I'm sorry for the delay in updating everyone – life caught up with me like a kick to the teeth. For neglecting the story I apologize but know that, in what little spare time I have, I do work on it between updates.

This one goes out to the Commander of my heart. Who, after battling cancer a year ago and prevailed, has taught me the very meaning of perseverance.

/-/

"We are running out of time."

Cullen drew a steadying breath through his nose at Solas' grave words, his lips pressing into a firm line as his throat locked with a sinking unease. He roughly coughed into his hand in an attempt to stifle his rising bile. With each passing day the Breach remained a carcinogen in the sky, the Commander had privately harbored visions of a long rope slowly tightening around their enterprise's figurative neck. Dismayed by the confirmation that the neck in the noose was Isabeau's, Cullen felt physically ill realizing whatever slack they'd manage to maintain had now abruptly ran out. He looked up at those gathered before him around the war table, holding the Inquisitor's keen gaze the longest; Isabeau pale and visibly shaken following her briefing of the events in Orlais.

"Can we not just call on our resources at Andoral's Reach?" Josephine asked, her delicate hand anxiously tapping her quill against the edges of her tablet. "Surely there are enough Mages and Templars there to meet our requirements – why not use both?"

"If Solas is right, the numbers required would mean abandoning that Keep. We cannot afford to empty its garrisons, not when it has secured both Nevarra's and the Anderfel's borders for us," Leliana explained, her voice hushed but grave as she tucked her hands behind her back and nodded at the map before her determinedly. "My sources have confirmed King Alistair's offer of refuge to the mages in Ferelden still stands, but I know his majesty to be an impatient man… If he reaches his limits, more innocent lives could be lost. We must seek those in Redcliffe and soon, only they can provide the power we need without exhausting our limited resources."

"Absolutely not!" Cullen immediately argued, "Your rather liberal evaluation of my assets aside, the Templars are far more qualified for this." He rocked on his heels as he obstinately crossed his arms at the Spymaster, "I was a Templar, I know what they're capable of. More than that, I believe there are yet men among their ranks who would greatly benefit under the Inquisition. Who better to align with than those most explicitly trained for this situation?"

Leliana elegantly mirrored Cullen's stance, her gaze unflinching and defiant, "And yet, they abandoned us all before this 'situation' even truly began, Commander. I'm surprised at you, Cullen; I would have thought after the Reach, you would not be so… forgiving. How very noble of you."

Fury immediately hammered behind his eyes as a spike of pain cracked within his skull, Cullen's nostrils flaring in indignation at her cutting belligerence. "You forget we are not at court, Sister. How cheap of you to turn that on me now! I'm not disagreeing there were mistakes made but they have been made by both sides and –"

"Hey!" Isabeau suddenly barked, "This petty bickering will stop now - am I understood?!" Her eyes snapped between the two, Cullen immediately contrite over losing his temper and seeing its effects on her. There was a brief but awkward pause as Isabeau shook her head in disappointment at the fidgeting pair.

"Forgive me," Leliana repentantly offered, Cullen nodding his head before casting his eyes back to Isabeau's, regret lining the contours of his features. Isabeau's eyes bored into his before she visibly softened, wearily shaking her head as she returned to looking at the map.

"Have we even heard word of the Lord Seeker's whereabouts?"

"No, but when we do, we would be wise to –"

"Cullen, even if we were to find where he's skulked off to, I seriously doubt the Order will consider any manner of an alliance. You weren't there in Orlais, you didn't see it…"

"You're both right," Cassandra interjected sharply, just as Cullen had opened his mouth to argue further with his paramour. The Seeker turned to calmly meet his narrowed eyes, "But time is of the essence and we have only one immediate option available to us. I do not think we should utterly disregard Lord Seeker Lucius, but it has been a week since we left Val Royeaux and still there is nothing from our agents."

"That may be, but this is the main cell of the Mage Rebels we are talking about. It was mere circumstance that united us all at Andoral's Reach… a circumstance for which I bear the scars," taking a deep breath, Cullen paused to gather his thoughts. "If they do not co-operate…? Redcliffe Castle has repelled enemies throughout the ages, Cassandra; it is one of, if not the most, well-fortified Keeps in Ferelden. We cannot gamble at this a second time; we do not have the men."

A heavy silence was dumped onto the room like a bucket of cold water. There wasn't a single person within who didn't appreciate what few battalions the Inquisition currently had available to them, regardless of their intentions. With their forces spread thin already, the recent boost in numbers from Prince Sebastian was simply not enough for what the Commander knew his comrades were seeking. Redcliffe castle was ancient but strong, an uncontrollable scoff erupting from Cullen's lips as an image of his forces meeting with a giant meat grinder sprung to mind.

Isabeau audibly groaned, "…We have to do something,"

Cullen clenched his jaw, aggravated by what he knew was his impending defeat in the debate, but unable to advocate inaction either. Though his tenure between a rock and a hard place seemed constant in the life he now lived, he was finding it especially difficult to yield now, despite his private emotions wreaking their havoc. It wasn't just his companion's arguments that combatted his logic though; Cullen knew in his heart haste was now all they could afford.

And damn the consequences. Andraste preserve me…

Shaking her head, Cassandra sighed and entreatingly held out her hands towards Cullen, "I am just as wary of the Mages, Commander. I realize that, in either case, we will stand with or against a far larger number than those we absorbed at the Reach. But we have managed our current Mage allies well enough – why does this have to be different? Meeting Fiona in Redcliffe could expedite sealing the Breach… and saving our Inquisitor."

Feeling slightly manipulated with Cassandra's final remark, Cullen did his best to mask his chagrin as he began to pace agitatedly before them all. When Isabeau had first been found, semi-conscious and wandering at the Temple's ruins, the Breach had been raging at its height; Solas having theorized early on its terrific energy was sapping her life with each expanding pulse. Once the Breach had been stabilized however, even the enigmatic mage had mostly conceded to Isabeau's safety.

In usual fashion however, the Commander again found himself coming full circle; a defeated and tired sense of familiarity washing over him as he bitterly rued their early haste and neglect of the Breach. The bulk of the Inquisition had vacated Haven at learning of Skyhold – Solas initially proving his commitment to the Inquisition by revealing the Keep's location. Excited at the prospect of a potentially strong and defendable position, Cullen and the others had not hesitated in expediting the move; leaving Grand Chancellor Roderick and a small garrison behind to maintain Haven in their absence. All had agreed they would return to Haven upon attaining their armies to heal the rent in the sky, but obtaining those forces had proved more arduous than expected.

From their early campaigns in the Hinterland countryside to the savage battle on Andoral's plains, Cullen had not suspected Isabeau remained so perilously bound to the Breach. The only evidence, in retrospect, being her incredible display of power on the battle field against the Seekers and Templars. There was no doubting the profound connection the Inquisitor now shared with the Fade, even if its volatile nature had been mostly unknown prior to this point. Despite what clarity such hindsight allotted however, Cullen had not felt the beam had detrimentally affected Isabeau in the aftermath.

To the contrary, Cullen had found himself increasingly burdened by familiar and growing aches and tremors in the time since, the knight fighting to maintain a stony visage as he combatted the lingering effects. When Solas' perceptive but determined probing had finally seen Cullen cave in confession, the mage had unfortunately had little to offer in way of answers, only theorizing the remnants of Lyrium in the Marshall's blood could be involved. Though Solas felt it was likely little more than the dregs of the substance inciting a reaction – rather than a true relapse – he had added a final caveat; Cullen may have ceased his habit of taking Lyrium, but he would never be completely purged of its particles. The unfortunate truth was it now became a part of him, like a rabid wolf that stalked in the shadows, ever to remain a persistent, patient and unseen threat.

Reaching to rub at his forehead with a heavy sigh, Cullen pessimistically wondered if the use of such power from the Fade had expedited the corruption in Isabeau. If his own ailment was any indication of what even a weakened connection could induce, it only made sense to Cullen that the mark on Isabeau's hand would ensure a greater impact.

At wondering if the Breach potentially acted as a pool for the Inquisitor to draw from, a curiosity suddenly snaked its way to the forefront of Cullen's mind.

"Solas?"

"Yes, Cullen?"

He paused before answering to organize the thoughts bombarding him, "Back at Andoral's Reach, the beam that Isabeau released… would something like that even be possible if we are successful?"

"An excellent observation," Solas steadily praised, nodding his head respectfully at the knight before he continued while turning looking to the others. "I believe Cullen is correct. The Breach isn't sealed, at least not completely, which allowed our Inquisitor to pull such tremendous energy from the Fade. Taking that into consideration, what we'd intend to do with the mages is… somewhat the reversal of that ability. Rather than draw from the Fade directly into Isabeau however, the mages would instead channel their connection into her." Cocking a hip as he crossed his arms over his chest, Solas seemed to consider his next words carefully, "That particular ability of Isabeau's was… remarkable, but once the connection is severed, I cannot say for certain she will be able to do it again."

"Given it nearly killed us all, I'm very much alright with that…" Isabeau muttered darkly from across the table.

"There is a possibility – rather, a probability – you may yet harness something similar, if only on a smaller scale…" Solas trailed off, his eyes absently cast down in thought. "Other rifts yet remain to amplify your mark... While I do not think they will kill you quickly, or provide you with that same power scale, they remain a threat to us all. Endeavoring to close all that we can find would be wise of us."

"Noted, but until we decide our next steps, let us not put the horse before the cart, yes?" Leliana interjected as she pointedly rested her gaze on their leader, the object of her expectant scrutiny a misleading vision of calm under its weight. "You are the Inquisitor, my lady… I fear this decision must be yours alone to make."

A piece of Cullen ached at knowing Isabeau internally agonized over the crucial decisions she was saddled with; all too aware that, if left to their own devices, he and the other advisors had the potential to lose themselves in their disagreements. Try as he might to carry what burdens of Isabeau's he could, Cullen knew if the Inquisition was to work, her place was at its center.

Holding Leliana's gaze for several more seconds, Isabeau's voice became solid as iron when she finally spoke, "Do we have any more information available to us? Surely Lord Teagan has contacted you, Leliana?"

When the Spymaster shook her head in refute, the Inquisitor turned on Josephine next.

"Nor you? We had all those reparation plans in motion from the first time we cleared his lands of the demons, and it has been months since our forces took the area under its protection. Does it not strike any of you odd that the Arl himself was not the first person we heard from, let alone our own troops?"

Cullen pointed out several infantry markers sitting atop Redcliffe on the map for Isabeau, reaching for the relevant report nearby before handing it to her as he clarified, "Those reparations were in motion; they included an assignment of my men sent there for civil works projects. We… lost contact with them following confirmation of their arrival to Redcliffe."

Isabeau chewed at her bottom lip in consternation, "…And the Arl's bannermen has had no word?"

"None, my lady – Captain Walker is currently with our forces scouting the Dales; my own raven was the first word he'd had of Redcliffe's… status."

After quickly scanning her eyes down the parchment, Isabeau scoffed in disbelief as she waved the report about in her hand, "How does an entire village suddenly go silent without our awareness?!"

Quiet fell over the war room, thick and heavy, at the strain to her voice. She slowly made her way around the table, coming to stand under the impressive stained glass windows towering above all who were gathered Isabeau dolefully raised the report to her eyes one more time. With a shrug to her shoulders, she then turned back to face Cullen and the others, her features set in determination as she moseyed back and unceremoniously dropped the report on the table with a loud clatter.

"Let me be frank: I don't give a shit about Mages or Templars at this poi-" she began when her mark suddenly sparked with energy, her speech disrupted as she doubled over and gasped in pain. Isabeau yanked off the glove that covered her mark, clutching the crackling hand closely against her chest. Cullen and Solas immediately darted for her, Isabeau impatiently waving the two men away before taking several seconds to catch her breath and collect herself, "This… isn't about Mages and Templars anymore."

A sharp wrenching soured Cullen's stomach at the grisly sight of her hand and arm, her voice becoming distant as his eyes trailed from the tips of her fingers and upwards. Feeling ashamed when he could no longer bear seeing her cracked and marred flesh, Cullen averted his eyes as he moved to wearily rest his palms atop the war map.

Isabeau looked down at her arm again, frowning worriedly as she turned it and inspected the ugly disfigurement, "There is someone or something causing this… and it is far worse than whatever a Mage or Templar could do. I am choosing Redcliffe because I can; I won't idly sit on my hands while the Templars elude us, not when a more immediate option is available. We will go to Redcliffe, see what the Grand Enchanter has to say… and make our decision from there."

Just as Cassandra made to speak, the great doors behind them suddenly burst open with a loud protest of metal hinges, a rather harried looking agent bursting in with a rolled parchment in his hand, "My lady, we have had urgent word!" He bowed his head in forgiveness at the interruption as he strode for Leliana, Cullen immediately moving to stand next to them as Josephine followed suit.

Leliana dismissed the agent and yanked off the string around the message, unrolling it and quickly scanning its contents, "Word from Redcliffe!" She announced excitedly as her eyes speedily shot down the lines of fine, rolling penmanship. With an incredulous laugh, she passed the parchment over to Cullen before explaining, "It's… a Tevinter Magister. Only, he has beaten us to the punch and taken the rebel Mages under his wing."

"Impossible!" Cullen growled in stunned frustration, his own eyes trailing down the parchment several more times, the Commander bitterly perplexed over how a force of this supposed size had slipped into their holding. Their exhausting efforts to stabilize the Hinterlands had been a slow and, at times, grueling process; the boost to their presence however, had ensured the holding's lands were solidly under Inquisition control. It simply was not possible the Tevinter Mages had eluded the Inquisition's scouts and watch towers as well.

"He asks for the Inquisitor directly," Josephine announced from over Cullen's shoulder, turning away to offer Isabeau a rueful shrug. "It's an obvious trap."

Isabeau looked ill-amused as she crossed her arms over her chest, "And what does this Magister say about me exactly?"

"He's so complimentary… I am certain he wants to kill you," Leliana answered crisply, almost nonchalant in her assuredness.

"Of course he does."

Something ugly and panicked twisted Cullen's gut at Isabeau's flippancy, the Commander unable to resist having a final stand. He dropped the report from his eyes to determinedly lock them with hers, "If you go there, you will die! With the forces currently at my Command, I cannot stage a successful rescue on that Keep, let alone a pitched battle!"

"We must do something, Cullen! Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister; it cannot be allowed to stand!" Cassandra implored passionately.

"If she dies, we lose our only means of sealing the Breach and remaining rifts! I won't allow it!" Cullen snapped, his fist coming down hard on the table beneath him.

"If we do nothing, we will lose the Hinterlands to the Magisters and Isabeau to the Breach," Leliana quickly countered.

"And find ourselves with a hostile enemy at our doorstep," Josephine added. "Ugh, were it not for her land's own turmoil, I would propose contacting Empress Celene."

The Spymaster chuckled dryly, "It would be a scandal even if we could, Josie – involving the Orlesians in a Fereldan affair? I have seen how that plays out before, my friend."

Cassandra shook her head dejectedly, "But the Magister –"

"– Has outplayed us," Cullen finished succinctly.

Isabeau loudly cleared her throat, "I do not recall swaying in my decision. We are going to Redcliffe… so work together and figure it out."

Leliana suddenly broke the brief silence that fell over them with a gasp, "Wait! There may be another way. I remember there was a secret passage into the castle, known only to family and trusted servants. It is too narrow for your troops, Cullen… but if it remains unbarred, I could send my agents in."

He shook his head, "They would be detected immediately; these are Magisters, Sister. Are we to hinge this entire operation on the hope someone forgot to lock the door behind them?"

"Don't be asinine now, Commander. We'll be able to use it, I'm sure of it. It's exactly why this Alexius will get the precious envoy he wants… and we will get the distraction we need."

With a great effort, Cullen tried to push back the torrid waters that were his further protestations, pressing his forehead tiredly into his palm as a sharp headache steadily grew behind his eyes.

Maker… not now.

Inconvenient as the growing affliction's timing was, Cullen knew in his tired heart that debating further was pointless; regardless of his concern for Isabeau's safety, he had to accept the nature of both his and the Inquisitor's duty. Finally capitulating, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he released a heavy sigh, slowly nodding his head as the tactical possibilities began to run through his mind.

"It is… the lesser of the evils we have to choose from, but it's the one that could work – I'll give you that," he conceded, nodding respectfully at the Spymaster.

As Leliana moved to gather a few reports in front of her, again one of the great doors blasted open, Dorian confidently strolling in with an agitated guard close on his heels. "Fortunately, you'll have help!"

The soldier roughly hooked an arm around Dorian's and offered a sheepish bow, "My apologies, your Worship! I don't know how he got past me!"

Dorian turned to leer at the breathless man clutching him, "How very curious! You don't think magic was involved, do you?!"

The guard suddenly recoiled from Dorian, sputtering incoherently as the implications visibly dawned across his features and, indeed, those of all who were gathered in the room.

"It was harmless haste spell, Inquisitor! Nothing dubious, I promise you!" Dorian offered dashingly as he stepped away from the guard and moved to stand next to a gaping Isabeau, Cullen staring at him crossly for his boldness. The handsome Tevinter winked roguishly at the Commander as he absently waved away the collected chagrin bombarding him, "Terribly sorry to intrude - couldn't help but over hear, etcetera, etcetera… But you'll like what I have to say."

Before Cullen could lash out with his own annoyance at the Mage's haughty interruption, Isabeau audibly groaned with her own exasperation.

"Maker's breath! Shall I just invite all of Skyhold to this meeting?" She scoffed crossly as she quirked an eyebrow at the sheepish guard that hovered uncertainly behind Dorian, "Am I not paying you enough?"

Watching as the clearly mortified man saluted and quickly made his way out of the room, she adjusted her arms to wearily cradle her forehead atop her fingertips, turning to narrow her eyes at Dorian as she did so. "I take it you know this Magister?"

"I do. And I know his methods. Your spies won't be able to get around Alexius' magic without my help."

"Very well then. I'm not debating this any further, it's time to act," Isabeau commanded crisply before turning to flick a finger between Cassandra and Solas. "I'm going to need both of you for this mission so make ready to leave on the morrow. In the meantime, I want the rest of you to work with Dorian on our strategy for raiding the Castle," she ordered before nodding her head at Josephine. "Send word to this Magister that my envoy and I will leave immediately. Find where the Arl has gone to, entreat that he be patient – We may yet stall the involvement of the Crown."

"At once, my lady…" Josephine bowed elegantly and made for her office, Cassandra and Solas following behind her.

"I must go prepare my agents. Shall we reconvene after our evening meal?'

"I think that would be best," Isabeau agreed.

"Very well. Dorian, would you please join me? There is much we need to discuss and prepare."

The suave mage amicably nodded his consent before striding next to Leliana and out the door, leaving Cullen and Isabeau alone finally in the epicenter of the Inquisition. Cullen had been so preoccupied with his other duties that when Isabeau and her party initially arrived from Orlais, the couple hadn't had a moment alone prior to the council.

Now finding himself in the privacy he yearned for in her absence, Cullen immediately moved to take Isabeau into his arms, pulling the formidable woman tightly against his chest as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. In silence they rocked back and forth, Isabeau's hands eventually moving to clutch at the fur that hung from his pauldrons and down his back. After several comforting moments, she pulled away from his embrace.

"Please… join me in my quarters?"

"Of course, my lady," he agreed obediently, resting his hand against the hollow of her back as he guided her out of the war room and silently through Josephine's office. The sound of the diplomat's quill furiously scratching against the parchment below it filled the room, following the couple as they made their way into the main hall. As various retainers rushed around them to prepare the hall for the eve's meal, Cullen and Isabeau managed to slip through the door of her quarter's tower, uninterrupted by either diplomats or Inquisition personnel. Though no words were spoken as they climbed the creaking wooden stairs upwards, the noticeable sag in Isabeau's shoulders spoke more clearly to Cullen than any words could in that moment.

After climbing the stone staircase upwards and into her spacious bedchamber, Cullen moved to sink down beside Isabeau on one of the settees in the room's center, her weight instantly upon his lap as she shimmied over and laid across his thighs. He affectionately ran his fingers through her silky tresses, the flickering light from the hearth dancing across the silvery threads as the couple sat in a silence that increasingly worsened Cullen's troublesome disquiet.

Isabeau suddenly stirred beneath him, "You never did tell me… what happened to you that day."

He blinked in surprise, "What day?"

She pushed herself up from his lap then, sitting back on her bent knees as she sorrowfully gazed at him, "You know what day. It's the Lyrium, isn't it? …It's not gone."

Words caught like a dead weight in Cullen's throat at her sudden accusation. Since the day his own blood had sung from her power at the Reach, the ex-Templar had furtively gnawed at an undeniable surge of hopelessness; one that had boiled threateningly near the surface the more he flirted with the nagging, inconvenient truths. Like the stubborn arse he was however, Cullen had endeavored to dismiss the discomfort and invasive anxieties, having used the recent slew of terrible events in Isabeau's wake as beneficial distractions.

You are nothing but a coward! You would submit her to the nightmare all over again, and for what? A pathetic attempt to save face?

He frowned at his scolding conscience, ashamed to realize his lips were paralyzed by the bombardment; an adequate explanation near impossible to find while sifting through the chaos engulfing his rationale. As the silence grew unbearable and Cullen struggled to find an answer for her, as did the sheen to Isabeau's expectant stare.

His resolve finally gave way at the sight, releasing the flood of his unresolved emotions. "N-no… it's not. I know now I will… always carry this burden, Isabeau. One that comes with a-ah … practiced routine," he stuttered pathetically in confession, caught off guard as she disarmed him of his secret; Cullen shamefully having hoped Isabeau would choose to leave the topic unspoken.

Several weeks of masking his discomfort had been for naught. Craven though he knew it was for treating the matter so, there was an uncomfortable vulnerability in breaking of his isolationist habits now; the resurgence of an old affliction triggering pained memories of his previous efforts. Right or wrong, cloistering himself away mentally - and physically - was a systematic instinct that had been rooted in Cullen long ago.

Though Solas and Isabeau had not failed him in their efforts, the reality was he had been managing the sickness alone for far longer than their involvement following his calamitous nightmare. To face it again, and so utterly against his own volition, was incredibly disheartening for the Commander. While Cullen knew his connection to Isabeau complicated the matter, his immediate reaction had been so subtly instantaneous that maintaining the bleak status quo had only felt natural.

Cullen knew the signs where the others may have not. Though the more concerning and obvious effects had only manifested recently, Isabeau had broached the issue only once; the increase of his night terrors so disruptive on their return trip from Hercinia, Solas had inevitably intervened. Initially Cullen, like the others, had attributed it to little more than stress; his return to Skyhold had heralded a different level of duress however, one that the ex-Templar was all too well acquainted with.

Isabeau interrupted his thoughts with a bitter chuckle, "If we are being honest… I had my suspicions; my sleep has been troubled for some time now, too, Cullen – the nightmare in Orlais was only the worst of it. I could not casually assume our shared torment was coincidence, however..." She sighed tiredly before firmly meeting Cullen's pained gaze, the Commander feeling a heavy weight sink into the pit of his stomach as he processed the anger he saw forming on her features, "I know we didn't have a chance to speak before the council, but you could have sent a raven, a runner – Maker, anything – but instead you gifted me deception and silence!"

Cullen recoiled from Isabeau with a sneer at her biting tone, "There was no sense in alarming you if I was down with little more than bloody hay fever!"

"But it's not fucking hay fever, is it Cullen?! This can kill you! Why would you keep this from me?" Isabeau protested firmly, her voice hitching as the strain became clear in the muscles of her neck.

At her harsh outburst, something snapped and crumbled within him, Cullen leaping from the settee to pace agitatedly before her, "Can you not see why I'd rather manage it alone?!" he roared defensively, unable to filter the surge of insecurities and fears in the wake of her ill-timed mettle. "I don't understand how it is even possible, let alone can I control it, Isabeau! If I cannot overcome this on my own, what hope do I have of ever being released of its damned torment? What happens if I can no longer command, hm?! I swore I would give everything I am to the Inquisition! To you! If I cannot keep that vow, if I cannot endure… then all of this was for nothing!"

A wounded expression deeply knotted Isabeau's brow, "But you don't have to face it alone! You're choosing to, Cullen! And to the Void with this cursed Inquisition, it doesn't matter – not in this! You matter - to me - and it frightens me that we have come full circle only for you to repeat your bloody mistakes!"

"M-my 'mistakes'?" Cullen gasped, affronted. "Did I not yield and submit to what you proposed? Have I not proven anything to you? You know nothing of what my mistakes truly are, Isabeau… and you know nothing of what it is to live with them every day."

"Don't I?!"

Scoffing loudly, Cullen stormed over to the top of the stairs, incensed but unwilling to participate further in the increasingly volatile discussion. While he could not truly find fault in Isabeau's antagonism, it was that very awareness of his ill-advised choices that was fueling his hasty retreat. He paused at the balustrade and turned back to face Isabeau with narrowed eyes, "D-Do you seriously think… I have done this willingly?"

"Cullen, that's not – "

He dismissively waved his hand, averting her panicked stare from his sight as he bowed his head and quickly jogged down the stairs of the tower, fleeing her beckoning calls like the coward he was. Bursting from the door that lead into the main hall, Cullen impatiently dismissed several soldiers that had been waiting on the other side, ignoring their attempts to engage him with the reports in their hands. As he strode out to stand at the top of the main stairs of the Keep, he paused to suck in a deep breath of the cool air. If she thinks I am repeating my mistakes…

He shook the bitter voice from his head, refusing to entertain the train of thought further as he rashly made his decision. Making his way down the stone steps, Cullen passed the sparring ring that had recently been placed near the tavern. He spotted Cassandra earnestly hacking at practice dummy nearby and determinedly made his way to her, his strides measured as the war of wills raged on within him.

"Cassandra."

The Seeker immediately paused mid-swing, turning to nod at Cullen in welcome, "Commander. Are you here to discuss Redcliffe?"

"No," he answered tersely before gulping down another steadying breath. "I wish to speak with you… privately."

Sheathing her sword with a thoughtful but wary glare, Cassandra slowly nodded and silently lead Cullen towards the nearby armory, the Seeker dismissing the various attendants within before turning to him expectantly once they were alone.

"What is this about, Commander?"

A callused hand came to cup at Cullen's mouth and jaw as he hesitated, the weight of his intentions heavy within his chest. Though his erratic emotions had lain waste to his restraint with Isabeau, Cullen was no fool; he could not in good conscious put everything they'd worked so hard for at risk, "Do you remember what we discussed back in Kirkwall?"

With a slight narrowing of her eyes, Cassandra leaned against the table adorned with various shields behind her, crossing her arms as she gave a careful shrug of her shoulders, "I do."

At her confirmation, Cullen clawed the words from his throat, his voice broken and heavy as he spoke, "I… I fear I may be compromised and it would be prudent you begin to consider my… replacement."

Cassandra shook her head incredulously as she erupted with a doubtful scoff, "I… will need more details than that, Commander. What you ask of me is not to be taken lightly – is your situation truly so dire?"

Though what little remained of his pride screamed in protest, Cullen hung his head as he closed his eyes and nodded, "…Yes."

"I find that difficult to believe," she retorted immediately, Cullen blinking in surprise at the certainty to the Seeker's voice. "I did not get involved when first you worked with the Inquisitor to purge yourself of your dependency… even though I felt at the time I should have." The stern woman pushed off and away from the table behind her, moving to slowly walk around the Knight as she thoroughly scrutinized him. "You were… severely debilitated then, but it was not hopeless and you persevered as I had expected. I do not think that perseverance has left you. Whatever ails you now is minor in comparison, thus my opinion has not changed. Short of you suddenly collapsing, it will not change."

"Cassandra…"

"At the Reach, you felt it too, hm? That is what this is about?" Cassandra probed knowingly, "I could tell – perhaps the others were ignorant, but I have upheld my end of our original agreement, Cullen. Not once have I questioned your abilities as I monitored you, but I have questioned your motives. I had hoped you would have shared your struggles with the Inquisitor when first they arose… based on your current behavior, it is safe to assume you were not forthright with her."

A growing and sharp ache was spreading to Cullen's temple, the pain shortening his already lit fuse, "I wanted to manage it on my own! The Inquisitor was overburdened as it was; who am I to add to it, Cassandra?!"

"'Who are you to add to it'? Cullen, if there is anyone Isabeau would not fault for sharing their burdens with her, it most certainly is you," Cassandra argued, cocking an eyebrow then at Cullen questioningly. "You have asked me my opinion… and I have given it. What exactly did you expect when you came for me?"

"I expected you to keep your word!" Cullen seethed, gesturing at nothing in particular as he sighed and shook his head. "It's becoming relentless… and I haven't even touched the bloody stuff. If I can't –"

"You give yourself too little credit, Cullen!"

"If I am unable to fulfil my duties to the Inquisition then nothing good has come of this! Would you rather save face than admit –?"

The loud protest of hinges interrupted Cullen as Isabeau suddenly appeared in the doorway of the armory, frowning at the two warriors in concern as she approached them.

Turning back to Cassandra, Cullen shot her a desperate glare before shaking his head, walking away to pause as he passed Isabeau. "Forgive me…" he offered lamely before striding on, pushing open the door before him, Cassandra's voice following on his heels.

"And people say I'm stubborn."

Once the door had closed behind him, Cullen closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to release the hopeless scream that sat primed at the back of his throat. While he knew seeking Cassandra would offer little in relief from his argument with Isabeau, he had thought his moment of clarity had merit, desperately grasping for some form of solution. Impulsive as his decision had been, the very emotions governing his actions had cemented the idea in Cullen's mind; how could he lead the army behind a movement, if he could not maintain control of himself? The Inquisition's growing influence had rippled outward, Cullen personally having experienced the hope it was bringing to the panicked and frightened people of Thedas. He could not – would not – jeopardize what precious little hope they had all spilled blood to achieve, not if the torment of his instability could also get Isabeau and innumerable others killed.

"Ser, a thousand apologies for my persistence, but I have urgent word from Sister Nightengale. I need your direction."

Blinking at the severing from his inner turmoil, Cullen regarded the soldier waiting expectantly before him. Lieutenant Patterson, a committed woman and recent recruit from Ferelden, firmly held his agitated gaze as she clutched the report in her hand. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Cullen sank back into the familiar role, a part of him welcoming the distraction as equally as he resented it.

"Report."

"Ser. Word of the Lord Seeker's whereabouts just arrived – they have been traced to Therinfal Redoubt in Ferelden. Sister Nightengale has requested a portion of our assets for additional security to the increase in her agent's presence."

"She means to dispatch more?"

"Yes, Ser."

"She still intends on approaching the mages in Redcliffe, though?"

"Affirmative, Ser."

Maker help me.

Discovering what truly was behind the Order's increasingly bizarre motives was a curiosity Cullen desperately wished to sate, but allotting more forces to the endeavor further limited what little he had in way of support for Redcliffe. He found himself suddenly at a cross road, bitterly caught unaware at suddenly receiving the intel he had so desperately required, weighing over his options and their potential consequences as he anxiously tapped the report into his palm.

"…Ser?"

Already feeling his authority stood upon shaky ground, a part of Cullen was ready to send the awaiting Lieutenant into the armory, cravenly diverting the responsibility upon the Seeker and Inquisitor within. Given his current and increasingly worsening condition, the temptation was palpable as he desperately darted his gaze between the door behind him and the soldier before him. While he had every belief the two women were capable of making the correct call on the situation, neither Cassandra nor the Inquisitor had actually relieved Cullen of his duties. Though his insecurities demanded otherwise, it was still ultimately Cullen's responsibility to make the decision, regardless of the ill-timed arrival of both the missive and the consequence of his bane.

If I can save what remains of the Order though, the Inquisition would be stronger… and Isabeau safer.

His decision made, Cullen accepted the quill the Lieutenant reached for, the Commander quickly scratching a brief message to Leliana before committing a hundred of his men as vanguard. "Tell the Sister it will be up to her to acquire the additional commercial resources for this mission; my coffers are tapped."

"Yes, Ser."

Cullen nodded curtly, "Dismissed."

Watching as the solider darted for the grand stairs of the Keep, exhaustion suddenly caught up to Cullen like a punch to his gut. Stubborn as he was, he acknowledged he did himself little favor by further gnawing on his melancholy. Cullen made for his quarters instead, deciding a trip down to the hot pools under the Keep would assist the tormented Knight in gaining some needed respite. The pervasive anxieties that plagued him were compartmentalized as he walked, filed away as he blankly shuffled through the soaring halls of the Keep and through the door of his solar. After undressing to nothing more than his smalls, he distractedly tugged at the tassels of his robe, slipping into a pair of soft leather boots after snatching his towel from the nearby copper tub.

Though he could just as easily have arranged a bath drawn by the retainers, the hot pools had always proven to be a quiet and solitary escape for Cullen, few of Skyhold's denizens apparently making use of – or perhaps even aware of – the resource. At his arrival of the cavernous room that was somewhere below the cellars and undercroft of Skyhold, the Commander toed off his boots before stripping and wading into the steaming hot baths.

"Hgn…" he groaned as he slowly sunk further into the searing water, coming to rest against the natural walls of the far end, the now comfortably hot water working at the tension in his shoulders and neck. Closing his eyes at the sensation, Cullen focused on his breathing, forcing himself to be aware of that which surrounded him rather than entertain the worries that viciously nipped at the fringes of his composure. The pain that had pounded in his skull all afternoon abated ever so slightly, even the small amount of relief enough to offer some succor for the ex-Templar.

Having lost track of time as he willed himself into a much practiced meditation, the sudden sloshing of water nearby abruptly snapped Cullen from the calm he had sought, his eyes shooting open to see Isabeau naked and stepping into the pool across from him. Keeping her eyes cast down, Cullen watched as her breasts soon disappeared under the frothing waters, little more than her neck and head above the surface as she made her way closer to him.

Coming to a stop only a few feet before him, Isabeau raised her head and shot him a wounded gaze, "Cullen… I –"

A rush of affection for the Inquisitor suddenly surged forward, the small piece of calm he'd managed to achieve offering Cullen a more balanced clarity than that which had recently governed his actions. Ignoring the insecure voice that argued his erraticism was only more apparent with the impulse, he pushed off from the stone edge of the pool, gliding in the water to pull Isabeau into his arms. As hers encircled his broad shoulders tightly, his lips tenderly kissed at the side of her head as they held each other in the dimly lit grotto.

"I'm sorry," Isabeau whispered as she pulled her face away from where it had been buried into his neck. Her palm came to gently cup at his stubble covered cheek as she shook her head remorsefully, "I'm so sorry."

For the first time in longer than Cullen was comfortable admitting, tears stung at the rims of his eyes, threatening to spill over at the tone of his paramour's voice. He tightened his embrace around her solid form, the feel of her toned muscles pressing against his own as he squeezed, "You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. If I had only –"

"Don't," she croaked in interruption, pulling out of his embrace to slide her hands up his arms, squeezing earnestly as she shook her head. "I was boorish and unkind in my selfishness. I did not mean to invalidate the pain you must endure, least of all that which you carry for my benefit..."

"No. I should have chosen honesty, instead I… well, I found myself somewhere quite different quite suddenly," he confessed softly, the water splashing slightly as he raised a hand to affectionately tuck back several wet clumps of hair over Isabeau's shoulder. His trepidation caused him to pause briefly as he considered his words, "Y-you have never asked me what… what happened at the Circle in Ferelden."

"I've never felt I needed to, Cullen. Not after what I saw… and your explanations have been adequate enough. I could never ask you to relive that torment," Isabeau explained, shrugging sadly as she seemed to consider her words. "Evidently, I've done you a disservice in not advocating closure for you. You must know I… am not too different from most people of Thedas; the reality of a Templar's suffering is a topic I was unfortunately ignorant of… until I met you."

Taking a steadying breath, Cullen gently pulled Isabeau back against his chest, accepting that if there was anyone whom he could expose his vulnerability to…

…It was her.

"The Circle was… taken over by Abominations. The Templars – my friends – were slaughtered like defenseless cattle," he bitterly began, the tightness in his throat causing his speech to be strained and broken. "I was... tortured; they tried to break my mind and I –" Cullen faltered as Isabeau's hand came to press, warm and comforting, at his chest where his racing heart pounded within. Swallowing thickly, he finally relinquished the chains that bound him to his private frailty, "…H-how… can you even be the same person after that?"

Isabeau paled at his admission but firmly held his anguished gaze, "I'm… I-I don't know what to say, I can't even… imagine." Something briefly flashed behind her stormy grey eyes, Cullen's own thoughts briefly returning to the tent at Andoral's Reach when Isabeau softly continued. "But you were sent to Greenfell… you said yourself you had processed at least some of what had happened, no?"

"I still… wanted to serve. But too soon that… ill-advised dedication saw me sent to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight Commander… and for what, hm?" His temper rising, Cullen could not stifle the bitter rage that saturated his words. "Her fear of mages, of magic, ended in insanity… The Circle fell and innocent people died in scores on the streets…"

As Isabeau's hands slid up and over his shoulders to cup behind his head, Cullen pressed his forehead against hers, "I… I need you to see why I want nothing to do with that life. Why I cannot risk becoming that;for the Inquisition, for you… for myself."

"Cullen… of course I can see that, but I –"

"No," he interrupted her in protest, pulling back from her to cup his hand over his mouth. "You should be questioning what I've done. I thought I'd… regained some control over my life finally. To realize that I may never be free of this…? These… these thoughts won't leave me," he stressed desperately, wanting Isabeau to understand why he had sought the extremes he had, confident Cassandra would not have shied away from her frankness with the Inquisitor.

Giving a great sigh, he closed his eyes and stilled himself as he cautiously decided to reaffirm his intentions, "But I swear, it came only out of the desire to protect you, my lady. I couldn't… burden you further, not with everything that had happened. With so much at stake. I have more men under my command than ever before because of your tireless efforts; I cannot afford to be anything less than exceptional. To feel that lack of control; the urges… the pain… I hardly could admit it to myself, let alone you, that I was again compromised."

"I understand, Cullen… and I am sorry. I only wished you had found your voice earlier, and only out of love and concern for your well-being," Isabeau softly encouraged.

"I'm…sorry, too. I had hoped it was little more than fatigue. But when… it began to truly alarm me, when Solas merely confirmed long-held suspicions…? I uh–"

" – did what came naturally," Isabeau gently finished for him, a portion of the weight on Cullen's heart lifting at her simple confirmation and understanding. She chewed at her lower lip nervously before continuing, "Has it been… bad?"

"I have… managed."

At the dubious quirk of her eyebrow, Cullen dryly chuckled as he jutted his chin at the hot pool's doorway, "I… think I have soaked long enough. May we speak in your quarters?"

"Of course," Isabeau agreed earnestly, leading the way out of the depths of the hot springs, Cullen following closely behind, moving to then hold open her robe for her to slip into before they made their way through the Keep. When the couple finally found themselves reaching the comfort of Isabeau's bed chambers, the Inquisitor paused before the roaring hearth, staring into the flames as she clutched at the opening of her bathrobe.

"I am… truly sorry for all of this – for what you have suffered, Cullen."

Coming up behind her to gently kiss at the junction where her neck met her shoulders, Cullen slowly breathed in her scent before speaking. "You do not owe me any apologies, my lady, least of all for my past. I always wanted to be a Templar… but after Ferelden, I served out of fear… and because I was compelled. Removing the part that had always kept me chained…? It – you helped me find my own purpose again, and I… panicked at the prospect of losing that… of losing you."

Isabeau turned then to bring her lips to his, kissing Cullen with a gentle but passionate slowness that bolstered his resolve in the face of his own demons. Sliding his hands up her ribs, Cullen broke their kiss to affectionately nuzzle the tip of his nose against hers.

"You have my word that no longer shall there be any secrets between us," he assured her, Isabeau nodding in agreement as her hand rose to squeeze at the back of his neck, pulling away after to strip off what articles remained on her. He watched as she began to slip on fresh clothing in preparation of their evening meal, a pair of soft tan trousers snugly tugged around her legs before she shimmied into a velvety red chemise.

"Has the pain been… bad?" she asked as her head popped through the neckline of her shirt.

"It… comes and goes. Sometimes I… I feel as if I am back there," he confessed, sighing as he shook his head at himself. "I should not have pushed myself so hard today."

"Nor should I have demanded it," Isabeau offered evenly as she sat on the edge of her large bed, her fingers deftly working at the numerous laces of her knee high boots. When finished, she pushed back the silvery tresses that had cascaded over her face and looked expectantly his way. "Are we… going to be alright? Moreimportantly… are you?"

"You need not ask such a thing, my lady. In my panic, I was impulsive – and I see that now. You still have a Commander for your forces," Cullen immediately assured as he moved to stand before her.

"That's not what I meant."

Taking her marked hand in his, Cullen brought it gently to his lips, kissing her discoloured and cracked knuckles. He forced himself to look at the physical manifestation of her own suffering before returning his gaze to hers, "I've never… told anyone what truly happened to me at Kinloch Hold. I was not myself after that. I was angry… for years that anger blinded me; I'm not proud of the man it turned me into. He is someone who is… unworthy; I'm afraid the fear of subjecting you, or the Inquisition, to that person was not something I could accept."

Isabeau shrugged her shoulders encouragingly, "For what it's worth… this has not changed how I feel about you, Cullen. No matter what the strife may be… I want us to face it together. Do you understand?"

Cullen's face softened at her affirmation, "You have my word."

"I love you," she heartily whispered as she again wrapped her arms around his shoulders, standing on the tips of her toes as Cullen drew her into a great hug.

"I love you, too."

Pulling away to nod her relief at their closure, Isabeau then gestured to a door on the opposite end of the room. "These are not just my quarters, Cullen. In our absence, Josephine was kind enough to ensure various articles of dress were conveniently placed in my cabinet for you as well. See yourself dressed; I must meet with Leliana before we sit for dinner."

"You are aware the Lord Seeker has been located then?" Cullen asked as he made his way to the closet, pulling open the door to decide upon the various tunics and trousers he quickly found within.

"I am. It has not changed my decision, Cullen. Neither situation is ideal, but we have more information available to us with Dorian's assistance… along with a greater likelihood of success. I cannot wait for your men or her agents to make the long trek to Therinfal; what's done is done, all we can do now is proceed accordingly."

Laying a dark green tunic across the coverlets of the bed nearby, Cullen nodded as he disrobed and pulled a pair of black breeches over his legs and smalls. His jaw clenched in thought as his hands worked at the laces over his abdomen, "I understand. I have assigned what I dared part with to Leliana's efforts but you must know, it means less swords at your back when meeting the mages."

"We're all doing what we can. I pray it is enough," she acquiesced with a sigh as she moved towards the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the bannister as she paused to watch Cullen pull the tunic over his head and atop his broad frame. He looked over to catch her appreciative gaze, his hand rubbing at the stubble of his chin as he looked around the room for a wash basin.

"Do you have…?"

"Yes - second door to the right of the bed. There's a ladder… you'll find what you need above," Isabeau explained as she softly tapped her palm on the wood of the bannister and turned to leave.

"Ah. That will do," Cullen thanked as he made his way for the door. With a final nod, Isabeau moved to climb down the stairs when Cullen suddenly called out for her, a curiosity he had long held snaking its way to the forefront of his mind, the day's events offering him a new appreciation for the very different path his life could have taken. Isabeau's head reappeared to flash him a questioning gaze as he spoke.

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you'd never been at the Conclave? If… you'd never become the Inquisitor?"

"You mean a life without you…?" Isabeau asked gently before she flashed him a determined and affectionate smile. "Never."

Without another word, Isabeau finally disappeared behind the stairs railing, the closing of the door behind her leaving Cullen alone to privately smile to himself as a great warmth enveloped him. Relishing the comfort the feeling offered to his overtaxed emotions, Cullen climbed the ladder and did his best to relinquish his anxiety's chains, closing his eyes to send a silent prayer to the Maker as he reached for the blade at the wash basin.

Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.

I will endure.