Chapter 10 - Sickness

Skyhold's corridors echoed with emptiness, a haunting reminder of Solas's absence. She yearned for his reassuring presence, a steadying force that had vanished. Since the attack, peaceful sleep had eluded her, replaced by relentless nightmares of the massacre. She felt lost, her plans to return with Solas now shattered. She was adrift, a nomad barely surviving each passing day.

The bitterness of the wine lingered on her tongue, an unwelcome companion to her sorrow. She resented how it had become a feeble refuge, a futile attempt to numb the pain, especially in Solas's absence. Yet, it offered a brief respite from the sharp edges of her grief. Her gaze remained fixed on a small mark etched into the table, only registering Cullen's presence when he settled beside her.

"Inquisitor, I hope you don't mind me joining you."

"Be my guest, but if you've come to offer sympathies, spare me. I've heard enough of them."

"I've come to share something with you, something I believe you need to hear."

"Oh, do enlighten me?" Her words dripped with sarcasm.

"It wasn't your fault," he insisted. She regarded him sceptically, a scoff escaping her lips.

"Of course it was. If I hadn't been here, if I hadn't managed to infuriate half of Thedas, they would have been safe. Arrel would still be alive. He'd still..." A tear traced down her cheek. This wound was still agonizingly fresh. The touch of Cullen's leather glove against her skin was a comforting anchor. "I should have done more. I could have done more. I let them perish, sacrificed them like pawns in a game of chess." He responded by gently squeezing her hand, a silent gesture of solidarity.

"There was nothing more you could have done," he reassured her with a steadiness in his voice.

"I've failed. If I can't even ensure the safety of my own, how can I be entrusted with safeguarding the Inquisition, Cullen?"

"Ellana, you've brought down mountains on dragons, faced arch-demons in battle, and won over an entire nation with a single smile. Nothing in your actions signifies failure. Our very presence here owes itself to you. Without you, we would have perished in Haven. Maker, you are nothing short of astounding." Her gaze met his, her blue eyes shimmering with genuine sincerity that cut through the tension. "I can't fully comprehend the depth of your pain, but I want you to know that I'm here for you, in any way you need me."

"And I'm certain she's very grateful," the mage's cold tone sent a shiver down Cullen's spine.

"Solas, you're back!" Ellana's face lit up with a smile, but it pained Cullen to see it.

"I sensed my attention was needed here, and it seems I arrived just in time," he remarked, noting the man's hand wrapped around hers. The sight of it ignited Solas's anger as if Cullen's touch was tarnishing her. Sensing his temper, Ellana gently withdrew her hand from under Cullen's.

"I'm glad you're home. You were missed."

"So it appears." Solas smiled down at her. "Ellana, come." The elf's hand extended toward her, a silent command in his gesture. Her gaze flickered to Cullen, a wordless apology radiating from her eyes. "Ellana?" Solas's voice held an undertone of command, demanding her compliance. Slowly, she rose from her seat, her fingers intertwining with his. As they walked away, Solas shot one last malevolent glance back at Cullen, a smirk dancing on his lips. Cullen's hand curled into a tight fist. He despised seeing his once strong and capable Ellana reduced to an obedient puppet.

Once alone, Solas pushed Ellana into a secluded ally, pinning her arms over her head. She gasped as he nipped her neck, dragging her teeth over her skin. He pulled at the neck of her tunic, pulling it open and causing it to cascade down her shoulders.

"I had better make sure that that Templar put his hands anywhere else," He whispered into her neck as he kissed down her shoulder blade biting her perfect flesh now and again.

"Solas, it's not..." He hushed her with his finger before dragging it down her chin, kneading at the chest. She whimpered louder than she had thought into the night.


Cullen stumbled out of the tavern, the effects of the alcohol weighing heavily on him. Stepping into the night air, Cullen's stomach twisted with nausea, a reminder of his inability to hold his liquor. He stumbled to a quieter, more secluded spot to empty his stomach, all the while the sounds of distress pierced the night.

He recognized the voice immediately; it was Ellana's. Instinctively, his hand shot to the hilt of his weapon as he hurried toward the source of the distress, his concern overriding the remnants of his alcohol-induced haze.

He rounded the corner and froze in his tracks. The scene that met his eyes sent shockwaves through him. There she stood, partially disrobed, pressed against the wall, her eyes tightly shut. Solas's fervent embrace overwhelmed her. Instantly, he retreated, his hand flying to cover his mouth in disbelief. He stood there for a few seconds, his back pressed against the wall, trying to process what he had just witnessed. Her soft mews called to him like a siren song, and despite himself, he peaked around the corner. Catching sight of her again, the soft curve of her breast. The way she bit her lips to stifle her moans. How her skin would taste on his tongue. The scene made him twitch, causing a tightening in his trousers.

"Wait, Solas, I heard something," Ellana's voice trembled, and she hurriedly adjusted her tunic, her eyes searching the shadows. Panic gripped Cullen, propelling him further back, acutely aware of the difficulty he'd face explaining himself if discovered. Solas turned, his gaze fixated on the unmistakable Templar cloak, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. He wouldn't miss this chance to taunt him.

"Hush, vh'an," he coaxed, gently guiding Ellana back, her arms released from her tunic, letting the fabric fall to expose her again. "There's no one here." Solas kissed her neck, his hand exploring her breast. It snaked down her body and invaded her breeches, plunging inside of her, Ellana moaned louder gripping her lover for purchase.

Cullen watched in dismay as Solas defiled her. She deserved better than this—she deserved to be laid on sheets of silk, not taken down an alley like a common woman of the night.

Before long, it became too much for him. He couldn't bear to witness any more. He turned away, leaving the pair alone. As he sensed the man's presence departs, Solas grinned.


A few days passed, but Cullen still found himself plagued by the visions of that night. Thankfully, Ellana's attention had been pulled elsewhere. He tried to bury himself in his duties, seeking solace in the familiar routines of command. But no matter how many reports he reviewed or orders he gave, the haunting images persisted, vivid and relentless. Each night, sleep eluded him, replaced by the thoughts of her that night. The weight of his memories bore down on him, an unyielding burden he couldn't shake. Cullen knew that he had to face her eventually. He needed to speak to her.

Standing before Ellana's quarters, he could feel his heart's erratic beat reverberate through his chest, a steady rhythm of apprehension. With a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked softly on the door.

Ellana opened the door, a mixture of surprise and warmth lighting up her face at the sight of the commander.

"Cullen," she greeted with a radiant smile. "What brings you here?"

"I have a matter that I need to discuss with you, rather urgently," he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of his intentions.

"Well, do come in." She graciously stepped aside, inviting him into her space. He walked past her catching the smell of sweet berries on her skin. She sat at a small table and offered him a seat. "So, how can I help?"

"Indeed, you are familiar with my past as a Templar," he acknowledged, his eyes locked onto hers, baring a mix of understanding and vulnerability. Her nod was a patient encouragement, silently urging him to continue.

"Much like mages, we became reliant on lyrium to unlock our abilities. The Chantry tightly controlled our supply, using it as a means of dominance. It's a bitter reality, one that nearly every Templar grapples with."

"So, the Chantry plucks children from their homes, saturates them with this substance, and then dangles their dependency over them?" Ellana's voice carried both outrage and sorrow. "It's beyond cruel."

"Lyrium withdrawal is a brutal trial, capable of shattering even the most resolute of individuals," Cullen added, his words heavy with the remembered suffering of his brothers.

"Which brings me to why I'm here. I've stopped taking my lyrium. It's been a few days now. I'm informing you because I'm uncertain how this will impact my duties. I am, after all, a tool of the Inquisition. If you wish, I'll resume taking it to ensure my responsibilities remain unhampered."

"How are you feeling right now?" Ellana asked her concern for him now eclipsing any worries about his ability to fulfil his duties. Her eyes held a mixture of care and worry, reflecting the depth of her empathy. The tenderness in her gaze served as a poignant reminder of why he had fallen in love with her.

"Other than a slight tremor, I feel fine."

"And you will tell me if anything changes?" She looked at him, concern filling her face.

"You have my word."

"Cullen, you have my full support. No matter how hard this is, I will be here to help you." Her voice was resolute, a promise that resonated through the quiet space between them.


Cullen felt the searing blaze of withdrawal, each step reverberating through the confined room like a caged lion's restless pacing. He yearned for air, a respite from the ceaseless pounding in his head and the haunting visions. Relentless, his pulse throbbed in his temples. His body dripped with sweat, his once-vibrant complexion now pallid and almost skeletal. The man he saw in the mirror was a distant echo of the Cullen he once knew.

With determined urgency, he strode to his desk and retrieved a small leather pouch. Flinging it open, he studied its contents—a final dose and the syringe. He extracted it, the familiar weight in his hand offering an oddly soothing sense of familiarity. Methodically, he loaded it, battling the tremor that threatened to overtake his hand.

"Just take the lyrium," his demons whispered in his ears as he pressed the tip of the syringe to his skin. "How are you meant to protect her when you can't even think straight? Take the lyrium." He could almost taste the bitter solution, promising clarity, if only for a while longer. The room seemed to hold its breath as he hesitated, caught in the struggle between his duty and his fragility. His finger hovered over the plunger, the tantalizing thought that one simple gesture could make it all vanish. No. He promised her. He gave his word. With a guttural scream of frustration, he launched the vial at the wall, shattering it and sending its contents spilling across the floor.

"Maker, please, give me strength," he implored to the empty room. In the dim light, he heard the door creak open, and he turned, a storm of anger and vulnerability in his eyes.

"Gods, Cullen," Ellana entered, her gaze sweeping the room, now in utter disarray. She covered her mouth in shock, her eyes widening at the sight before her. Cullen stood amidst the wreckage, his bare chest bearing pale, sweat-drenched skin marked with angry, self-inflicted claw marks. His once-neat blonde curls now lay in disarray on his head, and his eyes were bloodshot and haunted. He turned away from her, his posture one of shame and self-loathing.

"Get out," he whispered, his voice trembling as he slumped into a chair. But Ellana ignored his plea, determined to help him. She began to gather some of the less damaged items strewn across the floor, making her way cautiously towards him. She reached out and placed the back of her hand against his feverish forehead.

"You're burning up, Cullen," she said gently, concern etched into her features. "Let me..."

"Leave!" A fire burned fiercely behind his blue eyes as he grabbed her wrist, the contact with her skin too overwhelming to bear.

"No." Ellana stood in unyielding defiance as she freed her hand from his hold.

"The last thing I need is you." He shot to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground. "You can't fix me, Ellana!"

She instinctively stepped back, her heart pounding. His thoughts swirled in a chaotic tempest; withdrawal was consuming his last vestiges of clarity. "I don't need your pity!" The commander's grip on her tightened as he pulled her closer.

"Stop it, Cullen. I'm just trying to offer some comfort." His fingers dug into her soft flesh.

"And how do you plan to comfort me?" He licked his lips predatorily.

"Cullen, you're hurting me," she gasped, struggling to free herself. In a sudden, brutal motion, he flung her against the wall, stealing her breath.

Before she could react, he was upon her, pinning her in place. He growled. His palms were flat against the wall on either side of her keeping her prisoner. She looked so small. He could take her. Who would stop him? He knew he was physically stronger than her. Even though he had stopped taking lyrium he was sure he had enough to stifle her magic. For the first time in a long time, Ellana felt weak and helpless. He had her trapped, she could feel the heat radiating from him, the acrid smell of sweat on his skin.

"Is this what you want, isn't it?" His voice was dark. He wore Cullen's face, but this man was a stranger His hand found her neck, his thumb stroking her chin. "You let that apostate treat you like this. You like being treated like a common whore, don't you?"

Ellana's slap landed with a sharp sting, jolting him to full awareness. Staggering back, he was engulfed in a suffocating wave of shame. What had he done?

"Inquisitor, I..."

"That was uncalled for," her voice cut through the air, firm and unyielding, the sting still palpable on her palm.

"I'm sorry, I..."

The once indomitable warrior crumbled, his knees hitting the ground with a weighty thud. He buried his face in his hands, a shattered figure, every line of his body betraying the weight of his inner turmoil. "Please, Ellana, I can't control it. Leave before I bring you harm," he implored, desperation seeping into his voice. Tears streamed unchecked down his cheeks, each droplet a testament to the depth of his despair. She stood unwavering, her back against the wall, a sentinel in the face of his pain.

"No, Cullen," she declared firmly, lowering herself to the cold floor beside him. "I won't abandon you, not in this state." The Herald enveloped him with her arm, feeling his desperate grip on her "Let's get you to bed." With painstaking effort, she assisted him to his feet and guided him to the modest bed nestled in the room's corner. She gently laid him down, then fetched a damp cloth to tenderly wipe away the sweat that clung to his skin.

"The nightmares..." He spoke, his voice nearly a whisper, tinged with a vulnerability that tugged at her heart.

"Rest now. I'll be right here." Ellana held his hand, her touch a balm, working to soothe him into slumber. Once he had succumbed to the embrace of sleep, she rested her head on his chest, poised to stand guard against the encroaching terrors that may seek to invade his dreams.