Chapter 1

Cullen

Cullen followed her every step with his eyes as she descended the stairs from the battlements. She would likely return to the main keep to continue with the constant preparations required of her. Maker she was beautiful. How could she even doubt for a moment that he could have feelings for her? Even if she was a mage. But he knew that the old Cullen fresh from the Circle of Ferelden would have felt very differently. He shook the thought from his mind.

When Ellana Lavellan was completely out of sight, Cullen turned his attention to the last glimmer of sun before it retreated behind the snowcapped peaks in the distance. The frigid wind whipped through his hair and stung his eyes. A welcome diversion. Perhaps the wind could help clear his mind.

But he could already feel its control over him welling from within.

Cullen buried his head in his hands.

Not five minutes after he'd finally mustered the courage to kiss her - the nervousness and excitement of it all had already been replaced by the familiar dull ache and crawling skin of need.

He kicked the solid wall of the rampart, hissing in pain when it struck.

Lyrium. It truly will be my undoing.

Cullen wanted nothing more than to follow Lavellan - Ellana as she'd insisted he call her - to ask her to sit with him a while longer. The side effects of withdrawal somehow felt milder when he was in her presence. But he knew any time he spent with her was time she spent away from the Inquisition. She was The Inquisitor and he The Commander of the Inquisition's forces. It was bad enough that word would get out of their kiss. People would talk. He would rather their private affairs remain private, but there was no getting around it.

He smiled. That poor messenger. He had nearly taken the man's head off after he'd interrupted them together. Cullen wasn't sure if the man would go right to the barracks and spread the rumor of what he'd seen or if he'd be too scared to say anything at all after how he'd snapped at him.

His thoughts wandered again from the taste of her kiss and the warmth of her body against his to the balm of his last lyrium draught. Its tingling heat would cure his foggy thoughts and the dull ache in his muscles.

Cullen shook his head. This wasn't right. How was he worthy of the affection of the Inquisitor? Even more, how in the Maker's name was he fit to lead any soldier into battle?

He skulked back to his office in the tower and pored over reports until his candle had nearly burned out. That night the dreams ravaged his sleep. The Circle in Ferelden. Knight-Commander Merideth. Demons. When he called out in the night, he knew no one could hear him. Or if they could, no one ever spoke of it.

Days had passed before Cullen finally sought the resolution that he knew was necessary. He stared across the courtyard at the quartermaster's door. He'd just seen Cassandra go inside. She was the person closest to understanding the depth of his addiction. She would certainly see the signs that the side effects were taking their toll. She would know he couldn't do this any longer.

When he opened the door, he found Cassandra chatting with the quartermaster. Cullen narrowed his eyes at him, praying he would take the hint.

"I'll… uh… just leave you two, then," he stammered, tripping on the corner of the table as he left the room.

"You could have just asked politely for a moment," Cassandra said, sounding surprisingly like she was joking with him.

At least he'd picked a good time for this conversation.

"I'm sure you remember our discussion about my… condition." Cullen straightened his gauntlet, finally meeting her eyes.

Cassandra stood silent, waiting as he tried to find the words to continue.

"Well, over the last week, it has become obvious to me that I am unable to continue to handle my duties without distraction," he knew his word choice still wasn't weighty enough to describe the level of debilitation he was feeling. "It has become more than mere distraction. I fear that the physical and mental stresses are overcoming my decision making."

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. "I have seen no evidence of this, Commander."

He clenched his teeth. She still wasn't admitting what he knew was obvious. She could not be so blind. "I suggest you seriously begin considering who would be next in line as my replacement."

Cassandra's brow formed a hard line. "There is no need. You have continued to fulfill all duties as Commander. In fact, your recent victories in the field suggest that you are more than just capable." Cullen heard the bite in that last word as it echoed off of the stone walls around them.

"Then you are not judging accurately." He gestured, palms open at his sides as if putting himself on display. "Just look at me! Sweating, trembling, and pale as the dying -this is what you expect of the Commander of the Inquisition's Forces?"

"You asked for my opinion and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?"

"I expect you to keep your word." Cullen rubbed his forehead with his palm. "It's relentless – I can't –"

"You give yourself too little credit."

"If I'm unable to fulfill what vows I've kept then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than admit – "

The door opened to the last person he wished to see at that moment.

He prayed to the Maker that she hadn't heard too much of that, but when she approached, eyebrows knitted in concern for him, Cullen knew that she had. He did not deserve her sympathy.

"Forgive me," he managed, before he slipped toward the door.

He heard Cassandra behind him. "And people say I'm stubborn. This is ridiculous."

He closed the door and leaned against the outside of it for a moment. With a sigh, he pushed himself toward his quarters. Each step up to the tower was an achy reminder of the state he was in. The door to his office seemed heavier, the hinges creakier as he made his way to his desk chair. He hesitated before reaching into his drawer and opening the case. He glared at the pieces of his past - the tools with which to mix lyrium and transfer the proper dosage into vials for drinking. He'd always preferred to control his own dosage.

He allowed himself to finally grapple with the back and forth in his mind. His will against the pain. His promise to himself against the creeping fog of craving. Cullen stood for what seemed like hours until he reached a breaking point.

He was weak. He balled his fists and shut his eyes. He thought he could fight these feelings, fight the pain, but he was wrong. The lyrium was winning this battle. He lunged for the corner of the case and flung it across the room near the open door.

It slammed against the wall nearly hitting her as she entered.

Ellana.