A/N: Part of the Cassandra/Cullen dialogue is the same as in the game and therefore, belongs to Bioware and EA.

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Chapter 3: Beast of burden

The Inquisitor conquered the Hinterlands and Ava joined a troop to secure the camps.

The Inquisitor went to the Storm coast and came back with a Qunari and his chargers and Susannah fell secretly in love with the mysterious, yet pretty blunt leader.

The Inquisitor went to the Fallow Mire and Cullen argued with Cassandra.

"You've asked for my opinion and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?" Cassandra asked, her arms folded before her chest.

"I expect you to keep your word. It's relentless. I can't..." he began, but the woman interrupted him.

"You give yourself too little credit."

Credit, he thought. Credit for what? With lyrium, he was functioning way better than this. The Inquisition had been Cassandra's idea, why in the name of the Maker was she stopping him now from giving it his best?

"If I am unable to fulfil what vows I've kept than nothing good has come of this! Would you rather save face than admit that you've been mistaken by taking me with you?" he asked, no, shouted.

"Your work is excellent. The Inquisitor agrees."

He let out a frustrated growl and shook his head. He knew exactly what she was doing; trying to reason with him with the Inquisitor, whom he had sworn to protect; Maker, he once had sworn to protect mages too and what had become of it? Blood and violence and war.

The seeker watched him quietly. "There is something else."

It wasn't the first time Cullen cursed the seeker's attention. "Isn't it enough?" he asked sharply.

"You tell me," she replied and he hated her voice, her calmness, her stubbornness – everything he usually admired about her.

"This is futile," he said and left the door, shutting it with a loud crack.

Of course she was right. Beside the withdrawal, beside the fact that he couldn't fulfil his own standards anymore, there was the mage -...

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he didn't even know her name. He still remembered her naked body under his, her sarcastic grin, her moans, but her name had never bothered him. And he hadn't even thought to ask when he had met her again.

Yet since then, the feverish dreams his withdrawal caused provided another scenario, the one in which he fucked her on the dirty ground, forced her to beg and shiver.

Those dreams were better than the ones of his cage at the tower, of the desire demon, because he was in control, because she was the servant to his lust, not he the toy of a perverted creature.

Those dreams were worse, because his behaviour was vicious, cruel, whilst in the tower, he had mustered all his strength to fight, had tried to remain a good templar, a good man.

Not that it had been any use. The demon had done with him what it wanted, had made him scream when it wanted, beg when it wanted, moan when it wanted.

When he woke up out of them, he wanted nothing more but to pass this on, reverse the roles. And now, the only one he had ever allowed himself to do this to was back, sleeping under the same roof and he could just do it, he could go into her chamber and take her, make her the beast of burden, pass the cruelty on and on and on until it was gone.

No, he couldn't. He wouldn't. The Inquisition was his atonement, if atonement was possible at all. Only how could he carry it out when, night for night, there was this demon in his head, turning him into one of its creatures?

While the mages had been gone, the nobles had arrived at Skyhold. And with them, rumours. Countless.

Much of them were pretty dull, completely unbelievable, but there was a rumour the Inquisitor had a thing for the other elf (Solas, she thought. Important names must be remembered) which she actually believed, but it was none of her business.

A little later, she heard a rumour the seeker and the knight-commander had gotten into a fight, someone also mentioned something about lyrium. That wasn't her business, either, but mages, templars and lyrium were a web, a circle. Thinking about one led to thinking about the other.

As every mage, she had taken lyrium, but not overwhelmingly often. While some of her kind enjoyed entering the Fade with its help, Ava had never quite understood the fascination. The Fade was often a delusion, sometimes a danger and seldom offered anything that helped you in the real world.

Susannah, who visited the Fade on a regular basis, always laughed at her prejudices and called her a little coward. She said it in a joking manner, but Ava suspected she actually meant it.

And maybe she was a coward. Maybe the Fade was offering world-changing revelations for those brave enough; and maybe dragons made excellent pets. She wanted to find out neither.

She knew templars relied on lyrium too, of course, because she had been trained in a Circle. Yet, she had never had any reason to think about it. The templars had always kept to themselves; their job had been to guard them, not to mingle with them.

And she hadn't any reason to think about it, now. If the knight-commander was in some kind of trouble, the Inquisitor or her advisers would be perfectly capable to take care of that. They were the ones sharing an interest in this, not her.

Two weeks after their return from the Fallow Mire, Susannah dragged her into the tavern to glance at the Iron Bull secretly, though Ava doubted it was really a secret. From what she had heard, the Qunari was a spy, reading people's thoughts and wishes.

She actually wanted to tell her friend, encourage her to just go over and ask him to take her to his chamber and have her way with her, but that didn't fit Susannah at all. It only fitted her.

She left Susannah and her longing around 11 p.m., tired of her friend's little sighs and all the beer and retired to her chamber, just to find that her chamber wasn't empty.

Right in the middle of the little room stood the knight-commander, dressed in his armour, his sword at his side.

For a second she was sure he'd slay her, right here, right now and drop her body in an icy hole outside the fortress.

But as he stepped forward, she suddenly knew why he was really there, what would happen. Yet, she knew she would be able to stop him this time, not exactly sure why.

Only she didn't. As he grabbed her, she immediately shoved her body against his. Heaven's, he was gorgeous, even though his eyes appeared too red, even though he stumbled a little as he pressed her against the cold wall.

It didn't matter. Her hands gripped for the stupidly big fur he wore around his shoulders and kissed him, allowed him to move his hands all the way up and down her body until touching wasn't enough anymore. She would have liked to see him naked, just for once, but he wasted no time on taking their clothes off. He just removed everything that was in his way.

He took her right there, against the wall, her bare back having a déjà-vu as it rubbed against the stone wall due to his sharp thrusts.

Yet, she didn't care. He was a templar and she hated templars; he was harsh and she wanted his harshness. It was a bittersweet cocktail of feelings too easy to swallow, too hard to resist.

He came with a loud moan, hiding his face at her chest when it was over. As he finally let go off her and she bent down to adjust her clothes, she heard him mumble:

"Maker, I am sorry."

Whether he was apologizing to her or his god, she couldn't make out.

"Yes. Tell that to my back," she replied, trying to catch a glimpse on the damage, failing completely.

"I don't know why I did that," he said and she believed him.

"Maybe I am simply irresistible."

Sarcasm. One thing she was still good at, her judgement obviously already gone down the drain.

"I don't even know your name," he said.

"And? Is it recommended that you know the name of a woman you like to ravish?"

His cheeks reddened immediately and boy, he looked so young for a second, so innocent that she doubted either of their inappropriate encounters had ever really happened.

"I would have left you alone, this time. If you had said a word I would have..."

"Oh, shut it," she replied, because she knew that and because now that the sensation was over, she cursed herself for letting him have her once again.

"Will you tell me?"

She looked at him. "Why? So you can shout it when you jerk off?"

Her voice sounded more hostile than she had intended to.

He turned on his heels immediately, quickly walking towards the door.

"Ava," she said. "My name is Ava."

Why she told him remained a mystery. It made him stop, however, and his eyes found hers.

And she asked the one question that was actually important, more important than her name, the one he had asked only seconds ago:

"Why did you come here?"

"I don't know," he repeated, but his gaze fell to the floor and she knew that he was lying, that he knew very well why he came, that there was something hidden behind his action that wasn't desire, or need, or probably anything nice and sweet.

"This has to stop," she stated. "It's neither right, nor helpful."

"I agree," he said and finally, left.

Of course it won't stop - but it won't go on that smoothly. How could it, with the templar-mage-desire-demon conflict?