Besieged Heart

by Chalybeous

He once came charging to her rescue, like a gallant knight, saving her from certain death. And now, after all the heartaches and lies, she prays he can save her again. Just a bit of dribbling, angst-filled sappiness that's been rattling around in my brainpan since playing DA: Inquisition. Feeling the need to write a Cullen-knight-in-shining-armor fic. Some smut later on.

32. Awake (Part II)

Chapter Thirty-Two: Awake, Part II

Peredura pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut for one brief moment. "Kaffas."

"What is it now?" sighed a weary Dorian from the doorway to Cullen's office.

She opened her eyes and dropped her hand to see him, standing there, arms loaded with even more reports. There was a sarcastic tilt to her head as she answered, "I'm thinking of all the money I wasted."

He blinked at her while he tried to keep control of the stack of clipboards and close the door behind him with a foot. "I don't follow. What money?"

"The money I spent shopping the other day. I wasted so much time and coin buying my books," she flung her free hand towards the said books, successfully dried and stacked on a chair next to the dresser, "But I haven't yet opened a single one of them. Yet it appears, all I really had to do was wait a day and I'd've gotten all the practice I could've wish for." Her hand swung back around to wave at the rug before the hearth, and the chair to her right, and the table with a lamp on it to her left, all of which were covered in parchment.

Dorian very carefully set the latest ones on the chair to her left, the one he would have otherwise used. "Uh-huh," he hummed in a non-committing, non-offending manner—or at least what he hoped was non-offending.

"And these… these stupid… dumb… idiotic… stupid…"

"You said 'stupid' twice."

Nope, he almost winced, that had been the wrong thing to say, as she definitely didn't seem to be in the mood for gentle teasing. Peredura's eyes flashed, her nostrils flaring, as she sprang to her feet and slapped the clipboard in her other hand against her thigh. "It's these STUPID," she exaggerated the word, "Numbers. They're not making sense. First it was the letters that were messing me up, not making the sounds that they're supposed to make. But now even the numbers aren't adding up! Two, three, five, six… See?"

Dorian sighed and reached out both hands to take the offending clipboard from her. "Take a breath, Peredura. This won't last forever," he gently reminded her. "It can't. Cullen will soon be back on his feet, and then you can happily pass all these offending, impudent, pesky little reports back onto him."

"I know, but…" she groaned, allowing him to pull the clipboard away as she turned to look towards the bed. "But WHEN?!" Her hands free, they wrapped themselves around her arms, giving herself a hug, creating whatever small comfort she could manage.

"Soon, my dear," he assured her, glancing at the report but not really seeing what she was talking about, only looking far enough to see it was regarding a routine patrol and where it occurred and at what time. "It's been two days since the attack, well, since the shopping trip. I suppose the attack happened late afternoon or early evening, and it's only just past lunch now, so really any time he should be coming around…"

She made a sound, somewhere between disgust and anger, frustration and fear, worry and resignation. She spun away from the bed and stalked towards the hearth, picking up another report from the fresh stack. Halfheartedly she made an attempt to read it, but quickly gave up, her frustration clouding her vision and muddling her fledgling ability to read. "I know, I know, I know, but…!" She slapped the thin wooden board against the mantle, unable to finish, unable to continue, her words simply stopped.

Unlike time itself which, though it continued slowly, time did continue.

"But it isn't easy," he acknowledged, coming up beside her, though warily, a bit fearful she may throw the report into the flames out of spite. "I know, little dove, I know. We had the same vigilance after you were drugged, only that had been compounded by that sleeping draught. This will be over much sooner. trust me." Gently he took the report out of her hands.

She sighed again, allowing him to take the clipboard, but refusing to answer, instead staring broodily into the flames.

Dorian let her be for the moment, bending over to scoop up the sorted reports on the rug. Fear was sitting nearby on his haunches, panting, waiting patiently for his favorite spot to become available. And as soon as Dorian took the reports back into Cullen's office to be properly stacked, the Mabari strode purposefully onto the rug, turned in a circle three times while pawing and snuffling the heavy fabric, before finally settling down in the very center, curled up in a tight little ball, and immediately dozing off.

Peredura had turned her head at the movement, not so much curious as simply wishing to distract herself with anything, no matter how small. Seeing the half-grown puppy acting normally, going through his routine, was somewhat comforting. Feeling a little calmer, a little bit reassured, she smiled down at him. "Well, you're not concerned; that's a good sign, anyway."

"What was that?" Dorian asked upon his return.

"Fear," she tilted her head towards her hound. "He has this ability to… sense… Cullen. It's like he knows when… well…" She sighed, stepping around the hound to pick up yet another clipboard, absently wondering if the Inquisition had singlehandedly denuded an entire forest to make so many of the damnable slats of wood. "When Cullen was going through his lyrium withdrawals, Fear knew when he was in his right mind and when he was lost in some vision. I suppose, so long as Fear here isn't worried, I shouldn't be either."

Dorian smiled at her and gave her shoulder a pat. "That's the ticket."

"But I do wish it all would hurry up!" She ignored the huff he gave over her pouty statement.

"Maker, preserve us men from impatient women."

"Oh, the, ah, stack on the lamp table, those are the ones I'm not sure what they're talking about. Could you…?" She left the question hanging.

He let out a weary breath, "I shall endeavor to decipher the hasty scrawl. Devensport again, no doubt. That man cannot form a complete sentence. Not once."

Fear lifted his head up, immediately drawing Peredura's gaze.

"I mean, honestly, I know the man can speak a complete sentence. He talks quite a bit. More so when he's had one or two, if you know what I mean. But… look at this."

"Dorian…" her voice was soft.

"Farmhouse, farmer, no sign. Does he mean there was a farmhouse with no sign of the farmer? Or the farmer was there, and reported no sighting of a mage?"

"Dorian."

Fear added a short yip and gained his feet, shaking his whole body as if shaking off his short nap.

"I'm just asking for a little more clarity, here. Perhaps a bit of direction."

"Put the kettle on."

"Not quite the direction I was asking for…"

"No, Dorian," she moaned with frustration. "Listen."

He looked up at her, but when she didn't elaborate, he had to press, "Listen to what?"

"Just… listen…"

Fear didn't listen, or rather he was listening to something else, and not his partner nor her friend. He left the two and padded up to the side of the bed, sitting down on his haunches and looking upwards expectantly, as if waiting for a wayward hand to drop over the edge of the mattress to give him a pat.

Dorian waited a moment longer, hoping she was merely trying to figure out a way to explain something profound, but when she didn't continue speaking, he grew a bit frustrated himself. He opened his mouth to ask her what she was talking about, but her fingers flicked and her features took on a stern and tight-lipped expression. He snapped his jaw closed, blinked at her, then at last heard what she must be listening to.

There was a breath of air, a heavy puff, akin to a whispered moan. And it was coming from Cullen's bed.

"What…?"

"He's dreaming," she started to elaborate, even as she approached the bed and her hound's side.

"One doesn't dream when under the effects of opeigh," he argued.

She shot a glance over her shoulder and agreed, "Exactly."

The mage stared at her, his lips moving but making no sound without air. He took a look at the bed, and indeed Cullen must be close to waking, his hands twitching beneath the covers, his chest beginning to heave and shudder as if having to work strenuously to breathe. Then there was that sound again, louder this time, a low moan that seemed more ghostly than mortal.

"Put the kettle on."

"I'll just put the kettle on."

The two of them spoke at the same time, nearly the same thing, and perhaps if this had been during any other occasion Dorian might have found it amusing. But this was not the time. Quickly he reached the hearth and set the kettle against the coals, heating the water they already had waiting inside, before turning to busy himself with measuring out the tea leaves.

Peredura barely heard his actions, her eyes—her ears, all her senses—focused on the man in the bed. She crawled up onto the covers next to him, fishing his hand out from beneath the blanket to hold it, to press her flesh against his, to make contact with him and let him now he was not alone. "Cullen? Cullen, wake up." Her other hand reached up to brush at a few curls, growing damp with sweat, as he fought off the opeigh, and fought off the demons of his dreams—one act alien and strange, the other act routine and endured, and both acts unwelcome. "Come on, my love, wake up. You're dreaming. It's one of your nightmares. Wake up and it'll be over. Just like always. Please, Cullen, wake up!"

He gave one final gasp along with a jerk, snapping himself out of his nightmare, and though his mind was groggy, the routine was, well, routine. Immediately his thoughts went through the motions of reassuring himself, that it was only a nightmare, a lingering effect of his lyrium use, a memory of his torture at Kinloch, nothing substantial nor real nor worthy of note. He brushed the last of the ghastly visions aside, and in the next moment found his eyes landing on a much more desirable vision. Peredura. Hovering beside him. Her long brown hair draping her shoulders and framing her face.

This is such a pleasant vision to wake up to, he thought to himself. Though he was a bit confused, as he couldn't quite remember going to bed last night, and he thought he could feel her hand brushing against extra long stubble on his cheek—hadn't he just shaved right before their outing?—but there she was and there he was and all should be right in the world. And then, in part due to the fact that she seemed to have an alarming and adverse effect on his impulse control, and in part because he figured she wouldn't mind, he slipped out of her grip and wound his arm around her back, pulling her towards him, his hand splayed between her shoulder blades and pressing her close enough for him to steal a kiss.

Yes, a very pleasant way to wake up.

He felt her breath fan his lips when he finally allowed her to pull back, short and airy little puffs, almost as if she was laughing. He opened his eyes to stare lazily at her, his one hand running up and down her back, his other hand coming out from beneath the covers to support his head. Slowly, as if it was slogging through a mire of mud, his mind began to process what he was seeing and hearing and feeling: Peredura's eyes rimmed with redness and dark circles, her breath sputtering somewhere between crying and laughter, and her thick coat coming between his fingers and her skin.

"Um, Pere," he began, barely registering how dry his voice sounded, "Why are you wearing clothes?"

"Cullen," she answered, "We're, um, not alone."

"Oh, don't mind me," Dorian's voice piped up, "I'll just stand over here, shall I, by the hearth, brewing tea."

"Tea?" Cullen repeated, trying to see where Dorian's voice had come from but Peredura was in the way. "Why is Dorian brewing tea? What happened?" He began struggling to sit up. Though his limbs obeyed his commands to move, they were weak, wobbly, and it was difficult to even shift himself across the mattress without toppling over. Peredura helped, holding on to a shoulder while shoving pillows behind him, bracing him into the sitting position he was attempting to reach. He appreciated her assistance, but the reason why he needed it was damn confusing. "Why am I so…?" He couldn't admit to feeling weak, so he simply left it off.

Instead of answering, she presented her own question, "What do you remember?"

"I asked first," he surly retorted, blinking and looking around, trying to force the situation into making sense. "And were are my leggings?"

"And that's my cue to leave," Dorian chimed in.

"Stay put!" Peredura commanded, barely turning her head far enough to indicate Dorian. "And you," she waggled a finger under Cullen's nose, "Answer my question. What do you remember?"

"Remember?" he repeated, his brow furrowing. He was still smarting a bit over her bossiness, and the oddness of the situation, and the lack of clothing—thank the Maker he was still wearing his knickers—and why the hell was Dorian in the room… But some small voice in the back of his head registered that something was amiss, something had happened, perhaps something terrible. He felt the indomitable need to determine what disaster had struck this time, and he knew Peredura would help him—all he had to do was trust her.

Fear added his two coppers' worth, bold enough to set his front paws on the mattress, though being careful not to show any signs that he was seriously considering bounding up on the bed beside him.

"Um," he began, licking his lips, his head starting to pound with a headache, though whether from the effort of thinking or some other cause like a concussion currently escaped him. He briefly hoped he might coach a hint or two out of her, but she determinedly shut her mouth and waited for him to answer. Giving in, he started with what he could remember. "We were shopping… for books… but it started to rain… The alley!" he suddenly exclaimed, the memories coming back in a flood, disjointed and rushed and tumbling over each other. Struggling, he wrestled them back into some semblance of order as he voiced them. "Abbets… no, he was later. Devensport and I gave chase first, then realized we were being led away. We got back just in time to see…" He stopped suddenly, his hand reaching up to cup her face. "Were you hurt? Did that mage touch you? He was casting some sort of spell…"

"I'm fine, Cullen," she covered his hand, trying to assure him, hoping to keep him calm and in the bed. "The only injury I suffered was the sprained ankle. I promise. The spell he cast was something dark; it trapped Abbets and I in this… black emptiness… no light or sound or anything. But it didn't harm us."

"Abbets…" Cullen repeated. "Yes, he… he went after the mage, after that, I think, yes, after Devensport dispelled the magic. Did Abbets find him?"

"You don't remember?" she pressed, but he shook his head.

"No, I…" he paused to clear his throat and sniff, feeling like his nose was beginning to run. An ache was settling in his limbs as well, deep and heavy and weighing him down into the mattress. "Everything's a bit… foggy. I was having trouble brea… that is, ah…" his words trailed off as he gave a sideways glance towards Dorian, who was carefully pouring boiling water from the kettle into a tea pot.

Dorian looked up just then, as if sensing he was somehow causing the awkwardness. "Oh, don't stop on my account, Commander. I already know what happened. It's your turn to find out about getting shot in the chest."

"Getting shot?" He repeated, but in the next moment he remembered, and his eyes dismissed Dorian and returned to Peredura. "The bolt! The mage was aiming it at you. Did he hurt you? Tell me the truth, Pere. I… I need to know… if he hurt you… I must… I have to know…" He gripped her shoulders, holding her before him, willing her to tell him everything.

"He didn't hurt me, Cullen," she answered, trying to remain calm and not grow frustrated with him. "You saw to that, remember? You jumped in front of me," she brought his hand down to his side where he sported two new scars, one the puncture where the bolt had pierced his flesh, the other long and slender where Stitches had pulled the head out. "You took the bolt, right here in your side, where it punctured your lung. That's why you started having trouble breathing. Well, part of the reason…"

"What's the other part?" he demanded, ignoring the sweat beading on his upper lip, ignoring the dryness of his mouth and throat, ignoring the aches in his body and the way his eyes wanted to tear up. How could he feel so parched on the inside and so moist on the outside? It was infuriating… the weakness… the pain… the confusion… He was tired of trusting her, tired of being led around by the nose, tired of all the questions. It was time she started answering his."Tell me! What are you holding back! Answer me!"

"Cullen," she kept her voice calm and quiet, though she wanted to cringe and pull away. "Calm down and I'll explain."

"You're hurting her, Commander," Dorian added calmly, coming up to the bed with a cup of something steaming and herbal.

Cullen stared at Dorian, at first the words not making any sense. Then he looked back at Peredura, saw the way she held herself so still, saw his hand around her shoulder so tight the fabric of her coat was bunched between his fingers. Saw her lips drawn thin and her eyes avoiding his, her chest moving deeply as if she was trying to keep herself from flinching. Looking down he saw his other hand, gripping hers in a steel vise, pressed up against his side where the bolt had hit him. With a gasp he let go, unable to stop his hands from shaking, unable to look either of them in the eye. "What's happening to me?"

"Drink the tea," Dorian suggested, "It'll help."

"I don't want any damned tea!" he barked, using his best Commander's voice, thankful for a vent for his irritation. "I want answers! Now!"

"You were drugged," she answered, her freed hand rubbing at her bruised shoulder. "That bolt you idiotically took in the chest? It was meant for me. It was filled with opeigh and meant for me. I was supposed to be the one drugged, not you." Her voice was fierce in its gentleness, her brown eyes hard with self-imposed guilt.

"You're going through opeigh withdrawal," she pressed on, at long last assured she had his attention, "And it's going to get worse. You'll feel aches so deep they seem like they reach your bones. Your eyes and nose won't stop watering. Your skin will crawl like you are buried beneath a million insects. You'll be emotional, agitated, anxious, irritated. And that's just the beginning. Wait until your stomach…"

"Enough!" he snapped, pressing his hands against the sides of his head. Suddenly he realized he had shouted at her and the remorse was suffocating. "Pere, I… I'm sorry…"

"I know," she felt sorry, too, for her own outburst. "Believe me, I know." Her words were filled with more meaning than any of them wanted to face. She turned to take the cup from Dorian and pass it to Cullen. "Drink this. It's the same tea Solas brewed for me when I was going through my withdrawal. It will help."

He took it, staring no further than her hands, unable to risk a glance at her face in case she was looking at him, risk seeing the hurt and anger and embarrassment he had caused—never knowing she was just as unwilling to look at him for the same reasons. He obediently sipped and made a small face. "He does use a lot of anise."

She made a weak sound at that, something that might have once been a laugh. "Not my favorite flavor, either, but it works."

"Well," Dorian cleared his throat, still looking for an excuse to leave, "Now that you're awake and on the mend, I'll just pop back into your office and see if there are any more reports to go over."

"Oh, ah," Cullen, too, was casting about for an excuse to do something, anything, other than sit there awkwardly with Peredura, "Right. Reports. There's no doubt a lot I need to catch up on, since yesterday. I'll just finish this and join you." He gulped down the rest of his tea, mindless of the heat.

"No, you won't," Peredura started.

"Where are my leggings?"

"Again, that's my cue," Dorian groaned, all but racing for the door.

"You're not going anywhere, not yet, not until you're well again," she countered Cullen, fully ignoring Dorian's hasty retreat or the way he forcefully closed the door behind him. "And it was two days ago."

"What?" he asked, gripping the covers as if he would move them out of the way in preparation for standing, but her words had given him pause. "What was two days ago?

"The attack." When he stopping pulling at the covers, when he finally lifted his eyes to hers, when he slumped back into the pillows with an oaf, she continued. "It happened the day before yesterday. You've lost almost two full days to opeigh."

"I… I hadn't realized… it seems like… I don't know, but there's nothing… nothing there…" he paused to rub at his face. He felt the growth on his cheeks, and remembered something from earlier about thinking his stubble was a little longer than it should have been, and began to consider her words. "Two days? I… I honestly can't remember a single, bloody-little-thing."

"I know," she agreed, somewhat sadly. "How are you feeling? Is the tea helping?"

"I, ah, wait, I…" It was too much, too much to take in, to deal with, all at once… opeigh… withdrawal… losing so much time… losing control of his temper… and still no closer to any answers. "Yes, I'm feeling fine," he lied. "What happened? What don't I remember?"

"You didn't make a fool of yourself, if that's what you're wondering," she answered, getting up from the bed to walk over to the dresser. She busied herself with filling a bowl with water and grabbing a small towel from one of the drawers. "Well, other than jumping in front of that bolt. That was fairly idiotic."

"So you've said," he acknowledged, "But I would disagree."

She almost laughed at him as she set the bowl down on a handy table beside the bed, but it hurt too much. "Would you? That bolt nearly killed you. Even without the opeigh, the head had pierced your lung, making you slowly suffocate on your own blood. But the bolt wouldn't have killed me. I'm sure that mage was aiming for some soft tissue, like my thigh, where it could deliver the drug without damaging any important organs. But you…!" she broke off, her face screwing up and the tears at long last spilling free. "You had to…!"

"I had to jump in the way, yes, I know," he answered calmly. He held his arms out to her, and she eagerly accepted his offer, crawling up beside him on the bed and curling against his side, right where she had wanted to be for so long now. "It was a risk," he continued, "But a calculated one. I knew the bolt would not be moving with enough force to kill, as he wasn't using a crossbow or anything of the sort. And I also knew, whatever it was about that bolt, I couldn't allow it to harm you, to touch so much as a hair on your head."

"So you jumped in the way," she sniffed, her tone a bit accusing.

"I did," he acknowledged, holding her a little tighter as he confessed, "Because you are the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and the only person in all of Thedas with the Mark, the only person who can close rifts." He paused to take her hand, the one with the Mark, and kiss the palm, before pressing it against his cheek. "Like it or not, you are more important than I. And though I would much rather live—especially if I could live by your side—if it should come down to it, I will give my life for yours. And yes, I remembered I wasn't wearing any armor, and that the bolt was probably going to hit me, and hurt when it did, but it should be moving too slowly to do any real damage. I would probably be alright."

"But you weren't, and it did," her hand left his cheek to drop down to his side and touch the new scars, pink and tight along his ribs. "It did, and it's…" her teeth drew fresh blood from her lip before she could whisper, "It's all my fault."

Here we go again, he thought to himself, but outwardly showed no sign of his exasperation. "No, Pere, no, don't think that way," he kissed her brow, tightening his arm around her shoulders, "It's not your fault. It's that damnable mage, the Venatori, it's his fault…"

"But I'm the one who made you leave your armor behind."

That brought him up short, but only for half a heartbeat. He knew her far too well already to allow this to go any further. "Stop right there."

His tone was stern, forceful, demanding of respect, the one he usually reserved for the greenest recruits. It worked, gaining her immediate attention, making her lift her face to look at him, and silencing any protests she may have been about to make. "What happened is not your responsibility. Did you command me not to wear my armor?"

She blinked at him, a little bit teary-eyed, but shook her head.

"Did you order me to leave my weapons behind?"

She let go of her lip to answer, "No, but I…"

"Then it was my responsibility," he softened his voice, cupping her face. "I made the decision, I made the choice, to not weary my armor or take any weapons. Quite honestly, I very nearly did put on my armor yesterday, erm, the other morning. But it was my own decision, not yours, to leave it off. Understand? Mine and mine alone. And quite frankly, I was very glad to have done so."

"What?" she again blinked at his face.

"The books," he said simply, trying to ignore how oddly his skin felt as her hair shifted across it. "You bought a lot of books. Heavy ones. And I had to carry them all. Normally I'm used to carrying around seventy pounds of armor, but I couldn't have done that AND carried around another seventy pounds of books. Would've broken my back."

She stared at him, wondering, hesitant, but when his usual, cocky, self-satisfied smirk begin to tug at his lips, she finally had to admit she was being teased. "Cullen!"

He chuckled, giving her a squeeze. "Do you forgive me?"

"Forgive… you?!"

"For getting myself shot. You were scolding me, weren't you? Or mad at me, at the very least? Or was it at yourself? I'm not too sure which…"

She shrugged, her angst abating before the front of his logic, dammit, "I suppose neither am I. A little of both, maybe?" With innocent coyness she batted her eyes at him.

"But you do understand, don't you, that neither one of us truly deserves the blame," he told her gently. "There's no way we could have known that what was going to happen would happen."

"No, I mean, yes," she shook her head, "Yes, you did. You did have reason to suspect. Rylen."

"Ah." He almost sounded contrite. Almost. "Yes, well you, um, heard about that?" He shifted a bit beneath the covers, as if trying to ease a moving itch without actually scratching it.

"Of course I did," she leaned back and sniffed, looked around for something to wipe her nose, remembered she still held a towel in her hands, and decided to use that. "Someone had to step up and take your place, commanding your soldiers, while you were, erm, temporarily out of commission. So I had the men and women report to me, instead. Including Rylen."

He took a deep breath. "Pere, listen…"

"Rylen thought he saw a Venatori here in Val Royeaux. Right here in the city, not a day before our outing. And you didn't think to tell me? To warn me? If I'd known, I'd have never even suggested we go out shopping and…"

"And that's exactly why I didn't say anything," he broke in, focusing on the argument rather than the nearly overwhelming urge to move his limbs. "Rylen couldn't confirm the sighting. No matter how many men we sent out to look for this Venatori, he couldn't be found. Or, as far as I could tell, the mage was never there to begin with. There was absolutely no provable, confirmable reason to keep you cooped up inside this estate, not when there was something you wanted to do so badly."

"Maybe back then," she wavered, "But obviously now you see there was a very good reason to be cautious."

"Hindsight, as they say, is clearer than foresight. Now, what has Rylen found out since my, erm, the incident?"

"Honestly, you want to talk about work now?" she narrowed her eyes at him. "I'd rather you waited until you've recovered."

"I feel fine," he countered, stubbornly lifting his chin, "The tea did the trick."

She looked at him, holding his gaze, daring him to flinch. And he did, much to his chagrin, having to look away when he quite suddenly got the sensation of something crawling over his skin, wherever the blankets were touching his legs. He tried to hide it, to deny it, forcing himself to believe that it was only the withdrawal and there was nothing beneath the covers, moving across his legs, brushing each and every hair. He coughed and shifted, his hands convulsing before he could stop them, gripping the fabric as if ready to throw it off and see what was on his skin…!

"Cullen," she chided him, gently, setting her hand on his shoulder with as much tenderness as she held in her voice. "You're forgetting, I've been through this before. I know what you're experiencing."

"I'll be fine," he repeated through gritted teeth.

"Yes, you will, but not for a day or so. This isn't anything to do with being a Templar, you know," she continued, standing up from the bed to retrieve a fresh towel. "It's okay to talk about it, to tell me what's happening, what you're going through. You don't have to suffer in silence out of some code of honor or whatever."

"I… ah…" He tried to deny the trouble he was currently experiencing and remain strong, but at least in fussing over him, she had forgotten about her own self-afflicted blame and fear and emotional pains. Yet he could not allow himself to start to complain, not after a lifetime of silent suffering—lyrium related or not, he had to deny it. "No, I… blast it!"

His denial was short lived. He sat up suddenly, shoving and kicking and practically punching the covers away in his haste to expose his body, but there was nothing on his legs, nothing crossing over his skin, nothing there but air. Yet even the air was causing the same crawling sensation. He moaned and fell to his side, curling up tight, and clamped his eyes shut. Unfortunately, this only intensified the itch, making him wince and fling his eyes open wide, staring at anything and everything at once. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a grinding moan. "I'd rather not talk about it. I'd rather be distracted right now, if you don't mind. I think that would help me more."

"Alright," she agreed, trying to keep herself calm. She wet the fresh towel in the basin before gingerly sitting down beside him, fearful he might soon be requiring a bucket or chamberpot or something of the sort and not wanting to get in his way—if that were the case. Moving cautiously, she took the lilac-scented cloth and passed it gently over his forehead, wiping away both fresh sweat and stale, "What can I do to distract you?"

"Talk," he commanded. "About something difficult. Challenging. A serious problem. Something that will occupy my mind, wholly, to keep me from noticing…" He stopped suddenly, that damnable habit of silence too long ingrained, stopping his speech more effectively than a chokehold.

"Noticing what?" When he didn't answer right away, she gave vent to a long-suffering sigh. "I can't know how to help you unless you tell me which symptoms you are experiencing."

"I thought the tea was supposed to fix everything."

"The tummy troubles part, yes," she agreed, "But there are a slew of other symptoms of opeigh withdrawal. Watery eyes and nose, for a start." She wiped at his cheeks, removing the dampness there. "Of course, that's not something Solas had a remedy for. But there are other issues you may or may not get. Some of those we did figure out ways to counter. If you tell me which ones you have, I might be able to help."

Cullen leaned in to her hand, his nose inhaling the scent of lilacs coming from the water soaked into the towel. "This is already helping."

"Cullen…" Her tone of voice was like that of a tolerant mother scolding an impudent child. But she did leave her hand where it was.

The scent was soothing, calming, easing his troubles, clearing his mind. With a gentle sigh, he at last admitted, "I… I can feel my skin crawling. I remember, when you were at this stage, you started scratching, acting as if you were going to tear your skin right off your body."

"Yes," she agreed, swallowing thickly with the memory—memories—how many times had Vicici purposely put her into withdrawal? "I remember the sensation. And yes, Solas and I came up with something to help with that. A salve. Cooling and numbing and smelling of, well, something herbal and mediciny, but in a nice way."

He gave a little laugh, "Mediciny? Is that even a word?"

"Hush" she tapped his nose playfully with the towel, "I'm the Inquisitor. It is, because I said so. Now just lie there and I'll be right back with the salve."

"I am at your command, Madam Inquisitor."

"Oh!" she wanted to swat at him with the towel, but his teasing her had distracted him from his symptoms, so she allowed him the victory. For now. Shaking her head over his cockiness, she got up from the bed and walked over to the dresser to rummage around inside a pack.

Cullen watched her, at first to have something to do, and shifted himself back into a sitting position against the pillows. But when she bent over at the waist, when her leggings stretched tightly across her ass and hips… Blessed Andraste, but his body reacted with a mind of its own. He hastily dropped a hand down to his groin and prayed he could readjust himself within his undergarments before she turned around and took notice of his, erm, discombobulation. "What, ah," he hunted around for a subject that would keep her away from the bed for a bit longer, at least until he could cover himself, "What happened to your books?"

"What?" She squatted down to reach further into the pack, "Oh, they're fine. All dried out and stacked up on that chair there. I suppose I should have them moved to my chambers, but I kept hoping I'd have a chance to try reading one or two. That never seemed to happen, what with all those reports."

"And what about, erm…" he finally managed to shove his member down between his legs and squeeze them tight, pinching himself between his thighs and tucking safely out of sight. "Ah, I had a package I purchased. I think I placed it inside my coat. It was small. Did you, um," he licked his lips, sudden inspiration striking him—this would definitely distract him from his withdrawal. "Did you find it? Did it survive the rain?"

"Yes," she nodded, standing and turning in one motion to face him, a small jar in one hand. "I put it up here, on top of the dresser. Would you like it now? I mean, if it could help keep your mind off of, um, you know."

Giving an eager nod, he agreed. "Yes, please, bring it to me."

Peredura shrugged, twisted to collect the package in her free hand, and then returned to the bed. Cullen watched her the whole time, swallowing thickly, his courage failing as his mind suddenly wondered exactly how she was going to react to this.

Then she was sitting down next to him, placing the jar off to the side for the moment, and holding the small parcel out for him. When he didn't move to take it, she gave it a little shake and said, "Well?"

"Open it," he responded. "I, ah, I actually got it for you, as a gift, something… some little thing… just… ah…"

She wanted to smile, seeing as how flustered he was over buying her a gift, his hand scratching and digging at the back of his neck, his face blushing a hot red. At least he wasn't focused on any withdrawal symptoms at the moment—though he was suffering. "What is it?" she thought aloud, even as she began picking at the string securing the oilskin wrapper.

"It's, well, it's a gift. For you. From me. I, ah, I thought, well… This is not how I intended to present this to you."

"Oh? What were you intending?" she had to ask, drawing out the suspense, untying the knot rather than cutting it. It felt good to give him a taste of his own medicine, teasing him for once, leaving him flustered and blushing.

"Well, that is to say, I'm not sure, I hadn't gotten that far yet." He squared his shoulders and wiped at the wetness on his cheeks. Peredura had been right about just how annoying the waterworks were, the unending dampness, the embarrassment of appearing as if he was constantly crying. She paused in her torturous unwrapping to hand him the towel so he could mop up his face. "It's just, well, I was looking at this shop, and I remembered what you said about these things, and I thought, surely I could find something inside that would work."

He paused, seeing as how she had finally peeled back the last layer and found what was inside. He heard her gasp, watched her hesitate, and his heart plummeted to his toes, but whether she liked it or hated it he couldn't tell which would be worse. "The shopkeeper assured me it would be the right size, or loose enough to fit comfortably. And there are no fasteners or stays or anything of that nature to mess with. So it's easy to figure out how to wear—just two pieces. And, erm, the fabric is very soft, so it should feel good against your skin, not chafe or anything. And the color…"

"It's beautiful," she breathed. Her fingers reached for the royal blue, timidly, almost afraid to touch it.

"Blue is one of your better colors. Well, I think so. I mean, I like seeing you in blue. So I thought it would be nice. And soft. Did I mention the fabric was soft? It is. I, ah, I touched it already, at the store, and, erm…"

At long last her fingers delicately touched the silk and lace undergarment, finding the straps, and lifting it up to hold it in front of her. It was the top part of the pair, a small bit of cloth that looked like a sleeveless tunic or a short shift, all soft and shimmering in the light. She brought it against her chest, disbelievingly, but it did appear that it would cover, erm, everything adequately.

The other piece for covering her lower half was now exposed, lacy and fairly transparent with tiny bows stitched around the waistband. And just as blue. Her eyes shining, her hand clutching the top piece to her chest, she looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, Cullen!"

He swallowed again. "Does that mean you like it?"

She nodded, feeling herself grinning like a fool. "I like it. I love it. Do you…" she blushed furiously at what she was about to propose, but it wasn't like he hadn't already seen her naked or anything. "Do you want to see it on me?"

"That, ah," he paused to rub a finger at his eye, cursing the moisture. If only Solas had discovered something for this part of the withdrawal from opeigh. "That would be the intent of such a garment, yes, to be worn. And seen. By me. Since I was the one who bought it for you."

She bit her lip, but not to hurt herself, only to bat her eyes at him. "Would it help to distract you, do you think?"

He stared into her eyes deeply, "Distract me from what?"

She was fairly sure he was teasing her, well, mostly sure, slightly probable at the very least. Laughing a little—over her nervousness, over the intimate nature of the gift, over the preposterous situation—she nodded. "Alright, then."

Cullen eased back once more against the pillows, allowing himself the luxury of watching her, and thanking whatever sudden impulse had made him want to give her the gift now. It was truly blissful to lie there on the bed, see her blush, hear her heavy breaths, as she changed her clothing.

Peredura went slowly, the more to keep him occupied with her rather than the crawling sensation or whatever else he might be feeling. First she set the top back onto the bed, close enough that his fingers could touch it and stroke the fabric. Then she stood up, holding his gaze the whole time, and began to unfasten the front of her coat. She shrugged it off her shoulders, pulled the sleeves off her wrists, and caught it with her fingertips before it could fall to the floor. Then she walked over to where her books were stacked and folded the jacket before setting it down next to them.

"You're halfway across the room," he called out to her.

"I don't want my clothes to get all wrinkly," she countered. "I'll be back, after I've taken them off and put them neatly away." She unbuckled her belt next, coiling it up to lay on top of her coat like a flattened snake. Her boots followed quickly, and he almost found it humorous the way she dropped a couple inches in height as soon as she stepped out of them, but he refrained from laughing. She was clutching at her waist, hooking her thumbs into the band, and pulling slowly, slowly, slowly downwards…

He swallowed again.

As she pulled off her leggings, she bent forwards, the neck of her tunic falling open and allowing a shadowy glimpse of all that was hidden inside. Cullen felt his member grow and thicken again, threatening to burst free of its prison, and he tried to nonchalantly pull the covers back up to at least try to hide his reaction. If she noticed she didn't mention anything, straightening back up to shake out her leggings before folding and adding them to the growing pile. She stood there a moment, the shirt just long enough to cover the apex of her legs, her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

Then her hands began inching up the hem of her tunic.

Oh, she was tempting him, he decided, watching her drag out her impromptu strip tease, revealing her body bit by agonizing bit. First that patch of hair, then her navel, and after an indeterminable amount of time the lower swell of her breasts. She paused here to adjust her grip, or to torment him, before finishing lifting the cloth over her head. Immediately she turned her back to him, pretending to be fussing over her tunic, folding it carefully. When she finally set it down, she didn't move more than to lift her face over her shoulder and smile at him.

Yes, she was teasing him, standing so beautiful and glorious in her nakedness, and so far beyond his reach. But then again, he thought, picking up the top and holding it out for her, she'd have to come back to the bed eventually to put the lingerie on, or suffer going around naked.

Neither of which he would mind.

Yet apparently she had a preference. She walked back to him, back to the bed, her expression stern, and held out her hand. "I'm going to need that."

"Need? No," he dragged his eyes up and down her form, "I don't think 'need' is the right word."

She fisted her hands on her hips, looking like she was going to get mad, cocking one hip and glaring at him. "You did say you wanted to see me in these, erm, small clothes, didn't you?"

"That was before," he flashed her that cocky grin he knew she loved to hate so much. "I'm thinking, now, that I might have changed my mind. You do look ravenous just the way you are."

"Cullen!" She scolded him, making a lunge for the top piece.

He laughed, shifting the fabric to his other hand and once more out of her reach. When she made to climb onto the bed, he shook his head and started rolling off the mattress, intent on playing keep-away for as long as he could. "Oh, no, you don't… argh!"

"Cullen!" she cried again, this time with concern, echoed by a short yip from Fear. She had watched his face turn gray the second he gained his feet, saw a little tremble suddenly sweep through his whole body, saw him sway before dropping like a stone to one knee. In a heartbeat she was vaulting over the bed to land catlike beside his crouching form, her faithful Mabari nearby but remaining a few feet to the side. Cullen was bent almost double, his head bowed to his knee, one hand fisting the bedclothes as if hanging on for dear life, the other flailing for purchase on something—anything!—solid. She took the searching hand in one of hers, the other resting on his back, his skin almost burning to the touch and glistening with fresh sweat.

"Cullen?" she called softly, watching him closely as he fought to breathe. "Cullen, can you hear me?"

"I…" he tried to swallow, but couldn't work up enough saliva. "I think… hnnghh…"

She felt guilty again, this time for letting their little game go too far. He was still sick, after all, still working through the lingering effects of opeigh, the aches, the weakness, not having had much food or water for two whole days. Yet she couldn't let him see her feeling guilty, or pitying him. She cast about for an answer to their predicament, and her eyes fell on Fear.

"What do you think?"

The Mabari answered her, as best he could, by remaining alert, sitting on his haunches, panting steadily, and waiting patiently for something to happen.

"Thought so," she sighed.

Cullen was not aware of the exchange, nor of the hound who stood guard. Truthfully, he wasn't aware of very much, not even the time, as he slumped against something holding him upright, drifting in and out, in and out, in and out and...

There was a smell, something herbal and fresh, like the brisk morning air of the mountains. It was pleasant and bright, coming in through his nose and filling his head and clearing the fog from his mind.

Then he became aware of hands on his person. With a start he realized those hands had been there for some time, but he could not remember when he had first started feeling them, only that they had been there, stroking the skin of his back, spreading out across his shoulders, dipping low to his waist.

There was a pause as the hands pulled away, and a disappointed whimper left his throat. The next moment, however, the hands returned, this time to his arm, working their way from shoulder to fingertips, covering every inch of his skin with that soothing scent.

Then a warm, wet tongue traveled from his jaw to his hairline far less pleasantly.

"…Maker's breath…"

A feminine chuckle answered his curse, "There, now you're back with me."

"Peredura?" he blinked, opening his eyes, but the face that met him was… "Fear. Move away. You're too close." He turned his head to the side, to the arm that was still being held, and at last found her. "Ah, there you are."

She smiled and impishly agreed, "Here I are."

He blinked and tried to turn his head, looking around on a wobbly neck. "Am I on the floor?"

"Yup," she supplied. "Come on, let's get you back into bed. Take it easy, don't push yourself. Just pull yourself up, I'll help. There you are," she sighed, having at long last gotten him up far enough to tip him onto the mattress. He definitely looked like he couldn't move one inch more, at least not then, so she rolled him gently onto his back and kissed his cheek. "That'll do for now. Just lie still, and I'll get you another cup of tea."

"I don't want any tea," he pouted, but his protest was too weak to matter to her. "I want…" he reached out and snatched her wrist before she could get away, "I want… you…"

"I'm here, amatus," she answered, "My love. The tea can wait, I suppose."

"What… what happened?" he blinked at her, apparently still coming and going in waves. "One moment, everything is fine. The next…" he winced, having tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position, but finding his strength was not up to the task.

"You stood up too fast," she supplied, pulling him up far enough to shove a pillow or three behind him. "Honestly, Cullen, you've been under the influence of opeigh, are still shaking off the effects, while simultaneously going through withdrawal, and on top of everything else you've barely had anything to eat for two whole days. It's no surprised you fainted."

"I did not faint," he grumbled, his brows furrowing into a poor mimicry of his disapproving scowl. "I nearly passed out, but I did not faint."

"I stand corrected," she allowed, giving his stubbly cheek a peck. Then she reached off to the side where she had set the jar of salve on the mattress and dabbed her fingertips inside.

His eyes now functioning, he was able to focus on more than just her face when she turned away. "You got dressed." He sounded so sad, like a lost little boy, it nearly broke her heart.

"I had to. You've been out of it for a bit of time. I, well, I thought I might as well take care of a few things. So," she picked up the arm she hadn't used the salve on yet, "I got dressed, checked in with Dorian, sent for some food, exchanged a couple stacks of reports, then came back in here and started putting on this salve. I figured, well, when you came back to your senses, then…" she finished with a shrug, pretending what she had been about to say didn't matter all that much.

"Then what?" he asked, wondering. She had made it down to his fingers, entwining hers with his. Her smile was impish when she lifted her eyes up to his.

"I'm wearing them beneath my tunic and leggings. You were right, or the shopkeeper was; they are very comfortable. I… I think I might get used to wearing things like these."

"Oh?" he licked his lips. The neck of her tunic was tied—of course she would cover up any sign of her scars before letting anyone else see her—but he could just make out the bright blue color, appearing like a shadow beneath the fabric of her shirt.

"I've decided I'll make you a deal." She let go of his fingers and turned away to start kicking off her boots, which she had considerately kept off the bed.

"What sort of deal?" His eyes traced the blue shadow across her back as well. Blessed Andraste, but she truly was wearing it, erm, them, the feminine thingys?

She didn't answer right away, hopping off the mattress to stand so she could once more pull off her leggings and tunic. Though she was much quicker this time, she still took pains to fold the clothing neatly and stack them with her coat. All the while Cullen watched her, enthralled, his chest heaving with the effort to simply breathe.

"We won't be disturbed for the rest of the day, or night, for that matter. Dorian will see to it."

"Uh-huh," he nodded happily. When she finally faced him fully, he drank in the sight. Her long brown hair hung loose and shiny around her shoulders, front and back, draped to either side of her breasts. The glorious orbs themselves were nearly perfectly covered by the silk fabric, soft and shimmering in the muted daylight. The fabric was taken in just beneath, hanging a little loose on her thinner frame, the bottom hem dangling on a level with her navel. Less than in inch of skin showed before the panties started, the row of little bows at her waist, the tight pattern of the lace showing just enough of what was underneath. He almost forgot to breathe.

"So here's my deal. I'll wear this, and only this, for the rest of today and tonight."

She climbed back onto the bed, crawling on all fours to where he lay.

"I'll bring you all the reports you can read."

She dipped once more into that jar, rubbing the salve between her hands, warming it with her own body heat.

"But you have to stay in bed."

She started on the leg next to her, her fingers slipping just inside the hem of his knickers, stroking the sensitive skin in the crease at the top of his leg, before pulling out and down. She was not so much massaging as caressing, covering every square inch of his skin with the ointment. And all the while she worked her way methodically down to his toes, she kept talking, laying out the terms of her deal.

"And no more silly games, like keep-away. You will not try to get up out of bed, or walk across the room, or rummage around looking for your leggings. If you need to relieve yourself, there's a pot just to the side of the bed, use that. You are to behave. Otherwise, I will get dressed and go work from your office, and Dorian will be the one sitting in here with you. Understood?"

She moved to his other side, taking up his other leg, cocking it at the knee as she began to use the salve on that limb.

"Yes, Madam Inquisitor," he nodded obediently, "As always, I am at your command."

She made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a sigh and a laugh and a… well, something exasperated. "Oh, Cullen, what am I going to do with you?" Finished with his other leg, she set it back onto the bed and pulled the blanket up to his waist.

She wasn't finished with him yet, however. She slung one of her legs across his hips, keeping her weight off of him, hovering just a hair or two away from sitting on his groin. She leaned forward, giving him a face full of cleavage, as she went to the jar one last time.

"You are making this very difficult for me," he complained, but mildly.

She gave a fair imitation of his cocky smirk, "Oh? You are finding it difficult right now to remain in bed? Interesting… I would think this is giving you every incentive to stay put."

"No, not that," he sputtered, "Not at all, I mean, of course not, but the other bit, erm, the games, yes, that's it, ah…"

Her hands began stroking his chest, starting with his shoulders. The ointment was warm and slick, allowing her to glide over his skin. Every where she touched him, every place, every dip and divot between his muscles, turned cool and numb and blissfully devoid of any itching or crawling sensation.

"I am finding it very hard to behave myself and not try some silly game with you."

She hummed, her hands now down at his waist, "Perhaps this isn't fair." She finished with a final swipe across his abdominals, making them bunch and flex. "But these are the terms of my deal. If you don't like it, I can always get dressed…" She lifted her leg and swung it off of him.

"No!"

The vehemence of his reaction startled them both. He managed to soften the tone of his voice before he continued. "I… I mean… that is to say, Pere," he swallowed, lifting his hand to her cheek, "Please stay. I'll behave. I promise."

"Good. And I'll stop teasing you so much."

"You could tease me, a little bit, if you'd like."

She laughed at that, shaking her head. "You are incorrigible. Here," she hopped off the bed, hearing him moan some sort of protest behind her, but she didn't listen. Almost as quickly as she left she was back, her arms overburdened with a stack of clipboards topped with a mountain of rolled parchment messages. "These are the more serious reports, most of them messages from Leliana. I figured you'd want to start with these, and save the more mundane, routine reports for later."

"You saved me all the reports? Excellent," his eyes gleamed with almost as much anticipation as when he had been watching her strip earlier that afternoon. Eagerly he sat up straighter against the headboard as she toppled the pile onto the bed beside him.

She watched him snatch at the closest one and begin devouring it with his eyes. "Would you like anything to eat maybe?"

He absently made a sour face, his eyes focused on his work, one hand suggestively rubbing against his abdomen, "No, thank you, not yet, I think. I honestly don't care about the Red Templars right now. Is there anything in here about tracking down the mage that attacked us?"

He was randomly shoving around the parchments to the point where she had to actually take his hand and guide him to a particular group of reports. "Yes, these are the updates from Devensport and Rylen. It was sort of messy at first. I had to step in and take some measures to have both scouts and templars working on each others' teams. Is your stomach troubling you?"

His brow furrowed as he focused on the first report, but he did answer absently, "I, ah, it's just a bit unsettled at the moment. So you came up with the idea of sending a Templar with each the scout teams searching here in the city, and then sending a scout with each team of Templars searching the countryside?"

"Well," she shrugged aside his praise, "The scouts were looking all over the city, but we know this mage can use an invisibility spell, and of course they wouldn't know it if they came across someone using magic, but a Templar would. Also, the Templars were stampeding around the countryside so fast and noisy that any mage out there would either run or go to ground. The scouts are better at, well, scouting ahead for possible locations, right? It just made sense to pool their talents rather than segregate them. More tea then?"

He glanced up from the indicated reports to flash her a smile. "Brilliant. That's what you are. Though I am surprised Abbets didn't think to make that suggestion. Oh, ah, the tea, well, yes, but could you make it without the anise? Never liked that taste."

"Anise is the main ingredient that settles the stomach."

Cullen sighed, finally tearing his eyes away from his beloved reports to settle his eyes on his beloved Inquisitor. His voice was pained, resigned, and spoken with great reluctance, "Then yes, thank you, I would love another cup of tea."

She smiled. "It won't last, I promise. By tomorrow you should be mostly alright, and by the day after you might be a little queasy first thing in the morning—that'll last for a few more days—but once you get moving it passes. As for Abbets, well," she slipped off the bed again to pad over to the fireplace.

Cullen watched her for a moment, busying herself with the kettle of water and measuring tea into the pot. Finally, however, he had to ask, "What about Abbets?"

Her shoulders slumped. "He placed himself under house arrest as soon as he got you back here."

He thought about her words for a moment, blinked, and then very deliberately set aside all of the reports. "I believe I am still missing something of what happened after the incident. What did Abbets do that was so terrible?"

She nipped her lip and finished putting the tea away, before turning to face him. "So long as you remember our deal, and stay in bed, I'll tell you…"