Cullen paused to let the door to the Undercroft close behind him, pressing a hand to his forehead as a wave of dizziness swept over him. It had been like this, on and off, since the events at the Winter Palace, but he'd been able to hide the worst of the effects from his men and the others—or so he hoped. As he regained his equilibrium, he headed towards the stairs, hoping that Dagna's message meant that she'd had a breakthrough, because he wasn't sure how much more of this he could actually take.

Not and remain Commander, anyway—a thought which greatly troubled him.

As he approached, Dagna looked up at him and smiled. It wasn't just a smile, though: she beamed at him as if he were her favorite person in the world, and he chuckled as he drew close to the forging table nearest her. "Hello."

She bobbed in place. "I've got some good news. And some bad news. But mostly good news!"

"That's mostly encouraging," he noted, albeit cautiously. "Perhaps you could start with the bad news first?"

"If you want. It's tied into the good news. The bad news is that it covers a lot more of you. Like…a lot lot more. And you can't take it off. Or shouldn't, anyway. I mean, I guess you'll have to take it off to take a bath, or to ford a river, or to climb a tree, or to…you know." She gestured vaguely around her lower half. "Though I suppose I could design something for that. I mean, I don't want you to have to clank when you're just using the—"

"Yes, thank you, Dagna, that would be good," Cullen said hastily. "But you've done it? You've designed something that is better at staving off the effects of red lyrium?"

She nodded cheerfully. "Yes, I did! I took the lessons I learned from your first mail shirt and applied it, and a bit more that I gleaned from examining some of the texts that Leliana's agents found in that odd ruin in the Western Approach. Charter said it was an old Tevinter slave fortress. Spooky, huh? But then I come from Orzammar, and our stuff is older than that, even, so I guess it just depends on your perspective, really…"

Cullen cleared his throat to interrupt her. "Ah. Dagna. Is it ready?"

"Oh! Almost. I'll need to make that change I told you about, so you can…You know." She gestured towards his midsection this time. "Not need an entire hour just so you can—"

"Yes, understood. Got it. Perfect," Cullen said hastily. "So I should come back later to pick it up?"

"Yes, but first…" She pointed to a nearby chair in front of the table with the creepy skull…thing. "I need to take some measurements."

Looking at the skull uneasily, he asked, "Measurements? Of what?"

"Of the red lyrium infestation in your body," she explained. "So I can make sure that the new suit is slowing it down, and if it's not enough, to do even more with the design."

"Ah." Tentatively sitting down where indicated, Cullen took a breath and resolutely averted his eyes from the grinning skull. "Ready."

She spent the next few minutes mostly muttering to herself and jotting down a long series of complicated numbers as she poked and prodded him, pulled his eyelid down and peered into his eye from an inch or two away, pricked his finger to squeeze a drop of blood into a vial and shake it, and even pulled out his tongue and shone a reflected light down his throat. Finally she stepped back and scribbled furiously in her notebook, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her lips.

When she didn't look up from her book even after she'd stopped scribbling, Cullen got a little nervous. "Ah, Dagna?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, blinking a few times before she really focused on him. "Oh! Yes, the results. Well, I'm seeing a definite progression in the march of the red lyrium, but…well, let me show you."

He squinted as she drew three lines onto the paper, all starting in the same place and going up and to the right at three different angles. Turning her notebook around, she pointed at the line with the steepest angle. "This is the affect of red lyrium without any armor. You would have hit critical mass about here." She tapped on a part halfway up the line. "About a month total. Here's the current rate of progression." Her pen marked a little X halfway along the middle line. "See how at the end of this line it hits the critical mass point?"

He swallowed and nodded. "Yes. That's bad, right?"

"That's when your blood basically turns into red lyrium and you crystallize, yeah." Moving her pen down to the lowest line, which veered off where she'd drawn the X, she said, "And this is the new progression." The tip of her pen trailed along its length. "It will take a long time to rise to the point of critical mass. Hopefully, that gives us enough time."

Cullen worried at his lip. "How much time?"

"Years," she said immediately. "Enough to give me time to figure out a better armor or a cure. At least, that's the plan." She beamed at him. "Give me enough time, and there's nothing I can't figure out! You'll see!"

He smiled faintly, buoyed a bit by her enthusiasm. "Thank you, Dagna. I mean it. This…this means a lot." His gaze dropped to the three lines, swallowing harshly as he contemplated the concept of red lyrium critical mass. Dragging his eyes upward, he offered her a stronger smile. "When do you think it will be ready?"

"Oh, it should be ready tomorrow morning," she said cheerfully. "I'll get the design squared away in an hour or two, and work on it tonight."

"Tonight?" He chuckled as he stood. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"Sleep? Nah," she said dismissively. "I'm not a fan of dreams. Too chaotic." She turned away from him. "I need to work this out while it's still fresh in my head. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Commander!"

"Ah, yes. Tomorrow." Cullen backpedaled out of her way, then gave Harritt a nod, receiving one in turn. "I'll see you then."

It wasn't until he'd left the Undercroft and paused to deal with a new wave of dizziness that the oddity of one of Dagna's comments struck him. Dreams? He frowned. I thought dwarves couldn't dream at all. Of course, Dagna wasn't particularly a typical dwarf, but…

With a shrug, he pushed the thought away. It certainly wasn't his primary concern at the moment—getting ready for his new armor should be. Granted, the prospect of having to wear full armor every instant of every day was more than a bit daunting and promised to echo some very unpleasant memories, but it was better than slowly turning into red lyrium, wasn't it?

For a moment, the vivid description of the corpses the Inquisition agents had found in Emprise de Lion, the ones with red lyrium crystals for blood-or worse, those who had become encased in the stuff-rang in Cullen's mind, and he shuddered. Yes, he thought. Anything was better than that.

Dagna would find the answer. He had to trust in that. He had no other choice.

On the way back to his office, Cullen noticed a figure making their way along the wall on the opposite side of the main hall. Normally he would not have paid it much mind, but something about the way the man moved spoke of skulking. His suspicion firmed when he saw how the man slowly opened the door leading to the garden and looked around the hall before slipping through.

That was distinctly odd behavior, and it was enough to make Cullen frown and change his intended path so he could follow. He could not think of a single legitimate reason why someone would be so cautious for something as normal as entering the garden. Even if the hour was early enough to warrant treading lightly for the sake of quiet or a pounding head from a night of drinking, hugging the wall and slipping through a door did not befit the actions of an innocent man. Cullen could not ignore it, or the dull instinct that told him to follow.

As he passed through the door, he noticed that the garden was empty save for an elf here or there tending to the gardens. A hint of movement in the corner of his eye drew his gaze to the door next to the stairs, and he frowned. Had that door just finished closing? Hurrying his steps, he moved to the tall door and slowly pushed it open, hoping to catch the man by surprise.

Inside, the storage room was lit only by a faint rays of light coming in around the edges of the curtains covering the few windows. At the far end of the room, a tall, narrow object swathed in heavy cloth grabbed his attention first, and it took a few moments for Cullen to realize that the man he sought stood at its foot. Though Cullen couldn't see much in the dimness no matter how much he squinted, he could make out the rustle of cloth, accompanied by an odd, high-pitched keening which hit his mind with all the weight of the song of lyrium. After the moment or two it took to recover from that had passed, Cullen abruptly realized that he would be very visible through the doorway if the man he had followed turned around. Quickly Cullen retreated a few feet and settled in to wait next to the door. It was the only way in or out of the storage room, after all, so sooner or later Cullen would have an answer as to the identity of the lurker. He could always investigate inside after he figured out whose trail he'd been following.

When the man emerged from the darkness, Cullen felt his eyebrows rise. "Felix?"

Felix jumped slightly— not exactly the act of an innocent man, Cullen noted—before turning to Cullen. "Commander," he said with a smile that darted across his face without much reason to linger. "How can I help you?"

Knowing that it would make him look a bit more intimidating, Cullen crossed his arms over his breastplate. "I was just wondering if you got lost. The Tevinter guest quarters are over next to the Templar tower."

"Oh. Yes. Um." Felix looked around the garden. "I was just going to check on the Ghoul's Beard growing here in the garden."

Cullen's gaze flicked to the door through which Felix had passed, suspecting it would be sufficient to ask the question.

He was right. Felix smiled, the expression a bit more nervous this time. "Well, I come down here every morning to check the herbs, and I got curious about what was in here. It's not much, though, is it?"

"No, it's not." Something caught your attention, though. "Well, I'm glad you don't need any help. I wouldn't want you to think that the Inquisition is inhospitable."

"Oh, no, Commander," Felix assured him quickly. "Never that." With a last nervous smile, Felix turned and walked away briskly—without actually checking on any of the potted herbs on the edge of the garden, Cullen noted.

With a sigh, Cullen made a mental note to talk about the odd behavior with Dorian and Leliana. He hated suspecting Dorian's friend of anything, though. He'd observed the friendly affection between the two, and remembered how devastated Dorian had been when word of Felix's apparent death had reached them. Feeling a little dirty for the suspicion, Cullen turned and heaved the door open to allow a bit more light into the room, then stepped inside so he could see if Felix had left anything behind.

The room wasn't much different under the light of day, honestly. Cullen's eyes picked over the ground, noticing that the dust had been disturbed by several pairs of feet already. So he hasn't been the only one here of late. After ruling out any oddities in the rest of the room besides the usual debris and neglect still being wiped away from Skyhold, Cullen turned his attention to the tall object at the end of the room where he thought he'd seen Felix linger.

Whatever it was, it towered over Cullen by at least two feet. It was about as wide as he could stretch his arms, and the cloth seemed to be dust-free, indicating that it was a recent addition. As he moved closer to the object, the faint high-pitched whine pressed in on his ears, and once again he shuddered as it pried at his mind in the same way lyrium always had. Abruptly his curiosity flared up, hurrying his steps towards the tall object as a strange compulsion swept over him. It was almost as if someone were whispering in his ear, urging him onwards, as his hand slowly rose and reached out to touch the cloth.

"Commander?"

The urge to pull the cloth back shattered at the sound of the woman's voice, and Cullen barely bit back a yelp as he pivoted to face the woman standing in the sunlight-drenched doorway. It took a moment for recognition to set in, but when it did, he knew her well. "Lady Morrigan. My apologies, I was just—"

"Investigating where you were not invited nor welcome," the woman said as she stepped towards him. "I would advise that you step away from there."

Oddly, the words felt less like a threat and more like sound advice—especially after whatever had happened to him while reaching for the cloth. Hastily taking a few steps away from the thing, he absently rubbed his arm as he asked, "What is it? Does the Inquisitor know about it?"

Morrigan hesitated as she glanced at the cloth-shrouded object. "Not as of yet," she admitted. "But that is only due to circumstance, since he did not return to Skyhold with the rest of the Inquisition's party."

A fact which still filled Cullen with unease, especially since it had been a few days since Dorian's last missive. Pushing the worry aside, he said, "Well, I would appreciate knowing the nature of this…thing. If you truly wish to keep people away from it, I could arrange a guard for the door."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "How is it you came to be here, Commander? I had hoped this room would attract little notice from others."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, wondering if Morrigan had set some sort of ward upon the door to discourage attention. "Truthfully, I'm only in here because I noticed someone else poking around first. I wanted to see what he was doing in here."

Her gaze sharpened as she stepped past him and moved to the cloth-covered object. As she twitched it aside, Cullen saw a glass surface under which clouds of color and light swirled and moved hypnotically. He only got a second or two to examine it before she pulled the cloth back into place and turned to face him with a frown. "I will speak with the Inquisitor upon his return," she said, clearly troubled. "Until then, I would appreciate you setting a guard upon the door if it cannot be simply locked."

He looked back at the door. "I'll speak with Harritt about a lock, as long as you are amenable to the Inquisition holding a copy. Pending the Inquisitor's approval, of course."

"As you wish, Commander." Morrigan's amber gaze turned back for a moment, then returned to Cullen. "It would be better for everyone if no one save for myself enters this room."

"What is it?" he finally asked, admittedly perhaps a trifle more bluntly than Josephine might have preferred. "If it is a danger to Skyhold or its inhabitants, I have a right to know. We might not be able to wait until the Inquisitor returns."

Morrigan went still for a moment, then finally nodded. "It is an eluvian. An elven artifact, from a time long before their empire was lost to human greed. I restored this one at great cost, and am loathe to be distant from it."

Cullen's brow furrowed. "What does it do?"

"It is a doorway, Commander. A portal between here and there," Morrigan murmured.

His brows drew together as his skin crawled at the implications of that. "That sounds dangerous. Can just anyone use it?"

"No, Commander. Not this one. I have gone to great measures to ensure that," Morrigan said softly, in a tight voice which spoke to Cullen of how much of her life she'd poured into the artifact. "All the same, I am most reluctant to allow others near it."

Cullen started to nod, a motion quickly curtailed as the eluvian's song ripped through his head. "Your concern is noted, Lady Morrigan. I'll arrange for a guard until Harritt comes up with something a bit more metal to secure the door."

"Thank you, Commander. There are definitely those who should not know about this artifact." For a moment a haunted expression came to her face, a familiar enough expression that Cullen suddenly knew exactly to whom she referred, and it was not Corypheus.

On impulse, he placed his hand on his chest and met her gaze squarely. "He will not harm you, Lady Morrigan. He will not harm any of us."

Again she went still, like a deer in the wilderness. "Some habits are difficult to break," she finally said in a low voice. "And until I have danced upon his grave, his is a threat I will never forget."

He winced, but he could hardly blame her. Amell was exactly the sort of person who could inspire such paranoia. "I understand."

She tilted her head slightly as she met his gaze, as if trying to measure his sincerity. Finally she simply nodded. "If you will excuse me, I was reading a book to my son."

"Your son?" Cullen's expression softened. "Of course, Lady Morrigan."

He noticed that she still didn't leave until he did, and when the door was closed, she reached out and pressed her hand against the door for a long moment. Then she left without another word, moving towards the gazebo in the garden where Cullen now saw a young boy with black hair waiting, holding a book. With a smile, he left them to their tale and headed back to his office.

Once again his plan to return to his office was thwarted, however, as the horn sounding the return of the Inquisitor boomed through Skyhold. Suddenly everything else paled in comparison to seeing Dorian, to making sure the man was whole and healthy. The tension which had settled into his gut and shoulders the moment Dorian had left his sight to chase after Amell rose to the fore as he raced to the courtyard to wait for the party to make the final climb to Skyhold, and he suspected that tension would persist until he saw for himself that Dorian was safe and sound.

He wasn't the only one awaiting their return, of course. A small crowd had already gathered before he arrived at the portcullis, and as he waited, a familiar gold-clad woman moved to stand next to him. He gave Josephine a weary smile, noting the strange tension in her fingers as she waited for the Inquisitor to appear. "Nervous?"

"It has been five days since we last received a message from the Inquisitor's party," Josephine reminded him. He knew her well enough to notice the line of worry between her brows. "Who knows what could have happened?"

"That last message Leliana sent was cryptic," Cullen pointed out. "She almost made it sound like she couldn't quite trust the messages not to be intercepted."

"Which is in and of itself another worry," Josephine said with a sigh. "Why would she worry about compromise? What did they find out?"

"We know they survived Amell, at least," Cullen said—as much for his benefit as for hers. The first message they'd received concerning the battle in the Shrine still made his stomach twist. They'd come close to defeating Amell, according to Dorian, but Cullen couldn't help but wonder how close they'd come to being defeated as well. It was a knee-jerk reaction, not worthy of Dorian, perhaps, but… It was hard to imagine Amell being bested.

A reaction Cullen knew he had to unlearn, for all their sakes.

Suddenly Josephine pointed. "There!"

Cullen's head whipped around as the first head crested the hill to come into sight. It was a familiar silhouette, with two wide horns atop broad shoulders. A ragged cheer went up, and the Iron Bull hammed it up with a huge grin and an even more exuberant wave. "What did I say, boss? They love me here!"

As Cullen hurried forward he saw Dorian shake his head with a rueful smile. "Yes, yes, Bull, I'm quite aware."

Cullen frowned as Dorian came into view, since his reply to Bull sounded a bit more weary than he usually let people hear from him in public. Still, he looked good: sitting straight in his saddle with barely a speck of dirt on him despite the cream color of his outfit. Cullen's eyes raked over him, taking in as much information as he could glean short of running up to the man to drag him off the saddle and—

—aaand he hurriedly stopped that thought before it got too far away from him. Forcing his eyes away from Dorian, he looked over the rest of the party and frowned. "They gained some numbers. Their messages didn't say anything about that. Wait." He squinted as Leliana came into view, recognizable only because of the flash of red hair beneath her hood. "Next to Leliana, is that…Alistair?"

When the man lifted his head to stare at the archway above him for a moment, Josephine said, "It is indeed Warden Alistair. But why didn't they warn—" Suddenly she gasped. "And next to him. Is that…"

"Warden Loghain, yes," Cullen murmured. "Come on. We've got more reason than anyone to rush up to them. Might as well take advantage of it."

Quickly they pushed their way to the front of the crowd, standing nearby as the stable handlers showed up and waited for the party to dismount. As soon as Dorian's feet hit the ground, Cullen was there. "Inquisitor," he said, only half-aware of how anxious he sounded. "You're back."

Dorian looked at him, and suddenly a smile lit his face. Cullen's lips went dry at the sight, a warmth rising inside of him that seemed to melt away all the tension and fear and worry which had built up since they'd parted ways after the Winter Palace. When Dorian's hand rose to rest on his shoulder, thumb reaching to stroke his neck, Cullen didn't really care that quite a few eyes were on them. The only thing that mattered were those beautiful grey eyes from which which he could not tear his own.

"We are back," Dorian said. "And there is a great deal to talk about with a great many people, but for now…" Suddenly his voice dropped, the words meant only for Cullen's ears. "It's good to be back, my Commander."

Cullen inhaled deeply, the air suddenly seeming somehow freer than mere minutes ago. "Thank the Maker," he breathed. "I'm glad you're safe."

Dorian gave him a subtle wink. "We'll talk later," he promised, his thumb stroking the line of Cullen's jaw.

Sadly, that was all the time they had for intimacy, so soon after the Inquisitor's return. Suddenly everyone seemed to need to talk to Dorian, so Cullen quietly stepped away to let him attend to that business which only the Inquisitor could fix.

With Dorian occupied, Cullen's feet led him to Alistair's side. Leliana had disappeared, presumably because the Spymaster had her own business which needed immediate tending as well, and the two Wardens had moved over to sit on some of the rubble in the shade next to one of the stalls in the small market. As Cullen approached, his steps faltered for a moment as he noticed a rather distinctive change in his friend, even at this distance. When both men made as if to stand when they noticed his approach, he quickly gestured them to remain seated. "I just wanted to greet you," he assured them as he came to a halt. "Alistair, I—I'm sorry."

"Oh, about this?" Alistair waved his shortened limb. "I'd sacrifice more than this to be free from Amell's clutches, that I promise you." Cullen winced, but Alistair wasn't quite done. "It's still almost like a dream. The nightmare was so complete that anything less than that doesn't really feel real yet."

Loghain put his hand on Alistair's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "It will pass," he said quietly. "The longer you are away from him, the better it will be."

"Yeah," Alistair murmured, absently rubbing the end of his arm with his remaining hand. "One step at a time, right?" His gaze grew distant for a moment, then suddenly sharpened as he looked up at Cullen. "You'll help me, won't you?" he asked, lifting his arm up. "I figure with a strong enough strap, I can put a shield on and learn how to fight again."

Cullen's eyebrows rose. "You want to fight?"

"Damn right. Next time I see Amell, I want to sink a foot or two of steel in his gut," Alistair said in a flat tone. "I'll need your help, though. With the sword, and reviving other skills."

"What other—" Cullen's voice trailed away as the truth dawned on him. "Oh. You mean your Templar skills."

Alistair nodded. "I know I can use them without lyrium, but I'll need your help to brush up on it. It might not be enough to take him down alone, but then, I'm not alone anymore. And I never want to—" He stopped and swallowed, his jaw working as a shudder ran through his body.

Loghain's hand squeezed his shoulder tightly. "We know," he said firmly. His tone and demeanor obviously had a calming effect on Alistair, whose shoulders abruptly dropped a few inches.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I guess I'm not quite sure what to say other than please."

"Of course I'll help you," Cullen told him. "We'll figure out a way to make a shield stay in place. Between them, I bet Dagna and Harritt can make you feel like you never lost your arm at all when it comes to combat. And then we'll make sure that if you ever meet Amell again, he won't find you unprepared."

"Not if." Alistair looked up to meet Cullen's gaze. "When. I owe him too much never to see him again."

A little uneasy at the burning light in Alistair's gaze, Cullen glanced at Loghain, who shook his head in silent warning not to pursue the matter. "Right," Cullen replied slowly, looking back at Alistair again. "And in the meantime, I'll be here to help you. Me, Loghain, and Leliana."

Alistair's expression suddenly softened, that eerie edge of hatred leaving his face with the swiftness of liquid. "Leliana," he breathed. "Maker's breath, but she's been my lifeline in all this."

Cullen smiled. "I'm glad. You two deserve a bit of happiness together."

Before Alistair could reply to that, a stablehand hurried up with some saddlebags. "Do these belong to you, sers?"

"I'll take care of it," Loghain promised them, rising to his feet. "I'll return once our quarters are settled."

"Thank you," Alistair told him, then watched him leave with the saddlebags thrown over his shoulders. "I hated him so much, once. As much as I hate Amell now." He paused, frowning. "Well. Maybe not quite that much. But enough."

Startled by the shift in topic, Cullen simply nodded. "I remember your ramblings in Kirkwall."

"I blamed him for everything. Duncan's death. The loss at Ostagar. Being hounded during the Blight. Everything. It ate at me, gnawed away inside me, until I could only ignore it by drinking until my head pounded louder than my hate." His brow furrowed for a moment. "When I met him again in Orlais, amongst the Wardens, I didn't hold back. Told him everything I felt, told him everything he'd done to me. It was all his fault, right?" Alistair sighed and shook his head. "I was so certain I was right."

"What did he say?" Cullen asked, curious.

"He…he just agreed with me. Told me that nothing he could ever do would make it all right. That he'd done what he thought was the best thing to do, just like anyone else, but that it wasn't good enough. It…it made me think." Alistair frowned again, staring into the middling distance. "And then he started telling me about my father and what they went through to free Ferelden from Orlais, and the hardships they endured together and…" He sighed. "I realized he was just a man, not the monster I'd held in my head and my heart all those years. And somewhere in there the anger started to feel…well, a little silly."

Cullen reached out wordlessly and patted Alistair's shoulder. "It's hard to let go of anger which runs that deep," he said quietly. "Especially when you've been hurt badly by the ones you hate. You did well to let it go."

Glancing up at Cullen, Alistair said, "You seem to have done a bit of that yourself, Ser Mages Are All Evil."

Caught between embarrassment and amusement, Cullen finally settled for reaching up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly in response. "I have certainly had time to see the error in my opinions."

"I can see that," Alistair said with a grin, glancing to where Dorian stood in conversation with Josephine.

Bereft of an adequate response to that, Cullen simply raised his eyebrows as he crossed his arms. "And how did you find Leliana, hmm?"

The grin vanished as Alistair sagged in place. "Oh, Maker. You had to remind me."

Cullen frowned, not expecting that kind of a response. "Of what?"

"Leliana. It's like…it's hard to breathe unless she's nearby," Alistair said, looking around as if searching for her. "Everything just feels so damn right when I'm with her, and I—" Suddenly he stopped, his cheeks reddening.

"You what?" Cullen asked, worried.

"I can't stop wanting to…to be with her," Alistair explained. "I need to touch her hair and breathe her scent, and before I know it we're—"

"I get the idea," Cullen said hastily. "You don't need to go into more detail, I understand."

Alistair nodded, his blush spreading to his ears. "It's just…I'm famished, and she's a feast, or I'm parched and she's the fountain. I can't get enough of her. She makes me feel…alive, like I hadn't felt since Adamant. Maybe even since the Blight."

"I understand," Cullen repeated, his tone more gentle this time. "You don't need to defend yourself to me."

Rubbing his face with his hand as the redness finally receded, Alistair muttered, "Then maybe you could explain it to Loghain so he doesn't find out the hard way."

Cullen snorted with laughter. "No, I think I'll let you have that conversation."

"Thanks," Alistair said sarcastically. "I really appreciate the support."

"You are not going to guilt me into explaining to Warden Loghain why you need extra privacy," Cullen told him. "And that is final."

Alistair heaved a great sigh. "Fine. I'll figure it out myself." He looked Cullen up and down for a moment, the smile returning to his face, and then held out his hand. "It's good to see you again, Rutherford."

Clasping the hand with his own, Cullen used it to pull Alistair up into a rough embrace. "It's good to see you, too." For a moment longer he held Alistair close, long enough for Alistair to tense up before sagging into him. "You're safe here," he murmured. "You can rest now."

Alistair took one shuddering breath, then another and yet another before he managed to finally whisper, "And the nightmares?"

"That we'll have to take one night at a time," Cullen said softly. "But it gets better. I promise."

Letting his head drop forward, Alistair took a deep breath. "I suppose that's all I can hope for."

Cullen shut his eyes for a moment, remembering the black pit he'd fallen into after the Blight, when he'd used hate and fear instead of logic and convinced himself it was the right thing to do and believe. Alistair hadn't, it seemed, fallen that far, but he was teetering on the brink. "Go find Leliana," he said in a gentle tone. "She's probably up in her roost again. Start with finding hope in her arms. The rest can come later."

"Yeah. Good idea." When Alisatir pulled back, Cullen saw that the rims of his eyes were reddened, though he hadn't yet cried. "I'll go do that. Thanks." He took one more deep breath, then headed across the courtyard to the doors which would ultimately take him up to Leliana.

With a shake of his head, Cullen took a deep breath as he looked around the courtyard for Dorian. When he didn't see him immediately, he frowned, wondering which particular task had called him away from the cluster. Deciding that Josephine would be the most likely to know, Cullen quickly headed up the stairs and into the hall. There was a bit more bustle than when he'd passed through it after his meeting with Dagna, but he saw no sign of Josephine or Dorian. He did, however, see a sight which had been lacking of late, and smiled as he went over to greet Varric.

"I hope the fire has been kept suitably warm for you while you were gone," he said with a chuckle. Given the way Varric's armor and Bianca were piled on the table nearby, he guessed that Varric hadn't even gone to his quarters yet.

"It's everything I could have hoped for," Varric told him with a slow wink, then patted the arm of his chair. "And, most importantly, this was waiting for me. If I don't see another saddle again in my life, I'll be a happy man."

"I think you're in the wrong place for that," Cullen told him.

"That's what I'm afraid of, Curly." Varric looked around the hall for a moment. "It's good to be back, though. Once my ass recovers from a month in one of Dennet's specialties, I might even be up to plowing through the mound of messages waiting for me. I can only imagine the pile waiting for Nightingale."

Cullen pursed his lips, thinking of the steady trickle of crows and agents always going to and fro from Skyhold. "I don't envy her that task at all."

"If Warden Puppy leaves her alone long enough for her to get to it, anyway. But you didn't come here for the latest round of gossip, did you? I would wager it's not my pretty face you're looking for," Varric noted in a sly voice. Before Cullen could think of a proper response, Varric added, "He finally managed to answer enough questions to make people leave him alone and retreated to his quarters. My guess is he wouldn't mind a visitor, as long as it's the right visitor."

"Thank you, Varric," Cullen said between grated teeth.

"You're welcome, Curly," Varric told him with a broad grin.

Muttering under his breath, Cullen turned away and moved towards the Inquisitor's quarters, hurrying past the knowing glances to the door leading to the Inquisitor's quarters. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and paused to listen, hoping to find Dorian alone. He frowned when he heard voices, though they were too faint to understand, and wondered who had managed to reach Dorian before he arrived.

As he moved up the stairs and strained to listen to the voice that didn't belong to Dorian, an uneasy sensation crawled over his skin as a nagging sense of familiarity crept over him. Even though the words were indistinct, other aspects leapt to his mind: the deep timbre, the odd intonation that rushed through some words and slowed at others-both of those together raised internal alarms and made his heart race. When he saw a faint red glow glimmering off the stained glass windows along the side of the staircase, his mind and body froze all at once as everything clicked into place.

That was Amell's voice.

In the next moment, he rushed up the stairs, hand scrabbling at his side for a sword that was no longer there as he charged forward into Dorian's bedroom with a yell.

The red light flickered and died as Dorian turned to face Cullen with a surprised look on his face. Cullen blinked as he stumbled to a halt, looking around in confusion as a sense of embarrassment slowly crept over him. Even as he opened his mouth to ask about the light and the voice, however, Dorian had closed the distance between them and claimed Cullen's lips for another purpose entirely. It was brief, that kiss, a mere touch of the lips, but the look of adoration on Dorian's face as he pulled back to smile at Cullen sent a surge of warmth through him, and drove home the beauty of the moment: Dorian had finally returned.

"Maker," he breathed, then caught Dorian's face in his hands so he could haul him into another kiss, this one far more fierce. That kiss led to another, and another, with only a moment spared between them so he could divest himself of the impediments between them like his vambraces and gloves. Only when his bare fingers could play freely in Dorian's hair was it enough, and he could concentrate fully on the matter at hand: his Inquisitor.

Only when they had run out of breath and were panting between each kiss did they finally slow, and Cullen felt his lips curve into a helpless smile. "I'm glad you're back."

Dorian's rich chuckle shot down Cullen's spine and pooled in his stomach as Dorian drew his thumb lightly along Cullen's lower lip. "I had ascertained that from your form of greeting, yes," he murmured.

"I suppose I've been worried," Cullen admitted. "One message to let us know that you had fought Amell and lived isn't really enough. Why didn't you send more messages? Surely the Inquisition camps didn't all run out of birds at the same time, did they?"

Dorian's brows furrowed. "I wish it were so simple a matter, but the truth is far more sinister, I fear."

A chill ran down Cullen's spine. "What do you mean?"

With a sigh, Dorian released Cullen's waist and stepped back, hand dropping to rest on an odd red crystal on his desk. "I have learned from a trusted source that there is a high probability of an agent of Amell within the ranks of the Inquisition."

"Maker," Cullen breathed, though the information felt more like a revelation than a surprise. In fact, the more he turned the notion over in his head, the more it made sense. "He has always seemed to be a step ahead of us on some matters. And of course, there's the matter of the red lyrium."

"The same thoughts crossed my mind as well." Dorian sighed and reached up to massage his temples. "Leliana's reaction was...well, as you'd expect. I'm sure she'll be spending the next day or so re-evaluating the presence of everyone in Skyhold."

"Poor Alistair," Cullen said with a sympathetic wince. "I told him to seek out Leliana when he needed her, but it sounds like she might not have time for him."

Dorian's lips twitched into a smirk. "Oh, for him, she'll make time. They've been, ah, making up for lost time, as it were, on the road back. And for when she absolutely cannot, Loghain may be able to help him." With a shake of his head, Dorian added, "I am glad we were able to rescue Alistair from Amell's clutches, but it still feels as if I did too little, too late. Every time I see his arm, I..." His voice trailed away as a haunted look came to his face.

Cullen stepped forward swiftly, taking Dorian's face between his hands. "Don't think like that. Alistair is here, and not with Amell. Saving even one life is no small feat."

The words hung between them for a long moment as Dorian searched Cullen's face closely. Finally he gave a long sigh and closed his eyes before pressing their foreheads together. "You're right. I just feel like I could have done more. And I feel like I failed Hawke, after all he did to give me an opportunity to take down Amell. In the end, I couldn't even save him."

Cullen pulled back so he could press a kiss to Dorian's forehead, then guided him gently to the couch. Once they were settled, he took Dorian's hands between his own. "Tell me everything."

The telling proved not to be easy for Dorian, particularly once the story reached the Shrine. Cullen shuddered at his description of the bodies sucked dry of all life, suddenly wondering if Amell had done that in Kinloch Hold when no one had been watching. Greagoir had never let anyone view Uldred's body, after all. In fact, now that Cullen thought about it, the Knight-Commander had burned a lot of the bodies in private, citing standard procedure for abomination disposal. But what if…

Shaking his head, he listened, trying to be supportive as Dorian explained everything that had happened. At one point, he frowned. "What did the Magister mean by the Vessel?"

"I'm not sure," Dorian admitted. "But it doesn't sound promising for Calpernia's general health and wellbeing. Whatever Corypheus intends, it's clear he doesn't expect her to emerge from the experience as the same person she is now, or he wouldn't have made such an elaborate magical cage for her. I wish I'd been able to hear more, but his voice was weak." Dorian sighed. "Whatever Corypheus is planning, it is clear he's lied to his own servants about the results of his efforts."

Cullen nodded. "For one, he's letting her believe that he'll free the slaves."

"Which he might do in the technical sense, but only by making everyone the servants of the new Dark God," Dorian said darkly. "I wouldn't put it past him to bargain like a demon and give you what you asked for rather than what you actually need."

"Yes." Cullen shuddered again as the skin prickled on his arms, and shook his head as he hastily pushed those memories away. "What happened after that?"

Dorian's brow drew together. "Then we attacked."

Cullen found he couldn't really fault the tactics they'd employed in the fight, but he still wished he'd been there. Maybe his own abilities as a Templar could have made the difference, after all, by tempering Amell's seemingly inexhaustible magic. When Dorian reached the end of the battle, however, Cullen's eyes widened. "Time magic?"

"There is no other explanation," Dorian murmured. "Either they slipped out through a frozen moment in time, or they stopped the rest of us. Either way, there's a certain tang that the manipulation of time leaves in the air, and I smelled it."

"But I thought that only you and Alexius—" Cullen paused, turning pale. "But that means—"

"Yes." Dorian again reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I have no other explanation for it. Our notes were cryptic to a fault, only shared between ourselves and his wife and her students. No one else had ever reproduced what we had done, and Amell's amulet looked almost precisely like the prototype Alexius came up with shortly before I left him. There's no other explanation, and yet…I can't explain it. Not if Felix is telling the truth."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, and suddenly Cullen remembered the odd encounter with Felix earlier that day. Finally he ventured, "And you're not sure about that now, are you?"

"In truth? No." Dorian sighed heavily, the confession clearly taking a toll on him. "I didn't tell anyone at the time, but the person who gave me the map that led to the ambush at the Winter Palace? It wasn't one of Leliana's agents, it was Felix."

Cullen's brows drew together as he started to stand. "I'll go tell Leliana to—"

"No," Dorian said quickly, reaching out to stop Cullen. "No. I told Leliana on the way back. We agreed that we want to play the long game, to observe him and see if he…if he is truly Amell's agent. And if he is—"

"—you want to see if you can trace him back to Amell," Cullen said, immediately understanding Dorian's plan. "Yes, I can see that. And I hate to say it, but I think you're right about him." Quickly Cullen outlined what had happened with Felix and the object Morrigan had brought into Skyhold, and what had been said and done after. "I told Morrigan I'd have Harritt make a lock for the door, but now I wonder if we want to try to catch him in the act somehow."

Dorian frowned. "Let me think about that," he mused. "I'll speak with Morrigan more about the eluvian. I'd almost forgotten she would arrive while I was gone."

Cullen took his hand and squeezed it. "What happened after that? After Amell escaped?"

"We followed his trail—that's when we found poor Alistair, Maker bless him—back to his horses. And found utter chaos." An expression of pain came to Dorian's face. "Apparently, Amell decided that the best way to hide his trail was to make sure we wouldn't follow it by being too busy to tend to our own. And he was right."

Another chill ran down Cullen's spine as he listened to what Amell had left as a parting present to the Inquisition forces, recognizing Amell's sheer indifference to life so long as it did not interfere with his purpose. "Poor Jim," he murmured. "I'm glad Sutherland and his company are safe, though. They've exhibited some surprising competence over the last few weeks."

"And they're quite willing to be fashion nugs for the Inquisition when Josephine needs it, too," Dorian added with a chuckle, but the sound quickly faded. "At any rate, we had to stay in place for a few days."

"And that's when Loghain found you?" Cullen hazarded.

"Mhmm. Which is an interesting tale all in and of itself," Dorian observed before he continued.

When Dorian had finished explaining everything, Cullen shook his head. "Now I really wish I had been with you."

"Oh? For me to fret about you every step of the way?" Dorian challenged him.

"I at least would have been able to kiss you goodnight and good morning every day," Cullen grumbled.

Dorian leaned in slightly. "You'd better catch up now, then," he said in a low tone. "I've missed you, my Commander."

"I'll take that as an order," Cullen growled, then leaned forward and pinned Dorian against the couch as he claimed each and every kiss himself. As the kisses grew lengthier and the heat grew between them, Cullen let his hands wander down Dorian's body, working at the buckles as he found each one and wrestling them open. Eventually he pushed Dorian flat on his back, then started to kiss his way down Dorian's body, though the kisses varied between a gentle caress of his lips and half-hard bites that made Dorian moan. His intent became clear before he reached Dorian's navel, and Dorian's hips jumped as one last push left the bulk of Dorian's armor on the floor.

Much later, as they lay panting in each others' arms on top of the thoroughly mussed blankets, a fuzzy recollection came to Cullen, who forced his head up to look at Dorian. "I do have a question, though."

"Oh?" Dorian raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"When I first entered, I could have sworn that I heard Amell's voice," Cullen told him, the memory chilling him still. "And saw a red light. Was I imagining it? Is it a symptom of the red lyrium? Or was it real?"

"Ah," Dorian murmured. "No, that was real. You recall that crystal I mentioned we sort-of filched from Amell's saddlebag?" When Cullen nodded, Dorian said, "He had some memories recorded on it. Scenes from his past, as it were. I was viewing one of them when you came in."

Cullen shuddered. "I'm not sure I'd want to watch one of those."

"They've been…interesting to watch," Dorian mused. "He's far more human, for one. Not a good person, by any stretch of the imagination, but still human once. Not the monster I saw through Hawke's eyes in those odd dreams of mine."

The comment made Cullen frown thoughtfully. "I…admit to a certain inability to conceive of that," he admitted. "To me, he was monstrous."

Dorian quickly reached up to touch Cullen's cheek. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, no. I think I know what you mean. It's just…difficult to think of him in any context." Cullen sighed, then turned his head to kiss Dorian's palm. "What have you learned?"

"Well, for one, he was deteriorating rapidly, succumbing to the Calling that all Wardens must face. The memory I was watching was more about details of his failed efforts to find a cure for the condition that dooms Wardens to their fate. It was…fascinating, I'll admit, from a research perspective. Whatever else one can say about Amell, he is a most skilled mage when it comes to research. He still exhibited a remarkable lack of concern for others, but there's no denying that he knows more on the subject of the Blight and the taint than any other source I've found. But it was clear he was running out of time."

"So he was only looking for a cure?" Cullen asked skeptically. "He wasn't on some sort of power-mad journey like Corypheus?"

"Not in these memories, no." He tilted his head. "Perhaps you would like to watch some with me?"

Cullen's instinctive response was to immediately reject the idea, even as his heart started racing, but he forced himself to consider it as the Commander of the Inquisition Forces, even if he was lying half naked on top of the fully naked Inquisitor. That little bit of incongruity was enough to calm him down, and he finally nodded. "I…think it would be a good idea. The more I know about his weaknesses, the better prepared I can be to plan the fight against him." Yes, that certainly sounded like good reasoning.

Dorian nodded. "Let's go over there, then."

You watch as the picture forms above the desk, dull edges forming into sharp red lines of motion as a hand pulls away from the crystal. You see the thinness of the hand, the delicacy of taut skin stretched over bone, and when Amell's face comes into view, you instinctively flinch back from its almost ghoulish appearance. Clumps of hair are missing, and his cheeks are so sunken that you can see the lines of his teeth through them. When he speaks, you almost wonder how he can physically manage it, and the weakness of his voice echoes that sentiment.

"If you keep to your threat and come after me, then I suppose you will find this crystal," he wheezes. "I pray to whatever god has never paid attention to my pleas that you do not follow, but I fear you will do so regardless." Here Amell pauses, closing his eyes to catch his breath. You notice something trickle out of the corner of one eye, too dark to be a tear, and wonder how much longer he can survive. "I know I left Amaranthine without telling you, but we both know it is time, and past time, for me to die. I thought I would try one last time to locate that damned thaig Hawke found the idol in. If anything has enough power…"

Suddenly a wracking cough explodes from Amell, and something hard flies from his mouth and strikes the crystal, knocking it askew. With a curse, Amell straightens the crystal, then picks up something you realize with horror is a tooth. "Another one," he mutters, then drops it to the ground. "Needless to say, the journal I found was wrong, and I've been wandering the Deep Roads for weeks in vain. It's odd, though. I haven't met any darkspawn, only demons, and I refuse to succumb to one of them. I'll die by my own hand when there's no other choice, but never to theirs."

A rumble echoes overhead, and he looks up sharply. "Damn. Another one. I shouldn't have wandered this far away from known paths, but then…" A ghastly chuckle escapes his lips. "What have I got to lose?"

"Your last chance."

The words come from a place the crystal can't see, but you see Amell's head whip around and face someone to his left. "You."

"You have made yourself quite difficult to find, Warden-Commander," the seemingly disembodied voice, male from its timbre, observed in an accent that plays on your ears and tugs at your mind. "It is almost as if you do not wish to be found."

"Not by anyone, no." Amell's eyes narrow. "And you're supposed to be in the Deep Roads farthest away from Amaranthine. That was part of our deal, when last we spoke."

"I have had an awakening since then." The voice moves closer, tantalizingly close to the field of vision of the crystal, but you only see one incredibly long, skeletal hand gesture as the speaker continues. "One of my fellows escaped his prison, and in escaping, has changed the world. I went from thinking myself only a darkspawn to knowing that I am their master."

Amell frowns, though the gesture pulls his lips back enough from his teeth to make it look like a grimace. "What do you mean?"

"Together, we entered the Golden City, only to find it already dark," the other says, still tantalizingly out of view. "Together we were struck by its curse and thrown back into the world. There we went our separate ways, and I awoke with no memory of who I was or what I truly am. But now, I remember. Now, I know what must be done, and to accomplish it, I need your aid. In return, I can grant you what you most wish: an abeyance of the poison twisting the life your body."

"Not a cure, then," Amell notes bitterly.

"Not yet, no." There is a rustle as Amell's visitor moves closer, and you see more of a body misshapen and twisted in a manner similar to that of Corypheus. "But I also seek freedom from the foul embrace foisted on me by the treachery of the Black City. Together, who knows what future we can build for ourselves?"

For a long moment, Amell simply stares at the figure, then nods slowly as he leans forward, eyes intent. "Tell me more."

Dorian reached out with a trembling hand and tapped the crystal, ending the memory's replay there. They had watched enough to process for the moment, beginning with the most obvious revelation which Dorian put voice to immediately. "It's not a demon. It's not a spirit, nor any Fade denizen." He turned to look at Cullen. "You realize what this means, don't you?"

Cullen nodded, face ashen. "He found another of the Magisters who went into the Fade with Corypheus." The thought boggled the mind, but there was no other real explanation for it. "I thought they were all dead, aside from Corypheus."

"We should have revisited that assumption once Corypheus appeared." In a sudden fit of pique, Dorian slammed his fist on the desk. "I should have guessed. The accent, the way he used the true Tevene name of Sethius instead of Corypheus… It all makes sense now."

"Except that Amell seemed to recognize him," Cullen said slowly. "I wonder where they met before."

"I wish I knew." Dorian sighed and looked at the crystal. "So many questions left to answer, and so many answers without a proper question. Did Amell truly seek nothing more than a cure, or is the cure merely the next step for him on a longer path to power? Does this Magister seek power, as Corypheus does, or something entirely different?" Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply. "Corypheus. I need to focus on him once more. I cannot let myself become so obsessed with Amell that I forget the primary reason why I'm here. Oh, and Josephine told me that Blackwall left Skyhold sometime in the last day or two, so I'll need to investigate that. Hopefully Leliana will have a lead for me." He ran his hand through his hair in a way that left his hair delightfully mussed, then frowned as he contemplated the green flicker of the Anchor. "Why does it all have to be so complicated?"

Cullen moved close enough to wrap his arm around Dorian's waist, savoring the nearness after their recent separation. "No one expects you to get everything done in the next hour," he said gently, then paused a moment before adding, "except you."

Dorian snorted in amusement. "You prick my ego so effectively," he murmured, giving Cullen a sidelong glance. "You are correct, however. I did prevent his attempt to suborn the Orlesian throne. That must count for something."

"Mhmm. Which reminds me," Cullen said with a cocky grin, "we never did properly celebrate that victory."

"Very true," Dorian mused. Straightening from where he had hunched over the table, Dorian turned to face Cullen and settled his hands on Cullen's hips. "I take if you have some ideas down that particular line of thought?"

Cullen chuckled deep in his chest, then tugged Dorian into a rather sensuous kiss. When their lips parted, he murmured, "I might have one or two."

"Oh?" The corner of Dorian's mouth lifted in a positively sultry manner. "I do hope you're willing to demonstrate."

Seizing the sides of Dorian's head between his hands, Cullen growled, "At length, in fact."

After that, of course, speech became impossible, since Cullen's lips and tongue soon found themselves fully occupied.