," Dorian said, pressing a hand to his chest and fluttering his eyelashes at Cullen.

"And so very humble, too," Cullen said with a chuckle as he lay back down on the bed.

"Appropriately so, yes," Dorian drawled as he pulled the blanket over Cullen. "Good. Now, lie just like that while I fix the ward."

Cullen obeyed, lying still as Dorian's hands moved over him. Since the lyrium had re-sensitized him to magic, he felt the flow of it over him as the ward was first lifted and then laid on him again. Scads of goosepimples rose to full attention on both his arms, but he welcomed the feeling. Anything was better than Amell standing there, watching him.

"There we are," Dorian said cheerfully. "Now go to sleep. You're probably missing several hours' worth by this point."

Before Cullen could point out that the same was true for Dorian, at least tonight, the man had turned and strode away from the bed. With a sigh, Cullen burrowed a bit more deeply into the blankets, then paused. He was still holding the cloth to wipe the sweat away from his forehead, and after a moment, he brought it up to his nose and inhaled deeply once more. Smile on his face, he rolled over onto his side, curling up his arms so that he could drift off to sleep with Dorian's musky scent filling his nostrils.

It proved to be the most perfect sleep he'd found since leaving the Fade.

It took the sun striking his face for Cullen to finally rouse from slumber. The first thing he noticed, before even his eyes opened, was the strong musky scent of Dorian's hair. A smile curved his lips as the scent filled him again with that sense of comfort and home. Only as his treacherous mind woke further did more of the previous night filter through his thoughts and force him from the fuzz of half-asleep to the eyes-wide wakefulness which was more typical of him in the morning.

He shot upright, the cloth still in his hand, and looked around almost wildly. His eyes soon found a familiar figure sprawled on the nearby couch, and he winced as he realized that he'd kept Dorian from his own bed. Tugging the blankets aside, he rolled over until he could heave his legs off the oversized mattress without aggravating his healing knee. As he moved, Dorian stirred and shifted where he lay, the smaller blanket he was using sliding to the floor as he did so.

Cullen froze as several facts presented themselves. Firstly, the robe Dorian wore had come undone completely during the night, exposing the fact that beneath it, Dorian only wore a pair of loose trousers. Secondly, Cullen's eyes noted that although Dorian's chest was bare, he could see a hint of short, dark hairs starting just above the hem of said trousers, teasing Cullen with a hint of what lay further down. Thirdly-and this last fact pushed the first two aside rather quickly as demanding more attention-whatever Dorian had encountered in his dreams the previous night, he was quite clearly enjoying it.

And his trousers did very little to hide that enjoyment.

Licking his lips slightly as he forced his eyes away from Dorian's morning glory, Cullen gingerly pushed himself to his feet and moved over to the couch. Reaching down, he pulled the small blanket up and back over Dorian. It didn't hide everything, but it at least covered the most pertinent parts for privacy. As he straightened, Dorian shifted again, mumbling in what Cullen assumed was Tevene until something very clearly stood out: his own name.

Maker. Cullen stared down at Dorian for a moment, uncertain for several reasons. Ever since returning from the Fade, he'd been aware of his changing feelings for Dorian, but he'd shied away from contemplating the reverse, or the full implications of the inevitable outcome of those feelings. He'd already lost Mailani, and the thought of going through all that pain again weighed heavily on him. Yet, after last night, he could not deny that the thought of going without Dorian, or keeping him only as a friend, also posed a growing pain. Despite Dorian's promise, Cullen couldn't help but think of what lay in store for him, and visions of slowly turning into a large red crystal danced in his head. He'd succumbed to the lure of normal lyrium-who was to say he could resist red lyrium forever?

And he wouldn't wish a relationship with someone doomed to that fate on anyone, not even Amell.

Well, he privately conceded, maybe Amell.

Shaking his head, he quickly turned and moved to the bed to grab his fur mantle, hoping he could get back to his room as unnoticed as possible. Of course, the Court gossips would notice, and discuss it endlessly, but surely it was better than some of the alternatives-in the long-term, anyway.

"Sneaking away, are we?" a sleepy voice asked him as he reached the top of the stairs leading down the landing to the door.

He winced, then turned around. "I didn't want to disturb your sleep."

Dorian waved it away as he stood and stretched hugely, and Cullen swallowed harshly. Maker, his skin is made to be drenched in sunlight, too. Forcing his eyes upward, he watched as Dorian moved to his clothing chest and pulled out an outfit. "You can hardly disturb the dead, Cullen-at least not without a little magic. Trust me, I know. Now stay there while I get ready. Someone is eagerly awaiting our arrival."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, then turned around swiftly as Dorian tugged his trousers down. "Ah, who? And for what?"

The sound of rustling cloth and various degrees of voice muffling accompanied Dorian's reply as he said, "As for the what, it's dealing with the revelation from last night about the red lyrium. As for the who…" There was a pause, long enough that Cullen turned around again. He saw Dorian peering into a mirror and carefully setting his hair and mustache to rights. Once that was done, he lathered up some soap and rubbed it onto his face. "The who would be Dagna."

"Is that who you spoke to last night?" Cullen asked, striding over to stand closer to Dorian now that he was safely dressed.

"She does have more expertise in red lyrium than anyone else," Dorian pointed out. "I told her the basics and asked for her to come up with a few ideas and that we'd visit her in the morning. And it is now morning." He winked at Cullen through the mirror and then picked up a straight blade. "You can live without your reports for one morning, can't you?"

With a chuckle, Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Maybe if my Inquisitor demands it."

"Well, your Inquisitor does," Dorian said cheerfully, then fell silent as he worked on ridding himself of a night's worth of stubble.

Cullen found his eyes following the dance of the blade over those flawless cheekbones. He remembered Mailani watching him shave, even after he'd teased her about her rapt fascination with such a simple task. Watching Dorian gave him an entirely new perspective on the matter as he realized it was the person which had enthralled her, not the activity.

No. No, I can't do that to him. He still remembered the pain and despair of losing Mailani, of the black pit he'd fallen into and finally clawed his way out of, thanks in no small part to the man in front of him. Setting his jaw, he let his hand fall and watched Dorian silently until the blade was set down and a towel patted over his face.

"There we are, all ready to go," Dorian said cheerfully as he turned to Cullen with a smile. "Now. To Dagna. Thankfully for your knee, she isn't all that far away."

"What about my hair?" Cullen asked with a raised eyebrow.

"My dear Commander, we simply cannot inflict too much perfection upon the world at once," Dorian said with a grin. "Don't worry, you look splendidly disheveled. At least the fur will help hide the wrinkles."

Cullen leveled a flat stare at him. "Oh, good. Because that's what people will notice first. The wrinkles."

"But of course they would. What else could they possibly comment on, hmm?" Dorian asked, even as he swept past Cullen.

Shaking his head, Cullen moved to fall into step next to Dorian, already dreading what awaited them outside. He remembered the whispers and giggles all too well from those mornings when he'd left these same quarters before, and that had been early in the day. Surely this long after sunrise, the gossipers would be out in force.

When Dorian led him into the main hall, however, they found… no one. His brow furrowed as he looked around the cavernous room and the sunlight shining through the windows. "Where-"

"Ah. Our dwarf friend requested a day to close the hall down and work on those mosaics he assembles from the dross I bring back from my lovely trips across Thedas," Dorian said with a twinkle in his eye. "He's down there, see? Good old Gatsi." Dorian gave a little wave, and the dwarf at the other end of the hall waved back, then went back to mounting a huge square metal tile onto the wall. Varric was next to him, leaning against the closed main door and casually keeping one hand on the bar that kept it that way, though the two dwarves did seem to be holding a conversation.

Cullen blinked a few times, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And he just happened to want to work on them on a morning I would have to emerge from your quarters conspicuously late in the morning," he noted.

"Yes, quite the coincidence, isn't it?" Dorian asked blandly. "A pity those gossips won't get nearly as much fodder as they'd like. Ah, well."

"You clever bastard," Cullen said with a chuckle as they rounded the throne. "Though it seems like a lot of effort to quash such a small rumor."

"We're on the eve of venturing forth to the Winter Palace," Dorian reminded him. "The less the Orlesian court has to fuel their fire of ridiculous rumors, the better. Sadly. We would make quite the pair, would we not?"

"Yes," Cullen said almost without thought, then blinked and added hastily, "I mean, if it were a thing."

Dorian laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "You are my dearest friend, Cullen, but I shouldn't presume more than that, should I?" Pulling the door open to the forge, he gestured inside. "There we are. Dagna should be waiting."

Cullen's initial swell of disappointment from Dorian's seeming dismissal of something more quickly turned into a deeper, if brief, consideration of Dorian's actual wording. Shouldn't presume didn't mean he didn't want more, after all. Before Cullen could even think to pursue the matter with another question, however, Dorian passed into the forge. Biting his lip, Cullen followed after and squinted around the interior of the forge in search of the dwarf arcanist as he descended the stairs to reach Dorian's side. He did see Dagna, true, but he also saw something else that made him pause. "Is that-"

"See something you like, hmm?" Dorian asked with a chuckle. "Go on." He nudged Cullen towards where Harritt stood. "Ask him."

Cullen needed no more urging before crossing the room to stand at Harritt's side, nodding a greeting as the smith looked up from his task. "Harritt."

"Commander." Harritt set the object in his hands down on the table and gave it a final polish with the oil-soaked cloth. "She's looking almost new again, don't you think?"

"Better than new," Cullen declared, eyes running over the bright metal of the familiar shield with an odd hunger. "I see you've worked your magic once more."

"I might have had a bit of help," Harritt conceded, glancing at Dagna, "but most of the work is from my own hands." After a moment of scrutinizing the burnished metal, Harritt grunted as he buffed away a scratch only his eyes could detect. "A man has a right to use the tools best fit to his hand. That includes you, Commander." He stepped back and gestured to the table. "Go on. Try them out."

Hands shaking with eagerness, Cullen reached first for his shield. It was a bit heavier than his wrist would have preferred, but he was still able to settle it in place with only a little effort. He then swept up his sword and turned it over in his hand, admiring the way the light reflecting from the waterfall outside dappled the metal. "This is superb work," he told Harritt. "I would never have guessed that you forged a new blade onto it." He paused, bringing the hilt close to his head for a moment. "And the enchantment is whole, as well. Who-"

"Who else?" Cullen turned to look at Dorian, who gestured towards Dagna with an elaborate bow. "The Inquisition does have an arcanist at its beck, after all."

Cullen chuckled softly. "I should have known." He took a few steps away from the others, then gave the sword a solid swing, testing its balance. "Amazing. It's as if it was never sundered."

"The shield had a good foundation, but I did mix a new alloy out of some stormheart to make it a bit stronger without weighing it down," Harritt explained. "And I added a bit of starmetal to the mix for the the sword as well. It won't break again any time soon."

"Starmetal?" Cullen hefted the sword again as he admired it some more. "I am in your debt, Harritt. I could not have asked for more or better."

"I serve the Inquisition, Commander, the same as you. You're just fully equipped again." Still, there was a hint of a smile on Harritt's face, and Cullen knew his admiration counted for something. And, when Harritt turned back to the table in a clear signal that the conversation was over, Cullen knew it had been enough.

He moved over to Dorian, offering him a closer view of the items as he said, "I take it you had a small hand in this?"

Dorian's fingers reached over and trailed slowly along the length of the sword, and Cullen couldn't help but follow the motion with his gaze. "I may have ordered Jim to sneak into your tent at night and abscond with them to bring to Skyhold in advance of your arrival here. That is my prerogative as Inquisitor, after all. Still, I am glad to see you have your blade back in your hand. Don't do anything I wouldn't do with it, hmm?"

Cullen's eyes snapped back to Dorian for a moment, holding back the words to ask if Dorian meant rather more than he'd said. "Thank you," he replied instead.

"I'm truly not the one to thank," Dorian protested. "Harritt is a remarkable talent. The Inquisition is fortunate to have him."

The man in question grunted from where he leaned over a nearby table. "Don't try to butter me up for any more favors, Inquisitor," he said. "I can't pull many more miracles out of my hammer, even for you."

"But I am grateful that you did it this time," Dorian said warmly.

"And it's a good thing he did."

The comment was made by a familiar voice, but behind and below Cullen. Turning on his heels, he nodded to the woman now standing behind him. "Dagna."

"Commander." Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. "Put those down and come over to my station. I need to take a few measurements."

As she moved to a table with a decidedly ominous looking apparatus attached to it, Cullen looked to Dorian with a questioning glance. "Don't look at me," Dorian replied. "She's the one with the ideas. I'm only here to look pretty while my hand glows."

"Thanks," Cullen drawled, even as he set his sword and shield down on an empty table. Following Dagna to her table, he asked hesitantly, "I… don't have to touch that thing, do I?" he asked, pointing at the rather intimidating looking metal skull mounted on her table.

"What? Oh, no, he's just there to keep me company," Dagna said with a little shrug. "I'm measuring you for a new mail shirt."

"A new-" Cullen's eyebrows rose. "Whatever for? And what did you mean by it's a good thing he did?"

"The Inquisitor told me about what you're going through," Dagna said. "I don't have a way to fix you yet, but I think I have a way to keep you safe until I do. The breastplate is part of it, and the sword and shield another." Pulling out a thick cord with all sorts of knots and notches and painted lines, she gestured to him. "All right, off with the rug and shirt."

"It's not a-" he began, then glared at Dorian when he heard a distinct snicker come from that direction. "Quiet, you." As he slowly removed the offending pieces of clothing, Cullen asked, "So I take it this mail shirt will be a close fit?"

She gave him an absent nod as she made a few marks on her notebook. "Based on my research, it has to touch you to have the best effect."

"That is true of oh so many things," Dorian noted from a few feet away, earning another glare from Cullen. "That's a good look for you, Commander," he added as Cullen pulled his shirt off. "Maybe I should have a set of that Qunari armor Bull sketched out made for you."

"Sweet Maker, no," Cullen groaned. "Mailani threatened to do the same thing."

Dorian laughed. "She did shove Bull in it a few times. Luckily he enjoys having his pillowy man-bosoms on display for all to see. Not my preferred look, of course. It's a little hard to maintain one's dignity that way."

"Then why order a set for me?" Cullen asked, eyebrows rising.

"Because it would be a favor to all of Skyhold," Dorian said blandly.

Before Cullen could come up with a suitable retort for the notion, Dagna raised the cord. "Kneel, please. You're a bit tall for me to get everything I need when you're standing."

"Of course." Cullen did so, holding his arms out when she tapped them lightly.

"Why don't you tell the class what it is you have in mind?" Dorian suggested to Dagna. "After all, you haven't quite said what you are doing and why, and some of us are quite intrigued."

"A while ago, Leliana brought me some notes her agents had found tucked away in an old Red Templar stronghold," Dagna explained, ticking off measurements on the cord and marking them down on a notebook lying on the table. "Apparently before the Inquisitor went in and got rid of their pet demon, a red Templar named Samson had-"

"Samson?" Cullen interrupted. "Are you sure that was the name?"

"Of course I'm sure," Dagna said. "I'm never wrong about details like that. It's other ones that get out of my control."

"Like remembering to put up a sign to warn people away from the smithy when you're testing explosives?" Harritt called from across the room. "I lost the last of my hair in that fright."

Ignoring the sally, Dagna said, "At any rate, Samson had become heavily dependent on red lyrium, and had roped in a Tranquil by the name of Maddox to figure out how to make help him make the lyrium more powerful without killing him. Maddox came up with an ingenious design, though I'm not sure he ever got to put it into use. Still, Leliana saw that it involved red lyrium, so she sent me all the papers over for analysis."

"Ah, Dagna," Dorian said, a look of alarm coming to his face, "we don't want to strengthen the red lyrium's effect on the Commander. We want to eradicate it entirely."

"Any tool or force always has an equal and opposite version, Inquisitor," Dagna said, as if that were obvious. "If that armor is real and out there, of course I'd have to know how to nullify it. But it also got me thinking in the back of my head and the last four pages of my journal about how it could be used to suppress red lyrium instead of enhance it. So I turned a few matrices around a full one hundred eighty degrees, reverse polarized the metal using some stock lyrium and a special magnet I developed to work with red lyrium, then pulled a few drops of red lyrium from a sample I have and ran it through a denaturing machine I use so that I can apply it to weapons to make them stronger. Oh, and this guy," she patted the creepy skull contraption, "helped me put another enchantment on it, a lyrium dampener."

Cullen blinked a few times, then looked at Dorian. "I hope you followed that, because I got lost halfway through and fell off a cliff somewhere."

"I found a soft landing," Dorian assured him, then leveled a stern look at Dagna. "And you're certain that it won't harm Cullen."

"Of course. Maybe. Yes. Naturally. Possibly." Dagna grinned at Dorian. "Indubitably, Inquisitor. He'll be far safer in my armor. And don't worry, I'm not going to make you run around in two breastplates. This will be all metal, but a sort of mesh with overlay. In fact, you should wear it under everything, even at night. It will protect your torso, which should do for now as long as you don't ingest or expose yourself to any more of the stuff." She reached up and tugged down his chin, peering closely into his eyes. "Hmm. You do have a hint of it there. I'll get to work on expanding it beyond the torso, but it should be enough to keep you stable at the Winter Palace."

"Stable?" Cullen asked in alarm. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, so you won't go insane, or have glowing red eyes, or run off into the wild looking for red lyrium, or feel your blood turn into red crystals. You know. That kind of thing. Now hold still." Before Cullen could say anything, she'd pricked his finger and squeezed some of his blood into a vial. "There."

"What is that for?" he demanded, still reeling from the litany of all the things that could go wrong.

"I need to track the amount of corruption in your blood," she told him. "Don't worry. I only need to do it every other day or so."

"Every other-"

"Thank you, Dagna," Dorian told her. "We appreciate your efforts tremendously. When will the armor be ready?"

Dagna's face turned calculating as she swabbed Cullen's finger with something that made him mutter an oath under his breath, then wrapped it tight with a small linen cloth that somehow stuck to itself. "Two days, Inquisitor. Don't worry, you'll have it before you leave for the Winter Palace."

"And that's the most important thing," Dorian said in satisfaction.

"What about the sword and shield?" Cullen asked.

"Oh. Well, one of the reasons your body is still susceptible to lyrium is that it keeps trying to use it for your Templar abilities," Dagna said with a shrug. "But you don't need it to use them, you just need it to perform the initial acclimation of your body to combat magic. So I worked some natural channels into the metal on the same resonance as lyrium so you don't have to fight your own equipment to do a lot of smiting. Because who doesn't want to do that once in a while, right?"

He blinked, not sure he was actually the wiser for the explanation, but accepted it with a nod regardless. "Ah... Thank you, Dagna. I am most grateful."

"No problem," she said cheerfully. "It's a fun little project. I'm sure by the time you get back from the Winter Palace, I'll have something even more spiffy for you."

As Cullen started to push himself to his feet, he found a hand thrust in front of his face. "Need some help?" Dorian asked in a solicitous tone. "That knee seems to be a bit stubborn of late."

"Yes, thank you," Cullen said as he took the offer. When Dorian pulled him up, he suddenly found himself very close to the man-close enough to see the dapples and whirls in those eyes and realize that he could spend a few hours looking into them. Quickly he cleared his throat and pulled his hand from Dorian's so he could reach for his shirt instead. "Ah, for all this, I mean. I never would have thought to approach Dagna about this." Or anyone, he admitted, a decision which, in retrospect, seemed foolishly obstinate.

"She is our resident expert, after all," Dorian said with a smile. "I pray that this makes you feel a bit more hopeful about your future."

Cullen gathered up his fur mantle slowly, avoiding Dorian's gaze as he considered his answer carefully. "I… do, but-" He sighed and closed his eyes. "There are a lot of questions still to answer."

He opened his eyes when a hand settled on his shoulder, and he found himself gazing into those pale grey eyes once more. "I'm not giving up on you, Cullen," Dorian said softly. "And neither should you."

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Cullen nodded slowly. "I'll keep that in mind, Inquisitor."

"Back to titles already?" Dorian asked in an almost wistful tone. "Pity." Straightening, his hand fell away from Cullen's shoulder as he turned and headed to the exit. "Come. Let's get some breakfast in you. You look a little hollow, my friend."

"I haven't eaten much the past few mornings," he explained, waiting long enough to give a smile to the smith and a little shrug when Dagna didn't even look up from her journal before hurrying after Dorian.

"Well, hopefully that will change." Dorian suddenly turned to him at the door, bringing them both to a halt. "I'm hoping the new ward will lessen your need for lyrium," he said in hushed tones. "But you do know you can always get help. If not me, then Cassandra, and if not Cassandra then Leliana when she returns. You're not alone, Cullen."

Cullen. Somehow, the way Dorian said it in quiet tones made Cullen's heart pound. "I-I'll remember that, Dorian. I promise."

"And I'll hold you to that," Dorian teased him gently. "I need you far too much to lose you now, after all."

"You mean the Inquisition does," Cullen corrected, almost out of habit.

"I most certainly do not," Dorian said, putting his hand on Cullen's shoulder once more. "You're not getting out of your duties to me so easily." Cullen froze when a thumb gently stroked down his neck, and stayed frozen when Dorian stepped towards the door and pulled it open. "At any rate, breakfast awaits. Hopefully the kitchen will have some of those fireberry eggs of which I've grown so fond."

"Y-you're the only one who can stomach them," Cullen managed through the roaring in his ears. "Aside from Bull."

Dorian waved his hand. "The only truly refined palate is a northern one. Even if it's a Qunari."

Cullen chuckled weakly as he walked at Dorian's side. Part of him wanted to reach out and take the man's hand, to see what the reaction would be, but it wasn't enough to override his caution about a relationship doomed from the start. He didn't have enough hope for that.

He did, however, have enough hope for a single small word to whisper in the back of his mind: yet.