Chapter Forty-One: It's Not Over Yet
Peredura led the triumphant return to Skyhold, mounted on a steady mare, with Leliana and Josephine riding to either side of her. Her companions were similarly mounted—except for Iron Bull, of course—and trailed behind her while her Mabari, Fear, raced before them all, barking joyously at everything and everyone, and effectively announcing their arrival. She managed somehow to ignore the exuberant hound and keep her focus instead on Cullen, only a few paces behind her. She was hyper-aware throughout the whole journey of every creak of his saddle and every grunt of discomfort he gave. Her heart ached for him, wishing yet again that he had agreed to ride in a wagon or cart, but his damnable pride was just too great. He insisted he could remain in the saddle, even for hours on end, despite what she felt had to be an excruciating journey for him. And she had not only been unable to dissuade him, but unable to help him or ease his suffering.
She didn't feel relief when they finally entered the valley and could see the fortress reigning high above them in the mountains. They still had to make their way through the encampments, thousands upon thousands of soldiers freshly returned from the Arbor Wilds. The men and women were cheering and celebrating, pressing around Peredura and her entourage, slowing their progress and delaying any relief for Cullen even more. No, she didn't feel relief until after they reached the main gate, until after they entered the stables, until after they dismounted. Then she allowed herself to look at Cullen, to see with her own eyes how he was doing.
Her relief was short-lived.
His face was gray, his features tight, as if he was physically fighting back the aches and fatigue. He had dismounted but remained by his horse's side, gripping the saddle, using the steadfast steed to keep his balance. His shoulders lifted and fell with labored breathing, but he stubbornly kept his feet and kept any complaints to himself. She snorted as she stared at him—the stupid mule.
He looked around and his eyes caught hers, his brow furrowing with an unspoken warning to not ask him how he was feeling or coddle him in any way. She pursed her lips, giving an expression as if she had just swallowed a lemon whole, and had to quickly look away before she did say something to that effect. Her gaze swept through the stable yard and over her companions, her friends, and had to suppress a sigh. Everyone there looked sore and tired and battle-weary and in need of rest—why did Cullen have to posture and pretend he was immune? She thought about stating this obvious fact to him to try to get him to see reason, but more and more riders were coming up to dismount, those of her Honor Guard who had followed her to Haven, and the press of bodies began to separate her from Cullen.
One horse walked right in front of her, and she cast her angry eyes up to the interfering oaf, intending to vent her spleen upon him, but one look at his face shocked her into silence. It was Fergus, holding himself awkwardly in the saddle, or above it rather, all but standing in the stirrups with his hands braced on the pommel of the saddle, as if unwilling to sit down. Almost before the horse fully stopped, he was swinging a leg over, stumbling back as he kicked his other foot free, wincing as he twisted awkwardly during his ungraceful landing. When he spun around to regain his balance, he came face to face with her, and she got a very good look inside his helmet. There was a bruise forming along the side of his jaw, barely visible behind the cheek guard of his helmet. There must have been some of her confusion and concern showing on her features, because when he realized whom he had nearly stumbled into, there was an answering expression of shock and guilt on his face. Quickly, his face reddening, he ducked his head, mumbled something on the order of, "Excuse me, your Worship," and pulled his mount by the reins to come between them and block her view. She stepped back to allow him to pass, but kept her eyes on him until he reached the stables. Then she turned back towards Cullen and noticed he had been watching Fergus as well. She tilted her head, one eyebrow curved in a question she was too far away to ask verbally, and waited for him to acknowledge her. For an answer, he merely gave her a shrug, as if saying he had no idea how one of her Honor Guard had gotten hurt, or why the soldier hadn't taken anything for it. She didn't believe him; she couldn't believe either of them. Looking back at Fergus' retreating form, she decided she'd just have to handle this herself as well—but one matter at a time.
The yard was getting crowded, the press of bodies beginning to move like a sea, with ebbs and flows and treacherous currents. Peredura fought against the tide, sometimes swaying and sometimes shoving until she managed to break free and reach the relative safety of the inner wall of the battlements. She paused there, pressing her hands against the solid stonework, and waited for the others to reach her. That they would follow her, she had no doubt, Fear being the first to arrive and exuberantly alerting them to her location. Josephine and Leliana were next, the two women already with their heads together and in the midst of a conversation.
"…discuss everything that has happened," Leliana spoke, lifting her face when they reached Peredura's side, "While the details are still fresh. Privately. I would suggest the War…"
"Cullen's office," Peredura countered, shaking her head. She knew Leliana was going to suggest the War Room, but was through the now packed courtyard, up the stairs, into the Keep, past the Throne Room, down the hall, and… "It's much closer." To make her point, she thumbed over her shoulder to the stairs a few feet away, the ones that led directly to said office.
Cullen took that moment to reach their little group, his eyes narrowing when he saw the direction she had indicated, wondering what in Thedas he was walking into now.
"There are matters we will need to discuss, some of a sensitive nature," Leliana argued, cocking a hip and setting a hand to rest upon it. "And the War Room would be more private than Cullen's office."
"I'm not an invalid," he grumbled, the pampering rankling with him, making him stand up straighter, "I am able to walk. I can make it to the War Room."
Peredura shook her head, not daring to look at him lest he took the act as an affirmation of her motives—which it was, but she didn't have to admit it. Instead she brought her hand to her chest, tapping her sternum as she explained. "I," she emphasized the word, "Am not going to be able to get through that," she gestured at the crowd between them and the Keep. "At least in your office, we can shut this out behind a door."
"Or three," Leliana mumbled under her breath.
Peredura didn't respond to the barb, staring at Cullen, daring him to argue with her. He wanted to, not quite allowing himself to believe her and yet acknowledging she made a valid point. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling as if one of his old headaches was coming on, yet in the end he nodded. "Very well. Shall we, Madam Inquisitor?" He took his hand away from his face and gestured towards the stairs.
"Let's," her tone was a bit testy, but she was also a bit tired—tired of stubbornness and tired of keeping up appearances and tired of fighting and just plain TIRED! Some of her frustration must have crept into her voice, because the others fell into step behind her without another word of argument.
It wasn't too long of a walk, one flight of stairs and a short trip along the battlements before they reached Cullen's office, but it was long enough for Peredura to clear her head and cool her temper. She was the first one there and opened the door, holding it for the others and closing it firmly after they had filed in. "I should apologize," she began, "For my behavior just now. But all those people pressing around me was making me feel… a little panicky, I guess." She ended with a shrug.
"Quite understandable," Josephine allowed, but was interrupted before she could continue.
"Inquisitor?" A masculine voice sounded from off to the side, and everyone turned to look at Abbots. He was sitting at Cullen's desk, apparently hard at work before the others arrived, with stacks of clipboards neatly arranged across the large surface. He took one look at those gathered there and made to get up and leave. "Commander, I'll just…"
"It's all right, Abbots, we're imposing upon you." Cullen waved him back, refusing the freshly vacated chair. Instead he leaned his backside against the front of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest as if daring Peredura to order him to sit down. Abbots noted the hard looks passing between them and wisely kept his feet, beginning to make for the door opposite.
"I'll, um, that is, I should be going…"
"No, Abbots," Peredura waved him back, "Please stay. As Cullen's lieutenant you will need to know everything he does, and this will save him the trouble of repeating it to you."
"Perhaps," Leliana tapped her chin, "Yet there might be some information that's too sensitive…"
"Such as Solas' sudden abandonment? I think that will quickly become evident, since he was not with us when we returned." Peredura quickly realized she had interrupted her spymaster for the second time, and felt her cheeks redden with the shame. "Again, my apologies." She took a step away from the door and held out a hand towards the other woman. "I'm tired. And even though we've won, it still feels empty somehow, like we're missing the bigger picture, something important, something..." She ended with a shrug and a disgruntled noise.
Fear nudged her, and she looked down at her hound. His big brown eyes were staring adoringly up at her, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, lips pulled back as if grinning, as if saying, 'Here I am, I love you, everything is all right.' Peredura smiled and she dropped to her knee, one hand burying itself in the scruff of his neck as she pressed their foreheads together. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear before standing up once again
"I share your misgivings," Josephine offered, both to confirm her statement and to cover her awkward moment. "It is very strange when you consider that Solas showed up right after the explosion that started this whole mess, and yet as soon as the Orb is destroyed he leaves. Was he here only to get his hands on the Orb? And if so, for what purpose?"
"Solas left? Huh."
It had been Abbots who spoke, and everyone turned to look at him. He coughed, feeling their gazes, but when Cullen nodded for him to continue, he finished clearing his throat and added. "Well, there's Peredura, isn't there? The Orb gives a person the Anchor. She's got the Anchor. He first came to Haven right after the explosion, right after her Worship stumbled out of the Fade with her hand glowing. Those first few nights, when Devensport and I stood guard over her, and she was out of her mind with pain and whatever, and that healer we had couldn't do a damn thing for her, it was Solas who came in and found a way to ease her suffering. He helped her, even without fully understanding what was going on with her, he helped her." He paused for a breath, a bit uncomfortable explaining things to his superiors, "Seems to me like he knew exactly why he was with us. He was after the Orb, but in the meantime he was studying her, and the Mark, and how it was affecting her."
"He did take a liking to you, Pere," Cullen added softly.
She nodded, taking a nip at her lower lip, "He was important in my life, and supportive, sort of like a father-figure to me. But lately… we've been growing apart. I don't know," she shook her head, "Maybe he was studying me, since I had come into contact with the Orb and had gotten the Anchor. Maybe he stayed with us because he knew we would eventually find the Orb. Maybe he had other reasons. The point is, he's gone, and we need to find out where."
"I'll put my best spies on it," Leliana pledged, anticipation for the challenge evident in the glint of her eyes and the cold smile on her lips.
"In the meantime," Josephine took out her quill and clipboard, "There are plenty of other matters for us to discuss. Such as the fact that there are still rifts out there in need of closing. And with the Orb and Corypheus gone, Peredura, you are the only one who can close them."
"Not to mention," Cullen chimed in, shifting a little to try to find a more comfortable position, "There's still the reason the Inquisition was formed in the first place. The Mage/Templar War may have been paused while we focused on Corypheus, but now that he's gone…"
"Right," she nodded, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, "We've got enough to keep us busy, while Leliana's spies try to discover whatever Solas is up to. Where should we start?"
"The rifts."
"The Templars."
"The Mages."
The three answers came at her so quickly, she wasn't sure which one of her advisors said what. Peredura looked to Abbots, who continued to stand beside his Commander, his face impassive and calm. If she had hoped for a tiebreaker or any direction from him, she was sadly disappointed. Realizing the decision lay solely on her shoulders, she squared them and spoke. "Let's start with the rifts. I'm not saying the Mages and Templars aren't important, but they are quiet for the time being. Perhaps that will change once they all learn about Corypheus, but we'll deal with that when and if they start fighting again. Now, Josephine, do you know where any of these rifts are…?"
Before she could answer, the door behind Peredura opened suddenly, so swiftly she could feel the air being pushed out of the way as it just missed hitting her in the back. She didn't even have a chance to turn around before the intruder began speaking. "Commander, I was wondering if… oh, ah… that is…" Fergus sputtered to a halt. It seemed he belatedly realized he had barged in on something, something fairly important judging by the people gathered there, and the earlier grayness of his face was replaced by redness. He froze, on the threshold, one hand remaining on the latch, unsure if he should retreat or finish entering.
"And that's why I wanted this conversation to be in the War Room," Leliana snarked, arms crossed over her chest, "We're never interrupted in there."
Peredura only partially heard her, and completely missed whatever comment Josephine followed up with—her attention was on Fear. As soon as Fergus appeared, no, even before the door opened, the hound had reached all four paws and was facing the portal. As Fergus stood there, the Mabari placed himself very deliberately in the tight space between his partner and the Honor Guard, yet he showed no further signs of danger. In fact, after lifting his nozzle and smelling the air, he sat back down on his haunches, panting and smiling at the new arrival. Peredura saw his reaction, much the same as he had reacted with both Cullen and Abbots when they were engaged in the grips of their lyrium-induced visions. Yet this time, it was without any warnings of imminent, life-periling danger. She looked at Cullen, who had also immediately noticed the hound's behavior, and he gave her a single nod, apparently agreeing with her assessment. She looked to Abbots next, but he only furrowed his brows, staring at Fergus and Fear, not quite understanding what was happening, but understanding that it was significant.
"Excuse me, Sers," Fergus inclined his head, at last breaking out of his shock, "I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll just…" His words faded away as his eyes flickered. There was a sound, something akin to a whimper, but so faint she wasn't certain she had heard it, much less that it had come from Fergus. He made to back out the way he had come in, but movement from the area of the desk made him stop.
"It is important, David," Cullen's voice was gentle as he shifted yet again, now bracing his hands on either side him on the top of the desk, "Isn't it."
It wasn't a question, not exactly, but Fergus felt he should answer or at least explain somewhat his sudden intrusion. He swallowed, put off balance by not only the compassionate tone coming from his Commander, but also by the use of his given name. He swallowed again, looked around at everyone, and dropped his head. "It is, Ser, I… I'd like a chance to discuss something… personal… with you… and Abbots… in private…" The words came out sporadically, punctuated with heavy breaths, as if every syllable was a struggle to speak, each word a step on his way up the gallows to the hangman's noose.
Peredura cleared her throat. She didn't know why Fergus was there at that moment, but it was obvious to her—thanks to Fear's actions and the specific request for an audience with the only two former Templars with their minds intact—what he wanted to talk about. And she knew her presence was usually upsetting and disruptive during these types of conversations. "Of course," she pushed aside her personal feelings and acquiesced, wishing to stay but graciously acceding to the unspoken need, "Leliana, Josephine, let's finish our discussion in the War Room." She spread her arms wide, ushering the two to the side door that led to the Keep.
"Actually, Inquisitor," Cullen's words stopped her, "This time I think you'll be able to stay."
She looked back over her shoulder at the three men and noticed that Fear hadn't moved, other than to shift his gaze between her and Fergus. He didn't seem inclined to leave, and knowing his innate aptitude in dealing with Templars she wasn't surprised that he wanted to stay, but he also wasn't trying to get her to leave. He gave her another look, then padded over to Fergus and nudged the hand that was holding the latch to the door. Fergus started at the touch, then realized he was holding the portal open. With a jerk he let go of the handle, then took it again to close the door, turning away from the others as he did so. Only then did he turn back around, somewhat reluctantly, to face the others inside the office. He kept his eyes downcast though his chin was raised, a posture familiar to Peredura, of stubborn determination in the face of utter despair. She'd seen it on Cullen's face when he came to her bedchamber so many months ago, and again on Abbots' face in Val Royeaux just a few weeks back.
She looked back to Fear, but he remained confident in her safety, and confident in his diagnosis of Fergus' condition.
"Um," Peredura turned back to the other two ladies, quickly making up her mind. Looking from one to the other, she gestured towards the door once more, "Let's finish this conversation in the morning. I'll meet you in the War Room right after breakfast."
Josephine nodded and opened the other door, but Leliana had yet to take a step. She had her suspicions regarding what was going on, and wanted clarification to determine if she was right. She turned to Cullen and asked, "And what about you, Commander?"
He nodded, waving negligently, his focus on the hound and the Honor Guard. "I'll be there, if I'm able. Don't wait for me."
The Spymaster smiled inwardly. She noted the tension in the room, the way they stood around waiting for her and Josephine to leave, the way Fear remained by Fergus' side. She remembered how Peredura had disppeared with her "cold" at the same time Cullen had broken free completely from lyrium, and she'd read a few reports of a similar isolation involving Abbots that delayed their departure from Val Royeaux. Now, there stood Fergus, another former Templar, sweating and shaking and wishing only to speak with the two men—two other former Templars who no longer used lyrium. And this time Peredura was 'able to stay.' Having figured it out, she took Josephine by the arm and pulled her friend outside. "Until tomorrow morning, then. Come on Josephine, I think I know…"
Peredura followed only to ensure the door closed, allowing them to gossip, honestly not caring what they thought as it was probably spot on and—apparently—going to become a 'Thing' for her and Cullen. She took a deep breath and turned back to face the three men and the pressing matter before them. "I'll admit," she spoke softly, gently, wanting to set a more relaxed tone—what was coming would be taxing enough, "I do wish to stay, but I also know how I can make these situations…" she paused as she searched for a good word, "Awkward. I don't want to intrude, and I definitely don't want to make matters worse, so I…"
"You won't make matters worse, Pere, not this time," Cullen answered. He pushed himself away from his desk, winced as he stood up straight, paused to take a steadying breath, and nodded to Fergus. "She's not the cause of your… distress, isn't that so, David?"
"My… distress…?" Fergus repeated, his bewilderment obvious in the tone of his voice. He grimaced, glanced to the side, gave his head a little shake in the negative, and swallowed. "I… ah, that is… excuse me, Sers, but…" While he tried to figure out the words necessary to explain his situation, he grew distracted by the sweat beading on his forehead and running down his temple in a tiny trickle. He made to wipe at his brow, but steel rang against steel, causing him to grimace yet again. Belatedly remembering he was wearing his helmet—all his armor, in fact—he paused to take first his gauntlets off, then his helmet. This time he was successful at wiping away the sweat, and when his arm fell away, Peredura could clearly make out the deepening bruise along his jawline. "But, please, Commander," he looked to Cullen first, then Abbots, "Sers, this is a private matter. Of a delicate nature. She… that is, excuse me, your Worship," he nodded to her, "But you have no idea…"
She sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, and took a few steps further into the room, closer to Fergus but not directly towards him. "Because no one speaks of the suffering of Templars, am I right? No one, that is," she looked at the three of them, "Except other Templars. Oh, honestly!" She rolled her head back to talk to the ceiling, expecting more intelligence out of the thin wooden boards than those around her. She closed her eyes, trying to find some sort of paitence within her before turning her face towards him again. "Why are you here, David?" She needed him to say the words, to voice his intent and cement his determination, but when he kept his lips pressed tightly together, she barked, "Answer me, soldier!"
"I wish to be free of lyrium and the… visions, the… pain, the…" As quickly as his words started, they stopped.
Trying to break through this verbal dam of his, she snarked, "And who the fuck do you think helped Cullen through his lyrium withdrawal?"
Fergus' face grew shocked, his mouth slack and his eyes wide, though it was hard to tell if it was from her language, her choice of topic, or her revelation. "Y-y-y-your… Worship…?"
"Exactly," she acted as if he had answered her question. Looking at him, seeing the confusion and uncertainty, she felt a little remorse for her childish outburst. "David," her tone softened as Cullen's had, and she sighed, "I've helped before. With both Cullen and Albert. I understand, honestly, what exactly you are going through, because I also…"
"This, ah," Abbots reached out a hand as if to stop her, "This may not be the best time or place."
Yet Peredura was not about to back down. "He's here. Now. That makes it the right time and place, doesn't it?" It wasn't clear if she directed this last to Abbets, or Fergus, or Cullen, or if it was rhetorical.
"Your Worship, I…." Fergus' eyes flickered so drastically off to the side that he had to squeeze them shut to cover the fact. He swallowed, shaking his head, feeling as if he had stepped into something he shouldn't have, spoken out of turn or walked in on his superiors discussing matters beyond his comprehension. He opened his eyes and took half a step back towards the door, but Fear bumped his thigh. He started again and looked down at the hound. Fear looked up at him, panting and 'smiling,' and the last of the fight left Fergus. He hung his head as he buried his fingers in the hound's scruff, acknowledging his help. His voice was small, searching, even pleading, but also tinged with a drop of hope. "How? How do you know? How can you help me?"
She took a deep breath, feeling a little frustrated with how often people underestimated her, but realizing this wasn't the time to take anyone to task for misjudging her. She focused on Fergus, who only now was gathering the courage to look up at her.
"I can see the signs, David," she continued to use his given name, stepping forward slowly, cautiously, still wary thanks to her past experiences despite Fear's apparent assurance that Fergus was not going to harm her. "You are sweating on a chilly day. Your hands are shaking. You keep looking to the corner of your eye, as if you think there is something there, in your peripheral vision. And that's what it is, isn't it? A vision?" She watched him shut his eyes at her words, as if afraid those same words would conjure his torturous waking nightmare, but she continued. "It's all right. You don't have to answer that. But what I would like to know is why you were barely able to sit your horse on our way back here, or why you are sporting this bruise." Her cool hand cupped his cheek, right over the discolored skin. "Haven't you ever heard of a healing potion?"
Fergus ducked his head, but not so far as to cause her to remove her hand. He trembled, feeling the emotions well up inside him, the anger, the guilt, the remorse, the fear, the angst. He opened his mouth, trying to say something—anything!—that might make sense, but it wasn't anything he could put into words. She waited for a moment, then sighed, moving her hand to his shoulder.
"As I keep reminding these two, I'll remind you. You are no longer a Templar. Yes, you take lyrium, but you no longer belong to the Order. You are one of MY Honor Guard. You are MY companion. You guard ME from mages, not mages from themselves. You, David," she smiled when he lifted his head up a little bit, "You no longer have to suffer in silence. Come here, sit down, take a healing potion, and tell us about it. When did the visions start?"
"This really should be kept more private," Abbots tried again. "You know how freely soldiers come and go…"
As if summoned by his words, a door opened and another intruder burst into Cullen's office. "Commander, Ser, I would like to… oh!"
Peredura turned around slowly to face the third door and wondered why Cullen had to have an office with so many doors. Dondaelous stood there, perfectly framed in the doorway, the afternoon sunlight bursting around her like a halo. The mage had stopped as soon as she realized the Commander wasn't alone, but when Peredura shifted and Fergus' face came into view, her eyes grew hard and her lips tightened.
"Your Worship," she acknowledged, but her eyes remained on the Guard, "Excuse me. I do not wish to intrude." Her tone sounded exactly opposite, as if she wished for nothing more than to interrupt whatever they were doing and grab Fergus and take him somewhere secluded and make him pay…
"It's all right, Dondaelous. As I keep being reminded," she shot a rueful look at Abbots, acknowledging that she should have listened to him, "This office is open to all, any time of day or night. You had a matter you wished to discuss with the Commander?"
"I, ah, that is, well, you, I mean, either one of you…"
"What is it you would like to talk about?" Cullen's voice was formal, but without being cold. He moved to behind his desk, taking his seat—at long last—and waited politely for her reply.
"I, ah," Dondaelous shifted her focus on the Commander, as if desperately trying to ignore the others—especially Fergus. "I would like to request a transfer. I want to stay with the Inquisition, but I do not wish to remain here. At Skyhold." Her eyes flickered to the soldier and grew hard. "I could use some fresh air and a change of scenery."
Fergus licked his lips, and in the next moment turned his attention to the side away from her, his gaze vacant, his mouth going slack. Luckily, positioned as he was partially behind Peredura, his expression went unnoticed by the mage. Fear did notice, however, this time stepping forward to nudge the back of his knee. He buckled but recovered quickly, breaking contact with whatever vision was trying to grip him. Instead he looked down at the hound, acknowledging the assistance, and then returned to his former stance at attention.
Peredura fought—hard—the urge to look at Fergus so she missed his little episode. Instead she took a step forward, placing the man behind her and the woman in the center of her attention. "Well, let's see. Commander, do we have a posting that is in dire need of her services? I'm thinking there was one…"
"Ah, excuse me, Sers," Abbots spoke up from the side of the desk, shuffling a few clipboards around until he found the one he was looking for, "But I have it here. Danis Village. The town itself is a small place, but it's at a major crossroads in Ferelden. We have troops passing through there all the time. Here you are, Ser," he handed Cullen the clipboard. "They're always in need of requisitions, especially healing potions. Could really benefit from having a healer on staff." He said this last to Dondaelous, as if trying to convince her it was something she would truly enjoy.
She didn't need much convincing. "Hmm, busy enough to keep my mind off certain matters, and far away from here." She cast a sneer over Peredura's shoulder towards where Fergus was standing, and her voice oozed with derision as she finished, "Sounds perfect."
"Very well, then," Peredura inclined her head, "Though I regret losing such a gifted mage here at Skyhold, I am thankful we're not losing you altogether. I'll have a raven sent, to let them know you are coming."
"I'll pack and leave immediately, if that's all right with you."
"As you wish," Peredura inclined her head. Then she walked up before her and took her hands, her tone softening, her eyes curving with emotion, "And Dondaelous, again, thank you. I wasn't very understanding before, and my own actions weren't the most noble…"
"Well," the woman had the decency to blush, finally looking away from Fergus to the others around her, "I wasn't exactly… reasonable… myself." She squeezed Peredura's hands and nodded. "Thank you, Inquisitor, for allowing this. I, ah, should be going. Oh, Commander," she turned to the hapless man behind his desk, "Keep up with those exercises, and your strength should return. But don't overdo it. No armor for at least a week. And no weapons practice for a month. And when you do start…"
"I know, I know," he waved a hand, acceding to her orders, "Take it slow. And if it hurts, stop. I'll remember."
"And I'll remind him," Peredura hummed, not having heard this particular part of his recovery routine, and wondering if there might be more he had forgotten to share with her.
"Yes, well, as I said, the sooner I start, the better. Good day, Sers," she nodded to three of the four, and then turned and left as abruptly as she had entered.
The silence that followed her departure was brief, Abbots' thoughtful "Huh," making the others turn away from the door. The grizzled veteran didn't mind the attention, turning to Fergus and thumbing at where the mage had stood. His voice was bit disbelieving as he asked, "She the one who clocked you?"
"Yes, Ser," he nodded, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and Peredura had the strange sensation that he was reliving the moment. When he opened them again, he held her gaze and hers alone. "That afternoon, after I heard you tell the others why she refused to heal the Commander, I knew it was really me she should blame, not him. I left my post to find her, tell her it was me, and beg her not to hold him responsible. She hit me then, knocked me on my ass, hard."
"Hard enough to break something, say, your tailbone?" Cullen pressed.
Fergus nodded.
"That explains your awkward saddle posture," she hummed.
"I, ah," he rubbed at the sweat on his forehead again, "I figured, after everything that had happened, that I shouldn't take a potion or anything for it because, well, she might be watching me and would know…"
Peredura suppressed the urge to sigh—Templars and their suffering! She supposed, after decades of training and routine, it was going to take longer than a few months to break these men of their habits. Retreating from that battle, for the time being, she returned her focus on Fergus' motives for being there today. "Take a healing potion now, would you? The next several days are going to be rough enough without having to deal with broken bones and a nearly dislocated jaw."
"I'd, ah…"
"Dondaelous is leaving; she'll never know," Peredura argued.
Fergus licked his lips, "But…" His eyes flickered to the side, and he gave a small shiver. "But he might…"
Fear shifted his stance.
Peredura looked to the empty corner of the office where Fergus' eyes kept glancing. "David," she began cautiously, a little fearfully remembering how Cullen had acted, but bravely asked, "Are you having a vision now? Here?"
Abbots coughed, "Again, excuse me, but perhaps we could find someplace more private for this? Only, this is a rather delicate topic for those of us who, ah…"
"…who are former Templars," she finished for him. "Yes, Abbots, you're right. But where should we go? Last time, well, the first time, I suppose," she shot Cullen a look and tried not to blush, "Probably not an option."
Cullen shook his head, also remembering going through withdrawal in her personal chambers, and the issues that arose. "I would agree. Though secluded enough for what Fergus will be facing, it's a bit too inconvenient for the rest of us. We wouldn't want to have you coming down with another three-day 'illness' to hide what we are doing. No, we need a place that is secluded so we won't be interrupted." His voice turned strong and commanding, lending weight to his position, just in case she was in an argumentative mood. "And with walls thick enough so that we won't disturb others. And with the resources to provide aid and succor as needed."
There was a low sound, like distant thunder, that was easily ignored.
"I suppose you have someplace in mind, then?" She covered her smile, never really intending to argue with him, but curious nonetheless of what he had in mind.
He straightened in his chair, squaring his shoulders, preparing himself just in case her reaction to his suggestion was not as enthusiastic as he hoped. "Yes, I was thinking about the northernmost tower. It's still empty, you know, and off the beaten path, yet close to the garden should we need to make any healing potions. It's an ideal location."
She shook her head, affirming his fears, but with good reasons. "The tower is a mess. In shambles. It'll take weeks to get it ready for this sort of thing, and I don't think David has that long. Do you?" She turned to the former Templar in question, and finally noticed Fear's posture had changed. The hound was back on all fours, the low rumbling in his chest growing slightly, but he was not positioned between herself and Fergus. She noted this, but at that particular moment she was more focused on the man. Looking up at him she saw that his lips were parted, his breaths short and panted as if he was winded, his face holding an expression of anguish and ire, hate and longing. "David," she called again when it seemed as if he hadn't heard her. Almost reluctantly, he blinked and lifted his eyes to her, but if he saw her or knew her, he gave no indication. Fearing the worst, fearing she already knew the answer, but most importantly remaining behind and to the side of Fear, she spoke slowly and clearly, "David, when was your last dose of lyrium? Can you tell me that? When did you last take lyrium?"
If Fergus heard her, if he understood her, he gave no indication other than to tremble, shuddering from head to toe.
Cullen, at almost as much of a loss as Peredura to explain the cause for the strange behavior—other than he was already suffering from lyrium withdrawal—honestly thought he was doing the right thing. After all, Fergus had been a Templar. Fergus was used to following orders. And he was Fergus' commanding officer. Fergus should respond to him. In his best new-recruit-intimidating voice he barked, "Answer the question, soldier!"
He was only hoping to snap Fergus out of his silence, which he did, but not quite the way he had intended. Fergus jumped and spun to face him, his eyes red and spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. "Why?"
Cullen seemed taken aback by the suddenness of his response, "What?"
Fear gave a very insistent growl at this point, baring his teeth, but again he wasn't standing in front of Peredura, and she at long last realized—he was standing in front of Cullen's desk.
"Why did he have to die? Why did I have to kill him?" Fergus took a step, and Fear snapped at him, making him pause in momentary confusion, having forgotten there was a Mabari in the room. The grip of his vision was too strong, however, and he quickly became lost within it once more. "Look at him!" He shouted at Cullen while pointing off to the side at empty space. "Look at Meric, standing there, bled to death! I killed him! I had no idea what he might do, so on your orders I KILLED HIM! Your orders! My blade! Why, Ser? Why? Why do you get to sit there, safe behind your desk, handing out orders and making others pay the consequences. Why!?"
Several things happened so quickly there was almost no time for it all. Fergus stepped up and slapped both of his hands on the desk, leaning forward and shoving his face into Cullen's. Cullen instinctively shoved himself back hard enough that the chair tipped over and he landed on the floor, so shocked he couldn't feel at first the pain bursting down his spine. Fear leaped, not to protect Peredura amazingly but to knock Fergus away from the desk. Abbots as well leaped and wrapped his arms around the soldier who had been thrown off balance by the hound's attack. Peredura alone remained still, in part shocked by the suddenness of the episode, but also in part using her energies to think and think quickly.
"Cullen," she spoke softly, calmly, watching as Abbots wrestled with Fergus while Fear used his paws and weight to assist, "Get out."
He needed no second urging. He scrambled, on all fours, towards the nearest door, straining his arms to reach the latch. He managed to yank it open somehow before collapsing back to the floor, practically rolling across the threshold in his haste to escape. After several tumbles he landed hard on his back, winded, and took a moment to simply breathe. The return of oxygen to his bloodstream restored his nerves and diluted the adrenaline, and he grew acutely aware of the pain hammering down his spine, spreading out across his shoulders and ribs and all the way down to his hips. When he could finally move again, it was to lift his head and see what was happening inside his office, but someone had closed the door behind him. With nothing better to do, and no immediate danger to face, he dropped his skull back onto the stones, closed his eyes, and panted through the agony.
"That was quite the entrance," Varric's droll banter was not particularly looked for at that time, but neither was it unwelcome. "Didn't you just have your back broken?"
"Yes," he paused to swallow, but kept his eyes closed, "In fourteen places. Thank you for reminding me." He grimaced as he made to sit up, rethought his strategy, and rolled onto his side. He half-crawled, half-dragged himself to the wall, the nearest source of solid support. Partway there, a pair of hands appeared and helped to carry him the rest of the way. He nodded his thanks, rotating and shifting until he had himself braced from his neck to his tailbone. Then he simply focused on breathing. After a moment, something soft tapped his shoulder. At long last he opened his eyes to see Varric holding out his cloak to him, rolled and folded into a sort of pillow. "Thanks," he waved it aside, "But no thanks. I need the support right now more than I need the comfort."
The Dwarf shrugged, dropping the cloak to the stones next to him and sitting down on it himself. "If you say so. Now, mind explaining the theatrics? What made you jump and roll around like you were in the middle of a battle with a dragon?"
"Yes."
Varric looked take aback. "I beg your pardon?"
"Yes," Cullen shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, but only slightly, "Yes, I would mind explaining. But," he sighed, "I suppose you'll figure it out anyway. You always seem to."
"Uh-huh," he hummed encouragingly.
"Though it isn't really my place to talk about it."
"Suppose not."
"Then again, this isn't like it's something we've been able to hide, not any longer."
Varric sighed, "I do so love these little chats of ours…"
The sarcasm was lost on Cullen, who was more focused on easing the spasms along his backbone. Undoubtedly, this was the reason why he answered so cryptically. "There's going to be three of us soon, I hope."
Oh, that was just too tempting, Varric thought to himself. He didn't answer right away, timing it just perfect, keeping his expression blank, until he at last deadpanned, "You got Peredura pregnant?"
"WHAT!" Cullen nearly snapped his neck as he turned to stare at him. Then the pain reintensified, and he gasped, wincing, and returned to his earlier posture. "Maker's Breath! Dammit, Varric, no, I… how could… we… she can't… wouldn't even… aaarghhhhh!"
"I'm sorry," the rogue chuckled, throwing up his hands in case Cullen decided to ignore his pain and beat him to a pulp. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, and I wouldn't if I realized how bad it would hurt, but it was just too perfect a set up to allow to slip through my fingers." He was laughing so hard, tears were springing to his eyes.
Cullen was panting now from anger as much as pain. "What I meant to say is," he ground out between his teeth, "Fergus wishes to be free of lyrium. Then there will be three of us, myself, Abbots, and Fergus."
"Oh," Varric wiped the last tear away, his guffaws settling down to a few spurts of giggles. "That's, erm, good news, I suppose. But, ah, how does that lead up to you rolling out of your office like you're trying to escape a dragon."
He took a deep breath, taking note of his level of pain, and decided to stay sitting a while longer. "Apparently, there's something about me that sets off his visions. Usually, well, by that I mean for myself and Abbots, it was Pere. She, for highly different reasons of course, triggered our visions, mine and Abbots. But this time, Fear had to protect me from Fergus. It wasn't until I was sitting behind my desk, or perhaps when I gave him that order, but his vision took over and he started for me and…"
"Yup, okay," Varric shrugged, "You've lost me already. Tell you what," he grunted as he gained his feet, seeing as the door to Cullen's office was opening up, "Why don't we meet in the tavern later, and you can tell me all about it over a pint or two."
Cullen didn't move to stand with him, instead looking up at him and stating clearly, "I do not know if I'll have the time."
"Time for what?" Peredura's voice sounded overly bright, as if she was forcing herself to be jovial. The attempt faded quickly, her sharp eyes noting the grayness to Cullen's face, and the gingerly way he braced his back against the wall.
Varric wisely extricated himself from the two, "I'll just, ah, be down there a ways, should you need me. Inquisitorialness." He added the last bit with a wink and an exaggerated bow to her.
"Oh, Varric," she laughed, this time the humor was genuine. She watched the Dwarf meander off along the battlements, close enough to hear her call if she needed help getting Cullen back on his feet, but far enough away to grant them some privacy. Then she sighed and knelt down next to Cullen. "How's your back?"
He thought about lying to her, thought better of it, and answered honestly, "The spasms have stopped. How's Fergus?"
"I never realized he was so strong,"
"Fergus?"
"No," she shook her head, "Abbots."
Cullen's brow wrinkled for a moment, "He was a very strong Templar, yes, but now that he no longer takes lyrium…"
"I mean physically," she braced one hand against the wall, and held the other out for him to take. He eyed it a moment and then nodded, grasping her hand and allowing her to help him to his feet. He grunted, and she was nearly thrown off balance, but they managed not to embarrass themselves and gained their feet however gracelessly. "I know he's older, not really sure how old, but I really didn't think he had so much strength in him that he could jump Fergus like that and put him in a chokehold."
He nodded, his hands on the battlements for support while he tested the trustworthiness of his legs. "You spend a lifetime wearing seventy pounds of armor, another fifteen to twenty in weapons, plus whatever extra is in your pack, one would tend to build up a fair amount of muscle. I take it Fergus is unconscious, then?"
"He was, for a bit, but he came around fairly quickly. Sane once more, thankfully," she assured him. "He told us he hasn't had lyrium since that last battle with Corypheus, so it's no wonder his withdrawal has started already. Abbots is talking with him, going over a few considerations, making sure Fergus is truly committed to this. Then they'll head to the North Tower. It's no where near appropriate, but we'll make it work somehow. That reminds me," she put a hand, gently, to the small of his back, "I need you to move. When they come out, they're going to want to use those stairs," she nodded to a spot a few feet away, "And just to be safe, we should probably keep you out of sight. Because, well…"
"Because this time," he allowed, "I'm the trigger. Now I know how you've felt. Excluded. Useless. Frustrated. I know so much of what to expect, I could help, but…"
"But you," she tapped his chest, "Personally, would only do more harm than good. You're right, I do know how that feels. But it won't be for long."
They started walking to where Varric was standing. "You're not going to try this on your own, are you? Even just the two of you might not be enough, should one of you get called away or something."
She shook her head, "No, though I have the knowledge to help him through the symptoms, I don't have the skill to subdue him should he lose himself in a vision. And I can't rely on Abbots to be available all the time. Fear is all good and well, but he does have claws and fangs and might not realize his own strength. No, I asked Fergus if there was anyone else, besides myself and Abbots, he would trust to see him through this…"
When she hesitated, Cullen pressed, "And?"
She stopped walking, not quite up to Varric yet, but close enough for him to hear if he strained his ears, "Delonce."
He heard the doubt in her voice. "You don't think she's a good choice."
Peredura shook her head. "I know how she feels. She's determined to keep taking lyrium for as long as possible."
"Devensport feels the same," he pointed out, "But helped with Abbots."
"Devensport is more…" she shrugged and made a little face, "Empathetic. He could see why someone else would do what Abbots wanted to do. What you've done. But Delonce is a diehard, through and through."
He took a deep breath, staring at a spot in the courtyard below them. "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. There she is; you should at least give her the chance to say for herself, before you judge her."
Peredura looked disgruntled, but she nodded. "You're right. I'll go ask her now, before my courage flags. Varric?" She called out a bit louder. "Didn't you offer to buy Cullen a pint or two? I think now's a good time."
He smiled at them, "I only offered to buy in exchange for a bit of information."
She rolled her eyes, but started walking Cullen towards him and seemingly handing him off. "Whatever, just keep him out of the way for a bit. I'll try to stop by your office later," she pecked his cheek with her lips, "Let you know how things are going."
He put his hand in hers, "I'd appreciate that. Pere, I…"
But whatever he wanted to say, he could not find the words for. Nor did he have to. She gave him a nod, gave his fingers a squeeze, then slipped away to make for the stairs.
Varric watched the tender parting and had to quip, "That was touching. You sure you two didn't…"
"Varric…"
"Okay, okay," he stepped back out of arm's length, just in case, "I'll stop with the teasing. So, you still wanna go get that drink? I'm serious about buying, for once—if you're serious about telling me what happened."
Cullen sighed, a long-suffering sort of sound, but he truly could see no reason to keep it a secret. "Yes, all right, but in a moment."
Varric stepped back next to him, curious at what caught his attention down in the courtyard. Peredura was walking briskly, almost jogging to catch up with a soldier, one of her Honor Guard by the look of the uniform. The two men watched from above as the soldier stopped and turned, and Peredura slowed her pace to approach at a more reasonable speed. They stood there for a moment, Peredura motioning with her arms, sometimes reaching out to the other but never quite touching.
Then Abbots and Fergus left Cullen's office and descended into the courtyard. The other soldier put a hand out to Peredura, almost like she was cutting her off, to take a few steps towards the two men. Abbots held his head up, marching purposefully towards the North Tower, but Fergus' head was bowed, his motions mechanical as he followed in step with his superior officer. The soldier called out, Fergus briefly lifted his face up, then resolutely turned his gaze away from the others and towards the tower.
He had asked. She would either come or not.
Peredura approached her lone Guard, whom Varric now realized was Delonce, and put a hand on her shoulder, said one last thing, and followed after the first two. Delonce looked indecisive, lifting a hand partway, taking half a step, looking around to see who was watching, looking back to watch them disappear into the last bit of Skyhold that had yet to be rebuilt. Varric had no idea what sort of mental struggle she was experiencing, other than it had to be monumental. He heard Cullen whisper encouragement beneath his breath, but as he wasn't exactly sure what was going on, he couldn't add his support.
Delonce shook her head, waited a few seconds more, then trotted after the others into the tower.
Cullen's held breath was explosive when he let it out. "Thank the Maker. Now, Varric, you said you were buying me a pint?"
"Ah, yeah, sure," he nodded, "But first you gotta tell me what the hell that was all about."
The Commander nodded, starting off down the battlements with the rogue, walking stiffly and slowly but efficiently. "Going through withdrawal is a very… personal… private… process, and not for just anyone to walk in on or witness. Fergus asked for Delonce specifically to stay with him because he trusts her. But Delonce, well, there are some Templars here who feel, even though they left the Brotherhood for the Inquisition, they still consider themselves Templars. They desire to serve. And they hope that one day, when the Mage/Templar War is over, they can return to their former lives. Delonce is one of those. She doesn't want to stop taking lyrium, and can't fathom why anyone else would, not so long as there's a chance to rejoin and make things right. And in helping Fergus…" he paused, he told himself it wasn't to catch his breath, only to think of the right words. He started walking again as he started talking, "Well, she's going to hear some very ugly things. Painful. Disturbing." He glanced at Varric. "Things about what happened at Kirkwall."
"Ah," was his noncommittal reply.
"She won't want to hear those things—who would?—so Peredura gave her the option whether or not to help. Yes, Fergus would appreciate her presence, and no, it was not an order, but a choice. I'm glad she chose to help him."
Varic kept his opinion to himself. "Regardless," he held the door open for Cullen, "I owe you a pint. And, once we're settled in and feeling more cordial, you can tell me what you did that got you thrown out of your own office."
"Varric…"
The Dwarf chuckled evilly as he sauntered towards the bar, the evening looking very promising.
Cullen set aside his last report, turned down the wick in his lamp, and took a deep breath. He was going to stand up.
He was going to stand, and his legs were going to hold, and his back was going to be straight and strong.
Quietly to himself he repeated this, his mantra, over and over and over as he screwed up his courage. The event earlier that day had strained his freshly healed body to the point where he might have re-injured hismelf slightly. Well, enough to the point where the aching pain had lingered for so long, even after two pints with Varric, that the Dwarf had made him stop and talk with Stitches before leaving the tavern. The diagnosis wasn't a surprise, the prescription was declined—he was not going to dull his senses simply to ease a bit of discomfort—and he had returned to his office to work.
Sit, and work, the only concession he would make.
He braced his hands on the surface, flexed his arms to assure himself the furniture would hold his weight as it had done countless times before, planted his feet shoulder width apart for optimal support, filled his lungs with air, and stood up.
"That was…" Peredura's voice sounded from one of the doorways, "…anticlimactic."
He had kept his eyes focused on the desk, so he hadn't noticed her watching him. He lifted his gaze now, though his head remained bowed, and quipped, "Not from where I'm standing."
It was a joke, albeit a poor one, and she left off leaning against the frame to finish entering his office. Coming up beside him, she put her hand on his arm and spoke softly, "But you are standing."
He nodded, letting go of the last of his deep breath, "I am."
"I was afraid," she nipped at her lip, and he wanted so badly to lift a hand and pull it free, "After your roll earlier, how gray you looked, that you had pulled something."
"I did," he admitted, leaning away from his desk so he could turn to face her. He set his hands on her arms and leaned his forehead against hers, not for support so much as for comfort and closeness, "And before you ask, yes, Varric insisted I see Stitches before returning here. We talked. He suggested I try easier activities for now. I agreed."
"Sounds sensible." She tilted her head to place a quick kiss against his lips. "It's late. You should go to bed. I know you won't sleep," she quickly pushed aside any argument, "But you do need to rest."
He took a deep breath. "Where? My bed is up a ladder and through a trapdoor, not an easily accessible location. I've thought about ordering a cot brought in here and setting it up in the corner. Or even lying down on the floor…"
"You'd never get up again," she predicted direly, and a bit over-dramatically. "There's… my bedchambers." The twinkle in her eyes was unmistakeable.
He gave a breathy sort of laugh in response. "Even if I believed you were serious, it's all the way through the Keep and at the top of a very long flight of stairs. I'd never make it."
She tilted her head again, biting her lip as she considered other options.
His thumb pulled her lip free, the pad remaining to stroke her chin as he cupped her face.
"I suppose you could find a room at the tavern."
"I could," he agreed, lifting her face up to capture her lip for himself. "But too noisy. I wouldn't be able to rest."
She hummed against him, shifting closer. "I can see your point." She snaked her arms up and over his shoulders, hopping up onto his desk and pulling him around to face her, pulling him down to kiss her.
He leaned over her, just a little bit, before he gasped.
Immediately she stopped, holding her hands away from him, shocked and scared and more than a little concerned. "What? What is it? Did I…"
"No, no, it's all right," he grimaced, though he did lean back from her and straightened his back. "I forgot, for a moment, that's all." The knuckles of one hand were jabbed in to the side of his back, applying pressure. When the spasm eased, he sighed and opened his eyes to find her staring at him with such great concern. "Honest, Pere, no harm done. I stopped before things could get out of hand. It's… just a reminder that… we probably shouldn't attempt some things until…"
She ducked her head, feeling a little sheepish. "I understand. I'm going to be busy with Fergus for the next few days, anyway, so… raincheck?"
He smiled, that damnable shit-eating grin that made her knees week. "Raincheck. Well, then," he stepped back to allow her to get down from his desk, "I suppose there's no help for it. Ladder and trapdoor it is."
"At least the ladder is already up," she pointed out as they walked over to it. "Usually, I see it propped up in the corner and out of the way."
"I had someone put it in place for me, earlier," he admitted. "It's going to be enough of a chore to climb it, without my having to manhandle the heavy and blocky apparatus into position first. Then," he started up the rungs, "There's still the trapdoor to maneuver."
"That's easy." It was her turn to grin impishly. Before he could wonder at what she meant, she started climbing up the backside of the ladder, careful not to step on his toes or fingers, and reached the top ahead of him. She made quick work of reaching in through the opening, undoing the latch, and pushing the wooden planks up and away. Then she slid down partway and swung her body around to the right side of the ladder beneath him. "There you go."
He could admit he was more than a bit jealous of her agility and mobility and flexibility and… if he didn't stop that thought he was going to end up hurting himself tonight after all. With decades' worth of Templar training, he endured and resumed the climb.
The short exercise left him winded. Peredura had the good grace not to point it out as she followed after him. He sat on the edge of his bed, and she immediately bent over to help him out of his boots.
"You haven't said yet," he grunted after the first boot was tugged free, "How Fergus is doing."
She sighed, starting on the second boot. "About as good as can be expected. Like I said earlier," she stood to move the boots to the foot of his bed, near but out of the way, "He hasn't had lyrium for two days now, so his withdrawal has started. He's still coherent most of the time, provided there isn't anything around to set him off."
"Have you figured out what, exactly, is causing his visions?" He handed her his coat.
"In a word," she stood to drape it over a hook, "You. Sure, there have been enough mages and blood that could have brought back to mind memories of Kirkwall. Or seeing Dondaelous herself. But it wasn't until you gave him that order to answer me. You commanded him. You." She sighed, sitting on the bed beside him. "Was it really you? Back in Kirkwall, did you give him the order to kill all blood mages?"
It was his turn to sigh. "Honestly, I can't remember. Kirkwall seems like a lifetime ago—when I was another man, a different man." Out of the corner of his eye he caught the troubled look on her face, but he had no way to appease it, so he simply soldiered on. "It might have come from me. It might have come from Knight-Commander Meredith. Either way doesn't really matter—I enforced it. I do remember giving Fergus the order to kill all mages who resorted to practicing blood magic. Whether or not Meric was actually about to use blood magic, or surrender, or run away, we will never know for certain. But in that moment, Fergus made a decision—quite possibly the only decision he could have made. Then, in the aftermath of battle and the betrayal of Meredith, I became acting Knight-Commander. I read his report, and I signed off on it. I approved his actions, put a notation in his record regarding conduct above and beyond the call of duty, and promptly forgot about the consequences."
There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him, holding his gaze as steadily as she could, and whispered, "You're right. You were another man back then." A drop slipped past her lashes to fall across her scarred cheek, and she gave a short bark of laughter as she swiped it away. "Then again, who am I to talk? Had you met me, even a year ago, would I be recognizable with who I am today…"
He put his hand over hers, "Pere, I…"
When his words simply stopped, she nodded, "I know, me too.
"At any rate," she went on, "Regardless if it's orders in general, or orders coming from you, it all stems from an order you specifically gave him, so I guess you are going to be unable to help with Fergus at all. It would be like… Missy's father showing up to help with Abbots' withdrawal. Or… one of the Templars who had been trapped with you in Kinloch. You are a real person who is actively involved with his vision. So you have to stay out of it."
He groaned, and not all of it was because she was making him lie down on the mattress. "It's not fair. I… I want to be there."
"I know you do," she picked up the comforter from the foot of the bed.
"No, Pere, it's more, so much more, I…"
She settled the fabric around his waist, knowing he wouldn't want to be encumbered by the heavy blanket around his arms and shoulders, but it was a chilly night and she didn't want him to catch cold. "It's what, exactly?"
He sighed, leaning back against the pillow. "Ever since… well, not really… I think it was… well, all my life. Ever since I can remember, I've felt called to do something. First, I felt called to become a Templar. Then I felt called to join the Inquisition. But to do that, to truly commit myself fully to the Inquisition, I had to do what no one else had ever done—I had to break all ties to the Order. I had to stop taking lyrium. I wasn't even sure it was possible. But it was. I proved it could be done. And Abbots after me. And now…" his voice grew wistful, "I think I've said before that not only did I need to give up lyrium for the Inquisition, not only for myself, but also for others. For others already suffering, like Abbots. For those who will come next, like Fergus. It's another sort of…" he spread his hands wide, searching for a different word but eventually returning to that very first word he thought of, "…calling. Just as I felt called to become a Templar," he lifted his head up as his hand gripped her forearm, the strength in his fingers conveying the strength of his conviction, "Just as I felt called to leave them and join the Inquisition, I feel the same calling, now, knowing it's right, it's what I'm meant to do. I must do this, Pere," he relaxed against the pillow once more. "I must help others break free of the chains of lyrium."
"Are you…" she hesitated, wanting to bite her lip to stop the words, but knowing he would only pull it free. "I mean, Corypheus is dead. There are rifts to close, but I don't need you to do that. Are you wanting to leave the Inquisition? To set up a sort of… sanatorium for former Templars?"
He blinked at her. "Well, yes, I suppose so, but not right this moment. There's still a lot of work for me here, with the Inquisition. And besides, I'd like you to come with me, when I do, so the Inquisition would have to be over, otherwise you couldn't come with me. I mean, that is, if you'd like to, it's just that you keep volunteering to help with us recovering addicts. And Fear seems to have a unique ability to help in these matters. And so, well, yes, maybe, someday, but not yet, I mean… ah…"
She smiled, "I think I would like that, someday, after the Inquisition has run out of stuff to do, and we're all bored and looking around for something to occupy our time," her smile grew stronger, "Yes, I would like to help you in your calling. But not anytime soon."
"No, no, of course not," he agreed, sensing her pulling away and gaining her feet. Had he just proposed, well, not 'proposed'-proposed, but certainly he had just proposed some sort of long term commitment between them. Sputtering, he tried to recover, "A year or two, perhaps. We'll see how things turn out. But it's nice to have a dream, a hope for a future, isn't it?"
She laughed, softly, and leaned over to brush her lips against the stubble of his cheek. "It is, Cullen. Thank you for the offer of sharing this dream of yours with me. I…" she blushed deeper, "I think I just might take you up no it. Now, try to rest, if not actually sleep. Good night."
"Good night," he answered. He listened to the sounds she made as she climbed down the ladder and left his office. After she was gone, and with that cocky smile on his lips, he started at the ceiling and sighed, dreaming about his future—quite possibly their future.
Author's Note: Sorry about the roughness of the chapter, especially towards the end. I'm trying so hard to keep this going, what little momentum I have, and finish strong for you all. Thank you, everyone, who keeps reading.
And, like the title implies, the story isn't over yet just because Corypheus is defeated. Next chapter we're taking a jump ahead, to Trespasser.