Darkness surrounds him, pressing in from all sides as he gasps for air. It pulls on his limbs as he struggles to run, trying to drag him down to the ground, never to rise. Yet he has to keep going, has to keep running. Somewhere in the darkness, close and yet far, the song waits, crooning its off-key, off-kilter song as it stalks him in the pitch black. It is relentless, and one day it will take him.
He risks a glance back and quails when he sees the faint, dull red glimmering behind him. The fear swells within, gripping his spine and mind with cold, and he forces his legs to move faster.
It isn't enough, though. The song slowly grows closer and closer, scratching at his mind and slowly invading his sight. It is relentless, and one day, he knows, he must succumb to its twisted and twisting melody. Even now, he feels its tendrils curl around his throat, seeking to claim his voice for its own.
Shaking his head stubbornly, he surges forward once more. It does not control him yet.
With a start, Cullen sat bolt upright, ears ringing and head swimming as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. The nightmare slipped away as the world changed from grey to color, and he sank his head into his hands as reality settled in around him.
Unfortunately, the act of waking only brought with it an increasingly pounding headache and a deep ache in his limbs, an echo of the struggling he'd experienced in his nightmares. It wasn't a new nightmare, but this time it had been an especially visceral sensation, one which lingered in his bones. That distraction served to be enough that when he opened his eyes, true confusion gripped him for a few moments as he tried to figure out his location, a confusion that trembled on the edge of fear. Around him, the world loomed dark and strange, without even the familiar comfort of the stars shining above.
Before he could topple entirely into a full blown panic, however, a trickle of memory poked his brain, followed immediately by a more thorough memory of Dorian's hand squeezing him intimately. Reflexively his hand reached out for Dorian next to him, but he found only an empty mattress.
With a sigh, he let himself fall back, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He couldn't be sure when he'd gone to sleep, but he distinctly remembered long, languorous kisses and fingers moving over hot skin before it blurred into sleep. "Maferath's twisted knickers," he groaned, his hand moving to stroke himself as his body responded to the memories, "why couldn't I have stayed awake just a little bit longer?"
As he lay there, he noticed a slow increase in the light and glanced over to the balcony windows. Dawn was imminent, it seemed, with the soft light of dawn filtering through the elaborate windows of the leaves and trees which Mailani had had installed-one of her few indulgences, he recalled with a smile. With that memory came another, of the tub she'd had put in the little empty closet behind the Inquisitor's bed.
The thought of the bath made Cullen uncomfortably aware of himself, of the sweat from his nightmare and earlier activities with Dorian melding together into something rather unpleasant. Pushing himself from the bed, he made his way to the room to see if the tub was, indeed, still there. When he found it present and filled with water, he tested the water thoughtfully. If it was anything warmer than ice cold...
To his surprise, he found it warm to the touch-not hot, but certainly not mountain-fresh. Magic? It would make sense for Dorian, honestly-the man did take meticulous care of himself, after all, and not only for the sake of the façade of vanity he maintained in public.
Surely he wouldn't mind if I used the bath...
Abruptly he wanted nothing more than to sit in the water and relax. Certainly the aches in his muscles and head would benefit from a good long soak, wouldn't they? And if Dorian happened to return while he was lingering naked in the water...
The thought made Cullen frown as his hand fell on his chest, all too aware of Dagna's armor. Clumsy and awkward as it had been before he'd fallen asleep, he was yet hesitant to remove it entirely. When he'd been on the road, he'd compromised by removing each half separately for some hasty ablutions. But surely Dagna didn't really expect him to wear it all the time, did she? A man had to bathe, after all. Especially a fighter.
And the water looked awfully inviting...
Coming to an abrupt decision, Cullen tugged off his armor leggings and eased his legs into the tub. After a few moments, he peeled off the top part of his armor and dropped it onto the other half before sinking the rest of the way into the tub with a long, relieved sigh.
For a few moments, it felt thrilling not to be cocooned in the armor. The water tickled over his bare skin in a liquid caress, reminding him of just how long it had been since he'd been properly touched by anyone, especially Dorian. With a soft moan, he ran his hands over his chest, arms, and legs, reveling in the sensation. Retrieving the soap, he hummed softly as he rubbed it into a lather over his chest, wondering how he'd never realized just how sensuous the simple act of cleaning oneself could actually be.
A relaxing few minutes passed until his skin practically gleamed and the water grew cloudy, and he sighed and let his head drop back. Perhaps it's not as bad as I'd feared, he mused. Perhaps I've managed to defeat it.
As if the burgeoning hint of hope awoke in his heart were a summons, however, he suddenly heard it: the song. Tilted, twisted, and sinister, the peculiar hum arose within, roaring up from the depths of his mind with a vengeance that laughed at his feeble attempts to declare his own freedom. With a shuddering cry, his hands flew to his head as the ache returned there in full, buoyed by the pointed jab of the song returning in full force. Clawing his way from the tub, he landed hard on the floor and writhed for a moment as he struggled to contain the pain long enough to crawl to his discarded armor.
After an eternity he reached it, his hands shaking hard enough to make the fine chain jingle despite the thin layer of padding beneath it. When the first try failed to get the correct hole near his head, he sobbed with frustration. Still, touching it did help, even if it was just enough to dull the edge and let his eyes start working again. His second try was a bit more successful, but then the sleeves just would not cooperate.
Suddenly hands were there, easing his arms through the sleeves and tugging the fine chain down and around his torso. The music faded, slowly at first but then with increasing speed, until finally it was there but tolerable. He felt the same hands gently shift him to lie on his back, then work the lower half of the armor up his legs, finally cinching it into place with deft fingers. His eyes tried to focus, but he only saw enough to guess that it was Dorian, based on the dark hair.
"Thank you," he whispered in a hoarse voice, then winced.
"Shush," Dorian said quietly, putting a finger on his lips. "I'm surprised you didn't shout your voice gone."
Cullen winced. He had no memory of screaming like that, but he knew it was highly likely given how cacophonous the song had been inside his head. Before he could gather energy to speak, he felt something cool touch his lips.
"Drink," Dorian said in a soothing tone. "It's just water, not too cold. I'll get you some with elfroot once we get you to bed."
It was a matter of only a few sips before Cullen took to gulping the water down, feeling strangely parched from his odd trial. Perhaps he'd sweat a bit more than he remembered. When the cup was taken away, he opened his eyes again. Dorian slowly came into focus, his tender smile better than all the elfroot in the world at that precise moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but again Dorian touched his lips with a finger.
"Not yet," Dorian said. "Let's get you out of here. The floor is soaked."
Cullen glanced down, wondering how much he'd thrashed to get so much water on the floor. "Sorry," he croaked, then winced again. How hard did I scream?
"What did I say about talking?" Dorian scolded him, even as he got his arm under Cullen's shoulders. As Dorian pulled him steadily to his feet, Cullen realized how often he underestimated Dorian's strength. He'd teased the man about his musculature in the past, but of course Dorian had simply waved it away as a part of his overweening vanity. Still, Cullen had to wonder if it were more than that, and wished he could ask him—or remember to ask him later.
Soon Dorian put him back into bed, though on the opposite side from where he'd awoken. Cullen noticed that the room was quite a bit brighter, indicating the sun had risen fully. "There we are," Dorian said. "Now stay here. It won't take long to get some elfroot for your poor throat."
Cullen nodded and closed his eyes, giving a small sigh of relief as Dorian covered him with a blanket. He felt safe now that the armor had been restored, and it was easier to simply dwell on that than it was to contemplate a lifetime of wearing armor if the potential of a cure never actually manifested itself in his life.
When a hand landed on his forehead some unknowable time later, his brows drew together. "Dorian?"
"Oh, no, but he's right here," a soothing woman's voice told him.
Cullen slowly opened his eyes, then smiled. "Hello," he said softly. He recognized the woman readily, since she'd taken care of him several times before. Dorian hovered in the background, his face anxious as the healer continued to examine Cullen, even going so far as to pick up his wrist and count his pulse.
Finally the healer patted his cheek. "Hello, my young bantam. You don't look so very happy right now. Don't worry. I have just the thing." She lifted a small vial to his lips. "Here we go," she murmured, then tipped the contents into his mouth. As he drank the potion down, she said, "As your healer, I'm going to give you strict instructions to rest, Commander. The troops need you whole, you know."
"She's right," Dorian put in. "And I'm your boss, so I can enforce the healer's orders as necessary."
"There, you see?" the woman asked with a chuckle as she pulled the now empty bottle away. "Feel better?"
Cullen worked his tongue around in his mouth, making a little face at the taste of the potion but grateful for it nevertheless—grateful for the potion, and also for what it was not, given the color. "Yes. Thank you."
"Good. Still, it is best that you stay here for the time being. I'll check on you later," she promised, then stood and bustled her way from the room.
It was only then that it hit Cullen that he was in the Inquisitor's bedroom—in his bed— in the early hours of the morning, a situation that was likely to be interpreted in the most obvious way possible. His ears reddened as he looked away from Dorian. "Ah…Perhaps I should go back to my quarters."
Dorian chuckled as he settled on to the bed and reached out to push back a wayward tendril of Cullen's wavy hair. "I don't have anything to hide with you being here. Do you?"
Cullen scrutinized Dorian's face for a long moment, feeling a quiet joy fill him at what he found there. "I…No." He smiled, an expression which strengthened as his certainty grew. "No, of course not. Besides, I'd rather wake up next to you than alone."
The expression on Dorian's face at those words, as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he breathed slowly through pursed lips, spoke of a relief so profound that Cullen found himself reaching out cup Dorian's face in his hands. As his fingers touched Dorian's cheek, Dorian opened his eyes and smiled at him, that smile he always used after their most tender kisses. "I think I rather prefer that, too."
After that, of course, there was no choice but to kiss—several times, in as many ways as they could possibly manage. Before it could go further than that, however, the delicate sound of someone politely clearing their throat came from the top of the stairs. With a sigh, Dorian turned to Josephine. "What is it this time?" he asked in a good-natured, albeit aggrieved, fashion. After all, it wasn't the first time the Ambassador had interrupted them at an awkward moment.
"I apologize for the interruption," Josephine said smoothly and a bit too glibly, "but some urgent information has arrived by wing. Leliana thinks it important enough to merit a war table meeting now."
"If it's about Soldier's Peak or Amell, I honestly think it can wait a bit, don't you?" Dorian asked hopefully.
Josephine shook her head. "It's about Corypheus. We learned what his next move will be."
Dorian's spine straightened as his attention focused wholly on Josephine. "Finally. I was beginning to think he'd burst himself with his own orb. We'll be right there."
Josephine nodded, then turned and left the room.
With a sigh, Dorian turned to smile sheepishly at Cullen. "It appears we have been outvoted."
"For good reason," Cullen said grimly. "The sooner we can take down Corypheus, the better."
"You're right." Dorian stood, then held out a hand. "I'm afraid you won't get to rest after all. Let's get you dressed."
As they entered the war room, Cullen received a surprise when he saw Morrigan in consultation with Leliana at the war table. They looked up from the paper Leliana held as Dorian and Cullen arrived, and exchanged an indecipherable glance before separating. "Inquisitor," Leliana said with a nod.
"Leliana," Dorian said with a return nod. "Lady Morrigan. I take it your presence holds some significance?"
Morrigan smiled faintly. "I am here in Skyhold to offer my expertise, Inquisitor."
"And according to these latest reports, we have need of just such expertise," Leliana added.
"All right. What have we learned?" Dorian asked.
"We already knew that Corypheus was seeking an ancient artifact," Leliana reminded him. "It would appear he has discovered a possible location for the one he seeks. We have also learned the nature of the artifact, and why he pursues it. His forces have set into motion towards the Arbor Wilds and some ancient Elven ruins there."
"An Elven artifact, then?" Dorian guessed.
As Leliana nodded, Morrigan said, "Indeed, Inquisitor. And it is not merely a trinket of power. He seeks an eluvian."
"An eluvian?" Cullen asked, the word tickling at him until he remembered where he'd heard the term. "Like what you brought to Skyhold?" Immediately he frowned. "Wait. Could he use the eluvian to enter Skyhold?"
"No, Commander," Morrigan told him, her tone firm. "I have ensured that none may enter Skyhold through that method without my leave."
"Which is a good thing," Dorian mused, "considering that Amell has one at his disposal. A pity Corypheus didn't find that one first. That might have at least simplified our problems a little."
Cullen forced himself to speak through his burgeoning headache, refusing to let it interfere with his duties. "At least this proves once and for all that no alliance exists between Amell and Corypheus," he pointed out, "or Corypheus would simply have used the one in Amell's control. A small silver lining, but one for which we should be grateful."
"Use it for what purpose, though?" Josephine asked.
As the conversation progressed, Cullen listened as best as he could. The dull pulsation in his head fought against the need to concentrate, causing the words to echo unpleasantly in his head. Tightening his hands into fists, he stared at Morrigan as she spoke to Dorian, using sheer force of will to make sense of her words.
"—the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart," Morrigan told Dorian.
"That sounds rather dire. Suitable, I suppose, for the possible end of the world." A beat of silence followed as the words hung in the air before Dorian continued, "I think I'd like to avoid that, if at all possible. It would be rather embarrassing to let the world end when I was in the position to prevent it."
A shade of a smile curved Morrigan's lips. "Indeed. Should Corypheus succeed, do not doubt that you will be the first to feel his holy wrath."
"But not the last," Dorian murmured. "Definitely not the last."
Cullen frowned as the words sent a dark shiver down his spine. As bad as Amell was, at least he didn't want to supplant the Maker.
"Pardon me, but…" As Josephine broke the silence, everyone turned towards her. "Does this mean that all is lost unless we get to the eluvian before him?"
Still fighting through the fog of his headache, Cullen's eyes dropped down to the map and its markers for a moment as he weighed travel times and his troop's readiness. "Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our armies move," he said grudgingly.
Dorian tilted his head for a moment, leaning onto the table as he tapped the Arbor Wilds on the map. "We're a bit out of location for that, true. But the Orlesians are not, and Celene owes me a favor." He glanced up at Josephine. "And she isn't the only one."
Tapping her pen against her ever-present ledger, Josephine smiled confidently at Dorian. "There are several allies we could call in for assistance with this matter, Inquisitor. I will draft a message to Her Imperial Majesty right away, and a list of those who may also be able to assist us."
"Excellent. Let's get that letter drafted and finished right after this meeting," Dorian told her. "They're the closest and most powerful allies, after all."
Josephine nodded as she wrote a few notes. "Yes, Inquisitor."
"And since the Venatori are primarily mages, I'll speak with Ser Barris to ensure our Templar allies are in Inquisition vanguard as well," Cullen put in. "They're a small enough force they can move in ahead with Leliana's agents to aid the Orlesians until the main bulk of our forces arrive at the Arbor Wilds."
"And I am certain that Leliana's agents will inflict a hefty price in the form of sabotage on the way as well. That should serve to slow down Corypheus' forces, I would think," Dorian said with a chuckle as he glanced at Leliana. The chuckle faded into a frown as he studied her closely. "Leliana?"
Cullen glanced at Leliana and quickly noticed both her ashen pallor and the way her hand pressed to her stomach. Taking a step towards her, he asked, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Leliana said quickly. "It will pass. I just haven't slept through the night in a while."
"Or eaten well," Josephine muttered under her breath, but a warning glare from Leliana silenced her.
Leliana turned back to Dorian with a wan smile. "And I daresay will continue to elude me until this matter with Corypheus is settled. These are interesting times, Inquisitor."
"That they most certainly are, but I do think we have a good start to all the planning for what is to come," Dorian assured her.
Morrigan laughed softly, then cleared her throat. "Such confidence, but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old Elven magic lingers in those woods."
"We'd be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan," Josephine said in that incredibly earnest fashion only she could truly achieve. "Please, lend us your expertise."
Lifting her chin, Morrigan replied, "'Tis why I came here, although it is good to see its value recognized."
Cullen mentally shook his head, focusing on Dorian once more as he asked, "Any further instructions, Inquisitor?" When Dorian's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the map, a rush of almost possessive pride swelled inside Cullen. After all, he'd seen how far Dorian had come from an unwitting, unwilling replacement to a decisive and inspiring leader in his own right.
Finally Dorian looked up, meeting each of their gazes for a moment before he spoke. "We've only got one chance at this," he said softly. "If Corypheus reaches that eluvian and enters the Fade in the flesh with the Orb, then the world will be changed through either corruption or destruction. I may not have started the Inquisition on this path, but I will damn sure ensure that I finish it. Mailani's memory deserves no less, nor do all those who have devoted their lives to the Inquisition. You all accepted me as Inquisitor even though I was not the first designated with that title, and I will never forget that. But now the time has come to topple a self-proclaimed god." He held up his hand, the green light glowing fitfully. "I fell into this job due to a terrible act, but you all are here because of your talents and determination. Because of that, we will see this through, I promise you that. And accidental Inquisitorship or not, I will not fail you." He pressed his hand to his chest. "That I promise."
Cullen's heart swelled as his spine straightened reflexively. He looked to Josephine and Leliana for a moment before turning back to Dorian. "I speak for all of us when I answer: we could ask for no finer cause."
"We'll hound Corypheus in the Wilds before he can find the temple of this 'eluvian,'" Leliana added.
"There is, of course, the matter of possible complications," Morrigan interjected delicately.
Dorian gave her a glance and nodded as Cullen's brow furrowed. "I had not forgotten, Lady Morrigan. At this point, I am rather expecting Amell to try to take advantage."
"Of course he will," Cullen said bitterly, rubbing at the ache behind his forehead. "Maker's balls, but I grow weary of thinking about the man."
"I still have agents looking for him," Leliana said. "Though I have learned to be cautious in that hunt."
"Did something happen?" Dorian asked with a frown.
She hesitated for a moment. "A…feeling more than anything. Two of the agents I assigned to investigate some of Amell's old haunts are overdue to report in. They were some of my finest agents, but…"
"But this is Amell we're dealing with, and by extension, Zevran," Dorian finished for her. He gave a soft sigh. "Pull everyone else back. We need to focus on Corypheus anyway, and I don't want to potentially lose more people to Amell until we can properly devote our attention to him. Since we are unable to find him, we can only hope that our preparations for meeting Corypheus' forces will be sufficient to counter whatever Amell brings to the Wilds."
"I—Yes, Inquisitor." Leliana pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. "I will recall the others."
"I pray that is enough, Inquisitor," Morrigan murmured.
"As do I," Dorian replied, staring down at the map. "As do I." He glanced up sharply. "There's little time to waste. Corypheus awaits us. Ambassador, let's get started on that letter to Celene, shall we?"
"Yes, Inquisitor." As Josephine hurried around the table, Cullen's gaze found Dorian, and for a long moment they were simply there for one another. All too soon, though, the moment was over, and time rushed back in.
As Josephine and Dorian left the room, Cullen looked down at the table map, mentally calculating distance and timetables again. When he looked up again, he saw that Morrigan and Leliana had moved to one side of the room and were whispering to each other. He saw Morrigan reach out to brush Leliana's stomach with a light touch, then pull her hand back quickly as Leliana batted at it. "I'm fine," he heard Leliana say.
Shaking his head, he left them to their conversation. After all, he had a lot of work to do.
Cullen stared blearily at the papers on his desk, trying to make sense of them as they blurred in and out of focus. Glancing at a window, he winced as he realized that the night had come and gone with him crafting strategies, sending missives, and overall running poor Scout Jim into the ground with all the planning. He'd met with Barris to discuss the contingent of Templars, coordinated with Leliana about how best to use sabotage to slow down the bulk of the Venatori forces, and moved through the barracks to ready a squad of messengers to prepare for his visit the next day.
Which is now today. Maker, he groaned, rubbing his face. He did have to go down to the encampments at the foot of the mountain. Most of the squadron leaders were down there, and he wanted to give them the news himself that the Inquisition was finally moving against Corypheus directly. They deserved to hear it from him personally.
With a jaw-cracking yawn, he straightened up from his hunched over position and forced himself to stretch slowly. He could practically feel his joints crying in protest, and the chorus of cracks seemed to confirm that. Lowering his arms with a chuckle, he moved to the wash basin at the sidetable and leaned over to splash some water on his face, hoping the chill of the mountain-cold water would wake him up.
"Sweet Maker," he gasped as the frigid water hit his skin. Grabbing for the towel next to the basin, he muttered, "I didn't think it would be that cold."
"The entire mountain is covered with snow," a familiar voice pointed out from the door. "But then, you're a Fereldan, so I can't expect much sense from you, can I?"
Cullen chuckled, though the sound was diminished by the vigorous motions of the towel on his face. Finally he dropped it and turned to face Alistair. "Takes one to know one. At least I know better than to take a running jump into a stream of snow-melt."
Alistair mock-scowled at him. "I was twelve. Besides, I only did that one time."
Cullen's grin widened. "Yes, because your screams carried to the main training camp and no one ever let you forget it, either."
"Shut up," Alistair muttered as he stepped fully into the office and closed the door behind them. His face turned more serious as he looked Cullen up and down. "You look exhausted," he told Cullen bluntly. "Maybe you should sleep for a bit."
"If I look like you, then maybe we both should," Cullen remarked, noting the bags under Alistair's eyes and the pallor under his normally deep tan. "Is something wrong?"
"Just nightmares," Alistair said. "Nightmares and unfinished business. Which brings me to why I'm here." He reached over and patted his arm, which had an odd contraption on it. "Dagna modified the shield-holder again. I tried it a bit this morning, but I want to fight against a real opponent. Feel up to a spar?"
Cullen glanced at the paper lying on his desk. "We're marching against Corypheus soon," he said. "I need to finish all the arrangements for that. Surely this can wait until after I'm back from the Wilds?"
Shaking his head stubbornly, Alistair said, "Absolutely not. I'm coming with you."
"What?" Cullen blinked, caught by surprise. "But I thought it was Amell you wanted to—"
"Fight?" Alistair set his hand on his hip. "I may have personal reasons to hate Amell more, but I got involved in this because of what Corypheus tried to do with the Grey Wardens. I still have a very large bone to pick with him. I've got my sword arm. I can smite and do all the other things a Templar can do. Just strap a shield on me and I'll be good to go. Besides…" His voice trailed off as he looked down, but then Alistair abruptly nodded and met Cullen's gaze again. "Leliana is going with you. She told me. So I'm going with you."
Cullen frowned as he scrutinized Alistair closely. It was true that in the weeks since Alistair had arrived back at Skyhold after his rescue, he'd gone from lean and sickly to something more approximating his former robust self, but Cullen wasn't sure if that really meant he was ready for a fight, particularly one that was shaping up to be a battle the likes of the one the Inquisition faced in the Arbor Wilds. Of course, there was an easy way to test it. "All right. Let's go down to the ring."
Once they were in combat, Cullen felt much more at ease about Alistair's prospects in the Wilds. Whatever else could be said about this new, hardened Alistair, it was clear that his tenacity and stubbornness had only increased during his time in Amell's clutches. The potential of the warrior he had been still shone during the fighting, and after he had done enough testing to make sure that Dagna's contraption would indeed keep Alistair's shield in place, Cullen stepped back and lowered his sword to signal the end of the sparring match.
"I'm convinced," Cullen told him. Before Alistair could speak, however, he added, "But you have to spar every day with me or Cassandra. She might be more available in the coming days, honestly, so I'd recommend following up with her."
"I will." Alistair held up the weighted practice sword and turned it over, a frown on his face. "And I'll need a new sword, too. Amell kept mine."
"You'll have the finest the Inquisition has to offer. In fact, I'll talk to Dagna about it myself," Cullen told him. "And about a new shield. She made one for me that she claims makes Templar abilities easier to use, and I think you could benefit from that. For armor, though, let's keep with Templar armor, since we don't have any spare Warden armor here. It's sturdy, and you're used to it."
Alistair chuckled hollowly. "Funny. All these years after leaving the Templars, and here I am, fighting and smiting mages again."
"How do you think I feel?" Cullen asked in a wry tone. "I left even more publicly than you did. At least you could blame the Wardens for snatching you away. I just left. If the Inquisition hadn't become what it did, I'd have been a pariah for the rest of my life."
"I know what you mean. Before the Fifth Blight, the Wardens weren't too highly regarded in Ferelden. Maker, it's only slightly better now. Or…would have been, if Corypheus hadn't stepped in to tarnish us once again." Alistair frowned, then flipped his sword and walked to the weapon's rack. "Help me get this shield off."
"Of course." Cullen moved to Alistair's side, putting both their swords back onto the rack for the next fighters and getting to work on the buckles that held the shield in place from beneath. "It's an ingenious design, though that's not really a surprise when it comes to Dagna."
Alistair chuckled. "True. Did I tell you that I met her during the Blight?"
Cullen grunted as he worked at a particularly stubborn clasp. "She told Mailani that the Hero of Ferelden rescued her from a lifetime of boredom in Orzammar. Apparently she didn't know him that well."
"I haven't the heart to tell her," Alistair admitted. "She's so…cheery. I can't tell her the truth, not about Amell or her father."
"What do you mean?" Cullen asked with a frown, then yelped as the shield suddenly popped out of its harness and snapped against his hand. "Damn. Sorry."
"That's all right. Good thing to know about it for next time, right?" the man asked with a grin. "But yeah. Amell told Dagna that he'd persuaded her father to let her go study in Orzammar, and made him tell her that she could go with his blessing. After she was packed up and off on her cheery way to Orzammar, Amell disappeared into her father's house for an hour." Alistair rubbed absently at his arm as his gaze grew distant. "When he came out, well… There wasn't anyone living in the house, I'll tell you that. And Dagna probably will never find out, because once you leave Orzammar, you can't go back."
The blood drained from Cullen's face. "Amell killed her father?"
"Mhmm." Alistair closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Did the same thing with another dwarf, the mother of a poor bastard we found in the Deep Roads. Said that it was better to kill parents after their children were gone from their lives because what else did they have to live for?"
"Maferath's balls," Cullen swore. "No wonder you never told Dagna."
Alistair nodded. "I couldn't do that to her. She absolutely considers Amell to be a hero."
Cullen frowned as a tingle of fear touched his mind. "That's dangerous," he said. "If he ever seeks her out… He is a somniari, after all."
"Dwarves don't dream, remember? Or at least they can't go to the Fade," Alistair reminded him. "She's relatively safe from him in that regard. And for the rest, well… If Amell could penetrate Skyhold's defenses, I don't think he'd go straight for Dagna."
"Yes, but—" Reaching up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly as something in his head tried to get his attention, Cullen said, "I suppose you're right. Does she at least know her father's…gone, if not the reason why?"
"I don't know," Alistair admitted. "It would seem suspicious to ask either way, and she never mentions him."
Still uncomfortable with the notion, Cullen couldn't mentally wrestle his way to an answer, so ultimately he simply sighed. "Well, I won't mention anything when I see her. But you'll have a sword and shield to fight against Corypheus, I promise."
Alistair half-smiled and put his hand on Cullen's shoulder. "Thanks," he said softly. "I…I need to fight. I need to fight him, to see him go down, so that I can put him behind me."
"I know exactly what you mean," Cullen assured him. "We all feel that, though in differing degrees. He won't win. I promise you."
"I believe you more than I believe me." With a sigh, Alistair let his hand fall away. "I think I'll go see Leliana. She's been so busy that she even forgets to eat sometimes, but hopefully I'll be able to distract her a bit."
"Good idea," Cullen said with a nod. "We're both a bit prone to overworking ourselves."
That made a broad grin come to Alistair's face. "Maybe you should let a certain someone distract you for a few minutes then."
"Shut up," Cullen grated, feeling his ears heat. Being teased by Alistair about Dorian was certainly not something he was comfortable with yet. "Go on, go to Leliana. I need to talk to Dagna before I go down to see the troops."
"Yes, ser," Alistair said with a mock salute, then turned and headed towards the stairs leading to the private quarters.
"And take a bath first!" he called after Alistair, then shook his head and set into motion himself. Hopefully Dagna won't mind if I'm a bit fragrant myself, he thought ruefully.
Cullen did stop by his office long enough to use a wet washcloth on the worst of it, but it only emphasized one of the main reasons why he wanted to see Dagna. The prospect of never taking off the armor or risk having a reaction such as he'd had the previous morning did not sit well with him, and a vigorous spar had only solidified that feeling—or at least made of the reasons why that much more pressing. A spot bath could only do so much, after all.
He entered the Undercroft to the sound of hammering, and as he paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, he found his gaze drawn to the flash of sparks in the middle of the room. Harritt's bald head gleamed in tandem with those bursts, and Cullen made his way to the man's side. "I take it you've heard of our impending order to march," he said as he settled in beside the man. He did enjoy watching a professional work, after all.
"I've got a lot of crafting to do, Commander," Harritt replied in a gruff tone that Cullen had come to learn meant the man was pleased. "If you've a special request, I might be able to work it in, though."
With a chuckle, Cullen shook his head. "Am I so obvious?"
"You can be," Harritt said, glancing over at Cullen. "All right, Commander. What do you need?" As Cullen opened his mouth to answer, Harritt answered, "But if this is about a sword and shield for Warden Alistair, it's already on my list."
Cullen blinked. "Oh?"
Harritt settled his hammer down for a moment to reach for the waterskin hanging by the table. "Dagna pressured me into it. Said it was a favor for an old friend. Besides, she'd manufactured some sort of hootenanny for him and the shield needed to be made to her specifications. And both will be like yours. Made for Templar skills." After drinking some water, Harritt put the waterskin back and retrieved his hammer. "Didn't know Templars could be Wardens."
"Anyone can be a Warden. Even a Templar," Cullen said with a weak chuckle. "Well, then, I'll leave you to your task. You will let me know if you need me to poke Morris about supplies again?"
"Will do, Commander. He can get a bit stubborn sometimes, that one," Harritt noted sourly.
Cullen laughed and clapped Harritt on the back. "Carry on, my friend. I'll bring my sword in some time tomorrow so you can chide me about not taking proper care of it again."
"You do that," Harritt said without batting an eye, then started hammering at the sword on the table once more.
Smiling, Cullen stepped around Harritt and moved towards Dagna, who seemed absorbed in a project on one of her own tables—not, Cullen saw with relief, the one with the creepy skull with its glowing red eyes atop it. When he opened his mouth to greet her, she said, "Oh, good! You're here. I was going to send you a message."
"You were?"
"Indubitably!" Dagna turned to him, her expression cheerful. "I realized after you left Skyhold that I hadn't completely accounted for basic physiological necessities in the current design of your armor. So I made an improved version." She stepped back and gestured at a pile of armor on the table, but Cullen didn't really pay attention to it. Instead his eyes landed on what was on top of the armor, staring at it to see if it would go away.
When it didn't, he cleared his throat and asked, "And the, uh, helmet?"
"Oh! Isn't it spiffy?" Dagna asked, beaming up at him. "Go on! Take it!"
He hesitated, staring again at the helm. "It seems, ah, a bit…much?" he ventured.
"What? But it's a lion!" she said. "I've read all about them! They're strong and fierce, and all sorts of those little shield pictures have them all over the place. I thought it would be the perfect match for a warrior!"
Crests. Maker, Dagna had researched heraldry. Deciding he didn't have the heart to tell her that it was usually associated with Orlesian crests, he gave her a smile and reached for the helmet. Thankfully it was lighter than it looked, though he remained a bit skeptical about the lack of face protection granted by the roaring mouth of the lion. Otherwise, however, it was impressive work.
"Try it on," she urged.
"All right." Easing the helmet onto his head, he noticed right away that she'd taken the time to put in padding and baffles in all the right places. His vision forward was unobstructed, and the helmet didn't block as much vision on the sides as he'd feared. He turned his head from side to side, then frowned as it slowly dawned on him that he felt… normal. No hum, no distant ringing, nothing, with even the sound of Harritt's hammer somewhat muted and hollow. The headache which had lingered since his episode in the bath earlier disappeared, and he closed his eyes as relief swept through him. "This is amazing, Dagna."
"Good! I think I finally figured out the optimal placement of the matrices I worked into the metal based on my calculations," she said with a nod. "The key is to create a space wherein the frequencies for the red lyrium are canceled out in a negative space, rendering them null. Of course, I couldn't do it without my friend over there," she pointed to the skull, "but I think we've come a long way from that first prototype mail shirt I made for you. Go on, take the new design," she urged, pushing it on him. "I made it semi-modular."
Cullen raised an eyebrow. "Meaning…"
"Well, I took into consideration that you were still wearing your customary armor, meaning this armor is purely for countering and blurring resonance and frequencies and not physical protection. I mean, metal has to be involved, because it's the only real option for crafting something that needs to be a certain structure, but I was able to reduce it down to the smallest pieces necessary."
Curious about what she meant, he grabbed the piece of armor on top and lifted it, eyebrows rising as a smaller section than he'd expected came away. "What—This looks like it's only big enough to cover an arm."
She nodded, pointing at some sturdy cords that dangled off one end. "You use these strips to tie it to the part that covers the torso. The arms and legs are like this, attaching to loops on the torso piece. It still has to be right next to your skin, of course, but at least it's not two huge pieces."
"And the more I can keep on, the stronger the effect?" he guessed as he ran his fingers along the fine chain.
"Yup, yup. As simple as that. Just don't take it all off," she added. "Not even for a minute."
"How did you make this so quickly?" he asked, glancing up from the mail. "I would have thought something like this would take months."
"Oh, I have a tools that makes those little circles a snap," she said. "As long as you turn the handle at the right speed and don't let your finger get too close to the metal when it's still hot, I can do at least fifteen rows in an hour."
Cullen glanced down at the pile of armor. "There's hundreds of rows here." And that didn't include the work it took to attach those fine links to the thin velveteen material she'd elected to put on the inside to protect his skin. Surely something that delicate required extra time as well.
"Mhmm. It was a good challenge, but I think I've finally perfected it." She patted the pile of paper on the table. "It's a good thing Lady Leliana's agents found these, though I feel sorry for anyone who would have used the armor that's actually in the design here. They would never have been able to take it off!"
With a shudder, Cullen reached out to retrieve the rest of the armor. "Thank you, Dagna. I truly mean it. For not giving up on this."
"And make sure to keep that helmet on!" Dagna insisted.
Cullen raised an eyebrow. "Surely I can't wear that all the time. It's even more inconvenient than the armor."
After a barely imperceptible hesitation, Dagna gave an odd little sigh. "I just…I've had nightmares about terrible things happening to you when you're not wearing it."
Nightmares. The oddity of the remark raised Cullen's hackles, especially when his conversation with Alistair about Dagna remained fresh in his head. "Nightmares? I thought you couldn't have those. Or any dwarf."
Her brows drew together for a moment. "Huh. I guess that's usually true. I started dreaming a while ago, though. I think it has something to do with how I work with lyrium. It's very closely tied to the Fade, and I'm no longer under the insulating stone of Orzammar. Hmm. That's actually an excellent matter to ponder. I wonder if the lyrium workers for the Carta—No, no, because they'd still be in the Deep Roads. Most lyrium is processed at the source, not the destination." Her expression grew distant for a moment as her fingers twitched. "I will make a note to investigate the aberration. Thank you for the idea, Commander!"
"Ah…you're welcome," Cullen said lamely. He searched for something else to say, but Dagna had already turned back to her table and was jotting notes down in a journal. "I'll see you later, then. After we get back."
"Sounds good!" Dagna said cheerfully. "Do you think Varric would know any lyrium miners in the Carta? I bet he does…"
"You'd have to ask him," Cullen said with a chuckle, already turning to leave before Dagna abruptly pivoted to face him.
"Oh! Commander! We almost forgot the most important part!" She held up a small glass vial and waggled it. "I need to test the red lyrium levels in your blood."
With a resigned sigh, Cullen turned and offered his hand out to her, waiting for the customary prick and milking of the blood into the vial. Once the procedure was done, he pressed the small linen square to his fingers as she tapped the vial and waited for the contents to…well, to do whatever she expected them to do, hoping to hear some sort of update from her.
She frowned. "Well…Hmm. It's not as bad as it could be, but not as good as I'd like. Did you take the armor off at any time? All of it, I mean."
Cullen felt a chill run down his spine as he answered, "A bit yesterday morning. I needed to take a bath."
"Oh, that explains it." She tapped the vial again, then nodded and set it down on her table in a precise fashion. "Don't do that again, all right? We can't afford any more sudden accretion of red lyrium. It's like…Well, you know how light can either be concentrated or separated when you shine it through a prism?"
"Ah…no," Cullen said slowly. What on Thedas is a prism?
"Oh. Well. My armor is like a prism, sort of. If you wear it, it diffuses the red lyrium. The less you wear, the more concentrated the sunlight is. And if you don't wear it at all, well, you get sunburn. And if you somehow ingested some…" She grimaced and shook her head. "You'd catch on fire."
"Fire?" he asked. "Why would i—"
"Oh, not literally, just…you know. Figuratively. Metaphorically. Simile-ly?" Dagna's face scrunched for a moment, but then she shook her head. "Anyway. Don't do it, all right? And hopefully I'll design an even better armor soon. But the new stuff will definitely help, especially when you use it with the helmet."
"Yes, ser," Cullen said with a half-salute. "Now, if you're done poking and prodding?"
"Hmm? Oh. Yes, yes. I'll update your notes, then go find Varric." Humming to herself, she turned back to her table and picked up the vial again, glancing at it a few times as she wrote some more in her journal.
Feeling a bit deflated from his earlier feeling of hope, Cullen made his way to the door leading from the forge. He paused to take off the helmet before he left, though. As effective as it was, he wanted to keep it for only for when he needed it, or for battle—it interfered with his hearing and vision too much otherwise. The details of Dagna's nightmares still puzzled him, but there truly wasn't much he could do about it.
As the thought crossed his mind, however, his feet stopped in his tracks. There was nothing he could do, but if she could touch the Fade, then it stood to reason that she might be vulnerable to Amell, and that was something that Dorian could help with, at least. Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to him, he thought grimly, even as he turned his feet to the Inquisitor's quarters.
Especially given what Amell had done to her father.
Juggling his armor and helm turned out to be a bit more distracting than he'd anticipated as he walked across the hall, but by the time he reached the Inquisitor's door, he'd managed to get a firm grip on things while still leaving one hand free enough to push the door open. Fervently Cullen hoped that Dorian would be within, and not off on an errand. As he walked up the stairs, keeping a balance on the armor he carried, his mind wandered again their last night together, and what they'd almost done. Dorian hadn't brought up the matter of being primal again after that first conversation they'd had in the inn outside the Winter Palace, but Cullen had thought about it frequently. Was he ready? Two nights ago was the first time he'd truly felt ready to take that step with Dorian…and he'd fallen asleep.
His lips pressed together for a moment at the memory, and he swore that he would not miss the opportunity again. At least he knew Dorian had plenty of oil for when he next rose to the opportunity.
Those thoughts were quickly dashed, however, as he climbed to the top of the stairs and found again that red light flickering, this time accompanied by the sound of combat. Grateful that he knew what it was so he didn't go in sword swinging, he still hurried his steps up the rest of the stairs so that he could see what Dorian was viewing.
The crystal rested on the desk as it had before, its image hovering in the air above the desk. As he approached, he saw a blaze of magic streak across the view, though it paused when Dorian reached out and tapped the crystal to pause the memory. "My Commander," he said warmly, looking Cullen up and down before he gave a chuckle. "I see you've been to see Dagna. I take it she squeezed a bit more blood from you?"
Cullen smiled as he paused near the couch to deposit his load onto it. "That she did. At least I got more than a fair exchange for it." As he straightened, he found Dorian already at his side. Without any real forethought, he wrapped his arm around Dorian's waist and pulled him close. "Hello there."
"Hello," Dorian murmured, then caught Cullen's lips for a kiss. "I haven't seen you since yesterday, and judging by the circles under your eyes, neither has your bed."
"Ah…" Clearing his throat, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "There's a lot of work to be done, after all."
"Mhmm. None of which will be done at all if you work yourself into an illness," Dorian pointed out. He kissed Cullen lightly again. "I don't suppose I could invoke my authority as the Inquisitor and send you straight to bed?"
One of Cullen's lips curved upward as his thoughts from before caught up with him. "Only if you're there with me," he shot back.
With a laugh, Dorian reached down and slapped Cullen's ass with one swift motion. "Cheeky, very cheeky. And incredibly tempting. Sadly, I'm afraid I must decline your marvelous invitation. There are matters to which I must attend."
"Me, too. But then I suspect that will be true for both of us until we get to the Arbor Wilds." Cullen's eyes did slide over to Dorian's desk, however, and the image still suspended over it. "We're going after Corypheus now," he said softly. "Not Amell."
"True, but if you think Amell won't be involved somehow, then I've an ancient Tevinter bridge to sell you," Dorian teased him. "I just feel like the more we learn about him now, the more we might be able to anticipate his next move. If that's possible, at least."
"If that's even possible," Cullen muttered, staring at the frozen bolt of magic in the red light. "What is that, anyway?"
Dorian half-turned to survey the scene as well. "The Darkspawn Magister attacking Amell," he said. "When he wouldn't give Amell the details on how to accomplish his goals, Amell refused to aid him."
"Refused?" Cullen asked, confused. "But—I thought they were working together now."
"Precisely. So I am hoping this will shed light on the discrepancy between Amell's refusal and the current situation." Dorian reached up and rubbed his eyes for a moment. "Because it is clear to me that something made Amell turn from a personal sort of nightmare to a Thedosian one. And I have the feeling it has something to do with the Architect."
Cullen frowned. "Architect?"
Dorian blinked blearily a few times. "Ah, my apologies. That is how this creature identifies itself. And that is one of the names used for a member of the Magisters Sidereal. Corypheus was the Conductor, for example. The Architect was the High Priest of Urthemiel, the Archdemon of the last Blight."
"Odd that he didn't appear until after Urthemiel emerged as an Archdemon," Cullen mused.
"Perhaps not," Dorian mused. "Corypheus, as the Conductor, was the High Priest of Dumat, the Old God of Silence—and the Archdemon of the First Blight. And, by what Hawke told me, Corypheus awoke in the aftermath of the First Blight. So there is some historical precedence. Why he didn't emerge sooner is anyone's guess."
Cullen's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait. The first scene I watched from the crystal, when the Architect first appeared…it seemed as if Amell recognized him, didn't he? And the Architect definitely sounded like he had met Amell before."
"I… Hmm." Dorian frowned, deep in thought, then went to the crystal and quickly found the interaction to which Cullen referred.
"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. It is almost as if you do not wish to be found."
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "You're right. They did know each other. And yet Amell didn't know he was one of the Magisters Sidereal. Fascinating."
"Perhaps Loghain might know something," Cullen suggested.
"I will definitely ask him before we leave for the Arbor Wilds, though he's also busy getting the Wardens ready." Dorian's expression grew thoughtful. "I may also be able to ask someone else, once they arrive."
"Oh?" As soon as Cullen asked, however, the answer came to him. "Right. The other Wardens, from Ferelden."
"Mhmm. Wardens have been trickling in over the past few weeks, saying they were sent by Nathaniel and the others, so it's safe to assume they've been successful. Hopefully they themselves will arrive before we leave for the Arbor Wilds, or at least they will be able to meet us there." Dorian looked down at the red crystal with a frown, then tapped it to resume the playback of the memory. "Let's watch this fight. I'm hoping it will shed some light on the subject."
"Yes, Inquisitor," Cullen said with a nod, focusing on the scene above the crystal.
The magic strikes Amell full in the chest, but sparkles off of a rather impressive magical barrier. "Did you think you could catch me off guard?" Amell snarls, then launches an assault of his own.
The volleys back and forth now begin in earnest, and there are quite a few times where you lose track of who is attacking from where, given the limited view the crystal offers. Yet, as the fight progresses, it becomes clear that the Architect struggles more and more to fend off Amell's more powerful attacks, rather than the other way around. Fire, ice, lightning, and even dropping the roof on Amell doesn't seem to faze him, and, to your eyes at least, the end result is predictable.
The final blow comes in the form of a crushing prison, a cage of magic which wraps around the Architect and drags him down to his knees. At this point, both assailants are a few yards away from the crystal, both well within its field of view, and you can make out the triumphant sneer on Amell's face as he stalks forward with a glowing hand stretched before him.
"I beat you once before, old man," Amell snarls. "I only let you live then because you promised to be of use to me. The only reason you lived this long was because you held to your promise—for a while, at least."
"I…don't understand." The Architect struggles against the bonds of his magical cage, but in the end cannot break through. "You are but a Grey Warden. How is it you do not…succumb?"
Amell leans forward with a growl. "Because I am Jorath Amell, and I do not succumb to any being, be they man, demon, or god." Whipping his staff around in an arc, Amell suddenly jams the tapered end into the Architect's chest and pushes forward. A wet pop echoes in the cave, and you grimace as the end of the staff emerges from the Architect's back. "Not even you."
The Architect screams, a high-pitched, thin sound as he grabs the staff sticking out of his chest. "You…would be a…good Magister, Warden-Commander," he grates. "Your arrogance is…a matter of hubris."
"No. It is a matter of power." Suddenly Amell turns his head aside and coughs viciously, then throws up a volume of dark liquid. He sways where he stands for a moment, then shakes his head fiercely and scowls at the Architect. "I may not be able to survive for much longer, but I will survive you. I promise you that."
"You think you've…defeated me?" The Architect bursts into a high-pitched cackle, one that quickly shifts into a gurgling gasp as Amell twists his staff in his hands.
"I know I have," Amell snarls, and unleashes his final attack. An arc of magic explodes from Amell's hand, down the staff, and into the Architect's body, which throws its limbs wide. It is hard to tell exactly what happens to it given the burst of light which obscures the details, but when the light fades, only a pile of ash and bones remain at Amell's feet.
"And so it ends," Amell murmurs, then turns from the pile to stumble towards the crystal.
You see it before it attracts Amell's attention, a thick black cloud rising from the pile of ash and bone which moves without warning towards the mage's turned back. Before Amell is halfway to the crystal, it hits him, sending him flying to the ground and rolling with a shriek of pain.
"No!" Amell roars, writhing and rolling on the ground, eyes wide with surprise. "Impossible! You're not a—" His words turn into a long, drawn-out scream, and eventually his body collapses face-down into a limp pile a few feet away from the crystal.
For a minute or so, nothing happens, and time seems to grind to a halt until suddenly you see one of Amell's fingers twitch into life. It is his left side, his burned side, and as his arm slowly moves, you see a streak of light creep up the length of his arm that reminds you all too much of Corypheus, or perhaps even the Red Templars you saw on the field. As the body slowly jerks into motion, you notice other oddities: the arms are a bit leaner than before, the body is a bit taller, the burn marks are more intense.
It isn't until you see the face, however, that you realize how much has changed. Whereas before, Amell had clearly hovered on the brink of death, with lips pulling away from his teeth and eyes sunken into deep pits, now he looks almost as hale and hearty as he had back in the days when you'd first encountered him in Kinloch Hold. Better, in some ways, if the bright glowing of his eyes is any measure to go by. The burn marks are the only thing which are different, seeming somehow more livid and fresh even though you know he obtained them as a child in the Circle.
Yet as Amell pulls himself to his full height, you realize that he is not what he was before. The face is the same, perhaps, but the body is taller, leaner—much more like the Architect than Amell's stockier, thick-shouldered build. Holding his hands in front of him for a long moment, Amell contemplates them in silence, turning them over and over again as if seeing them for the first time. Then, slowly, the glow in one of his eyes fades away, leaving only his right eye glowing: the same eye which remained to the Architect.
"You are still here," he murmurs, as if to himself. The voice is…different, somehow, and suddenly you recognize the change: the accent is much more like Dorian, with a lilting openness to the vowels completely lacking from the closed Fereldan mouth work of Amell.
The left eye suddenly kindles, glowing with a brightness that almost surpasses the other as his hands clench into fists. "I told you," he grates. "I bow to no-one."
The eye fades once more, and Amell takes a shambling step forward. "Then we are at an impasse. I had thought you would give way as the others have done."
Again the eye glows, again the voice changes to a flatter Fereldan tone. "No. I know the ways of the Archdemon, though I did not expect you to be able to emulate one to that degree. Still, you are correct. We are at an impasse."
The eyes close this time, and the Architect murmurs, "Then let us come to an agreement."
Amell nods, then settles down in front of the crystal once more. "It seems we must." He reaches out towards the crystal, and the scene flickers and dies.
Cullen inhaled sharply, trying to make sense of what he'd just seen. "But…he killed the Architect. I doubt even Corypheus could survive being turned into bones and ash."
"The body didn't," Dorian mused. "But the soul did. Amell mentioned the ways of the Archdemon."
"Yes." Cullen mulled over that for a while. "Another question for Loghain, perhaps?"
"If any would know the ways of the Archdemon, it would be a Grey Warden, or at least so I would presume," Dorian said with a nod. "I'll add that to my list." Pushing the crystal to the side, Dorian groaned and rubbed his temples for a moment. "I think I've had enough of Amell for now, at least. The discrepancy seems to have been answered: the Architect tried to possess Amell in the manner of a demon, but Amell withstood him enough to not be thrown out of his own body. Apparently their impasse still exists."
"Based on what Alistair has told me, it certainly does," Cullen said grimly. "And Zevran would have been drawn along with the madness. Alistair told me that he always followed Amell's lead."
Dorian frowned, thinking of the cracks he'd seen in Zevran's facade, small as they'd been. "I wonder if that will always be the case," he murmured.
"Does it matter? Either way, he's still working with Amell against us," Cullen pointed out. "I saw him try to assassinate Gaspard with my own eyes."
"True." Dorian grimaced and rubbed his face. "At any rate, you need to go to bed."
"But I need to go speak to our troops," Cullen protested. "I already sent them a message to expect me!" When Dorian opened his mouth to object, Cullen said, "After I go see them, I'll rest. I promise."
Raising an eyebrow, Dorian poked Cullen in the chest. "You'd better do that. Or I'll order you to wear that helmet and parade up and down our lines the entire way to the Arbor Wilds."
Cullen backed up, hands raised in mock alarm. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, I most certainly would," Dorian assured him. "I am not above a little old-fashioned blackmail to get what I want out of you."
"That sounds promising," Cullen said with a grin. "Care to go into further detail?"
Dorian's gaze grew heated as he looked Cullen up and down. "Well, for starters, it will be warm in the plains on the way to the Arbor Wilds. Surely some nights you won't need more than Dagna's armor and your mantle, hmm?"
Leaning forward, Cullen's voice settled into a low pitch as he murmured, "You like the mantle?"
"It's something for my fingers to sink into," Dorian told him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Besides, there's something so primal about fur, isn't there?"
And there it was. "Most definitely, my Inquisitor," Cullen growled.
And this time, the oil did not go to waste.