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Chapter Text

1st of Harvestmere, 9:41

I am chalking the day’s events up to a hallucination brought on by worsening lyrium withdrawals.

As the weeks and months go on, I am only adding to the list of symptoms I experience, which begs the question, when will it stop? Will it stop? Will I suffer all of the known symptoms before this is through?

I have procrastinated in getting this journal started, which was meant to help me answer questions such as those. Ten weeks and two days ago was my last dose of lyrium. I had meant to be more diligent, to document everything, but alas, I have many excuses for why I haven’t started it until now.

Below is the list of known lyrium withdrawal symptoms and whether I have experienced them, or experience them now. I should be periodically updating this list, but this is the first I have done so. I admit, I’m spurred into action for reasons I will explain. There is some discrepancy between what is commonly agreed-upon and what I perceive of my experience, I suppose. 

Known Lyrium Withdrawal Symptoms:

Fatigue – check
Headaches – check
Forgetfulness – I am uncertain if I suffer from this, yet. I make lists, I use repetition. I do not rely only on my memory, and therefore, I’m uncertain if my memory is strong or I am just scaffolding it enough that I do not see my own failings in this regard.
Unquenchable thirst – check; elfroot tea helps somewhat.
Confusion – not yet.
Weepiness – not yet. Does irritability count here? I wonder.
Weakness/dizziness – check
Obsessive thinking – I am uncertain whether I am a fair judge of this criterion. There is an element of obsessive thinking that has been a part of me before my first lyrium draught. Though after today, I fear that this may worsen.
Dementia – not yet.
Difficulty differentiating between past and present – I have struggled with this since Uldred, though if it worsens, I suppose that would be a withdrawal symptom.
Worsening nightmares/dreams - check
Paranoia – not yet
Hallucinations – check, as of today.

I should add that, based on my knowledge, everything I experienced in the months following Uldred are things I expect will worsen as I withdraw. For me, these are memories that I do not want, images in my mind that I cannot force out during the day, in addition to my nightmares.

I may also feel angry again. I do not want to be angry again.

I cannot help but compose this list and see it as a glaring list of liabilities. How can I remain in my position as Commander of the Inquisition’s forces – such as they are – if I am hallucinating?

What if I start to hallucinate threats?

What if I start to respond to these hallucinations, talk to them?

I almost talked to her it today.

I hate to even label what I saw, because it feels so damning.

Perhaps I should detail what happened, rather than what I saw, for my own records. If this is not the only time, I will want to have documentation of the trajectory of my hallucinations. That is the purpose of this journal, anyway – to document my eventual descent into madness.

The scaffolding I referred to earlier.

The way I am seeing it, if I am vigilant of myself, my senses and sensibilities, and I document this clearly, then I may be able to better grasp and control my own faculties and delay the need for my replacement. If I can note any patterns or triggers, or better support my own memory of what this journey looks like for myself, then I may be able to hang on just a little longer and delay – I’ve already written it.

As I said, the scaffolding.

What felt peculiar about this entire debacle today is that I did not feel impaired much by the other symptoms. Indeed, I have not had a headache in three days, and though I had nightmares last night, this is hardly new. Apart from the hallucination today, I only felt some fatigue and thirst. By all rights, it was a good day. When I awoke, I anticipated that I would make it through the day without issue.

And then I was standing there at the head of the soldiers’ camp, glancing at a report with a runner beside me while supervising the men training with their new shields. I remember having three lines of thought all at once. One, that so many of them kept dropping their arms beneath the weight of their shields, leaving themselves open. Two, that the Herald had returned and was calling a War Meeting an hour from then, as per the runner’s report. Three, that part of me wished I were training, sparring with the men, longing for the release of that energy. Never mind that I had already sparred with Rylen at dawn until I hammered him into the ground.

There is no other way to describe what I felt next other than as the weight of a gaze. I felt the weight of a gaze upon me from my left, and so I turned my head.

Perhaps I should transcribe the details as I remember them, though I feel like I am signing my death warrant in doing so. She was standing in the road between the soldiers’ camp and the forge, heading into Haven with the sun basking her face. I saw her clearly, in my hallucination.

My mind has distorted some things about her in eleven years, but not others.

Her hair remains the same, rich and deep. It has always reminded me of the color of walnut wood, oddly enough. My desk in Kirkwall was made of walnut, and I think that did not help me forsake her in the earlier years.

In my hallucination, her hair was long and spilling down her back.

I would expect to see her in Circle mage robes, or even the Grey Warden attire, since that is how I last saw her – but my mind has distorted this. Instead, she wore a dress that I will venture to say was blue, with a silver fur shawl around her arms – but to be honest, I was not focused on her clothes.

I would be remiss not to describe her face, and yet – I think I can do no more than to say she looks wholly the same, though, just – different changed matured?

She is bea Our eyes met, and I felt both jolted and frozen in place. It was like being hit with a mage’s spell to stun. I could do nothing else but stare, and stare.

I don’t know how much time passed, or whether the runner was talking to me. All I knew was her, here, in the flesh.

The one thing I wanted and could never have.

Apart from the torture, my memories are fragmented at best. I have bits of the days that followed. I remember little of her rescue, but I remember speaking those words in front of her, a confession that I would have preferred to take to my grave. I remember those words so clearly, and the strain of my voice. I remember the pity in her face as I spoke them from within the-

Back to the hallucination. I stared at it, and she at I, as if we were locked in recognition. I felt my legs start to move as if of their own accord, and then she it turned away. She hurried up further into Haven, and I stopped myself.

“Ser?” I heard the runner behind me. “Commander?”

I watched her disappear up the steps and out of sight before I turned back to my duties, forgoing the chase that I wanted.

My attempts to distract myself from what had happened – or almost happened – were futile. To talk myself out of running to Leliana to confirm or disconfirm her presence required a wall of logic and reasoning that I spent some time building.

Notably, if she were real, there would have been some fanfare, some type of announcement. Indeed, Lady Montilyet would have dragged me by the ear to welcome her to Haven with Leliana. No such thing has occurred.

Speaking of Leliana, she made no mention of her in the War Meeting earlier. I watched her throughout the meeting, waiting for the slightest ‘tell’, not that I’ve noticed our spymaster has any. She has not so much looked at me oddly, let alone breathed a word of her. If Leliana wants to keep a secret, I certainly can’t pry one from her, especially as it relates to… this. Perhaps with military strategy I could be firmer, but even just the thought of confessing what I saw today – I could never. For whatever reason.

I’ve already embarrassed myself enough with Leliana for a lifetime. I’ve written to her – asking about the subject of my hallucination – multiple times. They are friends after all, as far as I can tell, though Leliana never responds other than clipped, pointed words through the messenger and a knowing smirk at the War Meeting the next day.

I digress. More bricks to my wall of logic that shields me from destruction: as the King’s own mistress, I doubt he would allow her to journey across Ferelden without an armed escort. I have noticed no Ferelden banners, no Ferelden guards.

Finally, she has a daughter. Where is the girl? If the girl came to Haven, there would be loads of Ferelden soldiers here. There is simply no way the King would allow his own daughter to be here unshielded. If she is not here, then why would Solona Amell be here without her?

I hadn’t meant to write her name.

I suppose this journal is for me alone. I can always burn it, later.

I just hope I have the faculties to do it before it’s too late.

Chapter Text

3rd of Harvestmere, 9:41

I find myself on constant alert for additional hallucinations. It is not a comfort to think that any part of my reality may be false, that I may jump at something that is not there. How can I discern what is true or false in the moment without making a complete fool of myself, or worse, without risking the lives of my men?

I cannot afford to make mistakes at this level; there are too many counting on me, and many of my men have left their careers to follow me. I can hardly believe it, still, but they have done it, anyway.

Another aspect of this that I find damning – another mistake, if you will, that I cannot seem to divert from - is that I want to see it her it her again, real or not.

I wish that were not the case, but I benefit no one by being dishonest with myself. This longstanding obsession attraction is something that the Order has tried to hammer out of me for years. Some things cannot be wrested out of me, I suppose. Perhaps this is why the women in the Inquisition’s leadership call me so stubborn.

I have no better example of this than as follows:

In my early years in Kirkwall, word had spread about my infatuation with Amell among the other Templars and the mages. I tried to keep it to myself, of course. I tried to see Kirkwall as a new slate, but in those days, I was like a kettle of water bubbling over. I would sputter about my torture to people I had only just met, using it as an excuse for my anger towards the mages. My trauma was an excuse for my complicit part in the abuse against the mages. It made me confused at best, unhinged at worst.

I’m not sure how my feelings about Amell became such common knowledge, though. Perhaps I had confessed them myself consciously to Samson, or I had said too much in my sleep, back before I had my own quarters. Either way, the results were the same. My peers lost respect for me, and the mages felt as though they could manipulate me with that information, somehow. They seemed to think if I had developed feelings for one mage, I would for another – at least at first. Some of the mages flirted with me until I became too unruly, too obviously aggressive, unable to keep myself completely in check all of the time.

As the rumors of my infatuation spread, Knight Commander Meredith called me into her office once and sat me down. She already knew about my torture and had read my reports from the rehabilitation center for Templars outside of Val Royeaux. She knew everything about my feelings for Amell far before the others in Kirkwall did, before she even accepted me to the Gallows. It is only another thread of why I felt so loyal to her, because she was willing to take me in despite this mark upon me.

“Knight Captain,” she said, “I just assigned Knight Owen latrine duty for the next week, and nighttime watch for the next month. Do you know why?”

I hadn’t the faintest clue, so I frowned and shook my head. “No, Knight Commander.”

Meredith’s eyes glinted as she watched me, as if trying to catch something. I noticed she had my personnel file on her desk before her. “Knight Owen was spreading filth about you, and upon further questioning, it seems that a good number of Knights and even mages are parroting these things.” Her eyes tightened marginally, and I remember feeling myself start to sweat in my gloves.

I seem to have another headache worsening behind my left eye, throbbing, as I write this. I was not scolded often by her – even when I should have been. It was only towards the very end that she seemed to take a critical eye towards me, and by then, she had no friends anymore, and could not lose me.

“They are gossiping that you were once in love with a mage in the Ferelden Circle. Those are the words that I’m able to gather, at least.”

I remember feeling myself bottoming out, the weight of her judgment on me. I could only look at my personnel file folded on her desk and nod obediently as my shame overwhelmed me.

“How did they come to learn of this filth, Knight Captain?”

Filth.

I did not see how that word could apply, but I was not going to argue that point with her, my better, the only person who saw any good in me at all. A difference in opinion on this matter could go so far as to get me demoted, and I clung to my position like a lifeline. It was the only thing that kept me facing each day in those early years.

I wanted to serve the Order. I was dying inside, flayed apart in my very soul. But I wanted to serve. I wanted to keep others safe from what happened to me.

“Cullen?” She pressed. “How did they learn about this?”

“I-I couldn’t say,” I stammered, flushing scarlet. I tried to muster some kind of coherent response, but as usual, I deferred to her and bent under that intense blue stare. Perhaps that is why she kept me on as Knight Captain despite my many failings, because I could not stand up to her, until I finally did.

“Anyone I catch spreading this rumor will face severe consequences, Cullen. Including you.” She flipped open my personnel file as I nodded, as if in agreement with her threat, no longer Knight Captain but little more than a boy. She had that way, sometimes. Maker, my head is pounding. She clicked her tongue as she read something. “I had thought you’d be over this by now.”

So did I, I thought at the time. And so I still do.

I do not wish to be this way. My hyperfocus prevents me from experiencing life as others do. I’m newly freed by the Order, thirty years old, and unmarried. I should be courting women, shouldn’t I?

It’s not that my feelings about Amell hold me back – that’s not the case, I’m sure. I know she is so far out of reach as the King’s mistress that to me, she will exist as a hallucination alone. Rather, it is my focus on my duties – I take everything so seriously that all else seems like frivolity, excess, needless. I’m not sure I could make time for someone without resenting them for interfering with my work.

Besides, the world is counting on us. I don’t have time.

Chapter Text

4th of Harvestmere, 9:41

The Herald came to observe the troops today before she leaves again for the Hinterlands. I could have sworn she was being flirtatious with me. Something about asking for a lecture, after I apologized for rambling about mages and Templars.

I could do no more than chuckle nervously, otherwise freezing like a deer at the end of a hunter’s bow.

The Herald is a mage of noble stock, and she is the Herald. We must navigate the destruction – and prevention thereof – of Thedas together. I’m not sure what her intentions were with that comment, but I feel that I must be nothing short of careful with how I respond to similar comments, if more are to follow.

But perhaps my response today was disappointing enough that she will set her sights on another.

I’m probably overthinking this, as usual. I cannot even be sure that she meant to flirt with me, to be honest.

Maker. Is this journal only going to be about women? That was not my intention.

Lyrium withdrawals – that was the intention with this journal. I never planned on keeping my military secrets or strategic plans for the Inquisition in these pages. This journal was meant to document the extent of my lyrium withdrawals and that journey, though I wish I had thought of doing it months ago, the day I decided to forego my first dose.

There is so little information out there that is not controlled by the Chantry about withdrawal. I suspect this is intentional and meant as a deterrence and to keep my fellow former brothers and sisters from leaving the Order. I have gathered what information I can about the withdrawal journey, and yet have been able to scrounge up little, because there are so few firsthand accounts.

If I can document my own journey, maybe I will be an example to others, and they will follow. Though I would never allow my journal to be copied and distributed to the masses. No, I would have to summarize the points of it, create a succinct timeline. I would never describe the nature of my nightmares or my hallucination.

There are days when I don’t believe I can do this. There are times when I pull out a lyrium kit and I stare at it, consider drinking it. Perhaps the journal will help me through those times? It remains to be seen, I suppose.

I still don’t know where I will be before the end of all of this. I have always served grander purposes, and I have taken on a risk by forgoing the lyrium. It may jeopardize my ability to serve, and I am nothing without work, without purpose. What would I do without it? What would I be without it?

There are three significant decisions I can think of that I made in my life, only for myself. My instinct is to say they are ‘selfish’ decisions, but that would be arguable. Everyone else makes decisions for themselves, don’t they?

‘Selfish’ implies at the expense of others. I don’t believe my decisions were selfish, except maybe one.

The first decision I made for myself was to join the Order. I suppose my parents ultimately allowed me to join, but I knew from such an early age what I wanted, and I was not to be convinced otherwise. Did my family suffer because of this choice? Maybe. I am the eldest son. I was not there to help them flee the Blight. Mia became the protector when our parents died, and would they have died if I had not —-

Still, I will not claim that the decision was selfish because I was thirteen and had no way of knowing what fortune would befall them five years later. I believed I was devoting my life to the protection of mages and the public alike. I had every reason to believe my family would be fine, and they let me go with their reluctant blessing.

The second decision I made for myself was to leave the Order. This, Lady Cassandra needed to convince me for the very reason being that it is the decision I consider selfish. I found it selfish to leave Kirkwall after I had spent years playing a part in destroying it, and then four years trying to rebuild it as Knight Commander. I could have spent the rest of my life there, doing my penance and trying to make it right, and it would never be enough.

The third decision I made for myself was to quit the lyrium. I had continued taking it even after leaving the Order; Lady Cassandra was able to secure me a supply as we traveled. I started to open myself up to her confidence in me, and decided I would break the final chain that the Order had on me, to regain some control over my life. If I am able to take this control back, what do I plan on doing with it?

Three decisions for myself. I’m not certain what that means about me, or what that means I should do. Am I happier, now, having left the Order and given up lyrium?

There are times when I’d like to take more control of my life. I see others living lives that expand beyond work, and I wonder what that would be like. What if my life were not defined only by the duties I fulfill for grander purposes? But there are urgent matters to attend to, and the fate of the world waits for no one, let alone my more basic desires.

I’m not even sure why this is all being stirred up, like a lake bed disturbed after years of being untouched. I need to redirect myself, focus my energies. There’s nothing to be done for it now.

To work.

Chapter Text

6th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I am watching another hallucination as I write this. It is Mia this time, mercifully. A younger version of her, in fact, which makes sense as I do not know what she looks like now. Mia is now thirty-two years old, a married woman, and a mother.

And yet, the girl I see from my cabin window is her likeness almost entirely. I’m no adept judge at the age of children, but I’d venture to say this girl is somewhere around the age of eleven or twelve? As I said, I'm not the best judge. I always made a point not to learn the ages of the children in the Circles.

The resemblance to Mia… where does it end? I can’t find it. The same golden curls, tight as mine. The girl’s hair hangs down past her shoulders, wild and bouncy. I can’t tell her eye color from this distance, but she is a lanky child with features similar to my family’s.

As I watch this girl – this hallucination – play with a midnight black mabari in the middle of the road in front of my cabin, I question the accuracy of my memory. It’s been nearly twenty years; do I really remember Mia as she was? I'm not certain that I can trust my perception anymore. Perhaps my memory cannot be trusted, either.

Dawn is breaking over Haven. I was jarred out of a nightmare that I don’t care to transcribe onto this page any longer, like I intended to when I sat down at this desk. The horrors of it do not belong on a morning as quiet as this, as I watch the image of my sister.

Like Amell’s image, I don’t want to think what this means, though I think it anyway.

Something in me is breaking down, tearing apart at the seams. A thread is being pulled and is unraveling, and it is only a matter of time before I come undone. Right?

The mabari – I hear it, too. The hallucination is not just visual, now. I can hear his playful snarling as the girl’s image tosses a stick down the street.

I don’t know what the mabari signifies. Amell, I understand, and Mia – both prominent figures of my past. Women I care for- albeit in different ways. But the mabari? I never had one as a child, though not for lack of wanting.

The mabari returns to Mia and nuzzles her hand, dropping the stick into it. Mia snaps her head to look over her shoulder, as if called by something. She is running off with the mabari, and now I cannot see them beyond the buildings of Haven.

Watching them – which sounds odd, I know, and I should not make it a habit, hallucination or not – I felt unsettled, yes, but also nostalgic. At that age, I adored Mia, and she more than tolerated me, though Branson was another story.

I should write to her. I know I should. I just

My earlier entry ended abruptly as I noticed through my window that the Herald was leaving with her party, and then the day’s responsibilities began to compound. Haven’s forge is being pushed to its limit, and the creation of armor and weapons has been bottlenecked by our lack of a steady supply of materials. I cannot have every soldier outfitted entirely and immediately when they present to camp, and this is an issue I want corrected sooner rather than later.

I need to delegate tasks. I am Commander, as Lady Cassandra reminds me, and I cannot hold every card in my hands. I tend to have difficulty relinquishing control, a byproduct of Uldred’s torture, though perhaps threads of that had been a part of my personality far before.

As it stands, I do not have the time nor patience to make every minute and basic decision for our forces. I need to establish a better chain of command and delegation of responsibilities. I should not have to read every single report, though I have been, anyway. Many things can be given to someone below my station, just acknowledged.

Logically, I know it’s necessary, but I’m reluctant. If I step back, I cannot help but feel that there is more room for error. In this case, room for error means death or dismemberment of the men who have followed me or joined our cause. My failings hang heavy enough on my conscience, and I want no more of them.

Sometimes, I’m doubtful of Lady Cassandra’s confidence in me. This is not helped by the hallucinations. How many more will I have? How intrusive will they become? I cannot even bear to write some of the questions pressing in the back of my mind for how grim they feel.

As long as they are memories of my past – like Mia, Solona – perhaps I can differentiate and prevent myself from responding to them. If I see them, I should ignore them, and stick to my tasks at hand. I should not even look at them. Perhaps I can find a way around -

What if I start to hallucinate Uldred, or Meredith?

Perhaps I should tell Lady Cassandra. I can think of no scenario where a military commander experienced hallucinations and was allowed to remain in his position. It would not be responsible or practical. If anything, I am putting more lives on the line by staying and trying to find ways around it.

This brings me back to the delegation of tasks. If I delegate, I will allow the Inquisition to be better prepared for my eventual removal or resignation – and my ending. As I said, I am nothing without my service, without my purpose. There seems to be no scenario where I get what I want – which is to continue to work – safely.

But I must prioritize others over myself, as I have always done. I only don’t know how I could go on without this purpose. I would have nothing, and to be haunted by my past more adamantly than ever, I could not bear it.

Chapter Text

7th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I suffered today

I mean to say that I had the full gamut – and am still having it – of symptoms today. I do not mean to complain in such dramatic terms as ‘I suffered today’. I suffer every day on some level, and wallowing does not help to take any of that away.

I will write this quickly so that I can try to lay down and get some sleep. I am drinking hot elfroot tea and have a fire burning in the hearth. There is a light snow falling outside. I have polished my armor, prayed, and completed my exercises despite my body's protests. There is some echo of comfort in these motions, I suppose.

I did not have any hallucinations today, but I had everything else that I get: fatigue, a throbbing headache, thirst, weakness, and dizziness. I cannot stop thinking about the hallucinations and the fact that I will need to tell Lady Cassandra when she returns with the Herald from the Hinterlands. Just as I was taking back control of my life -

And the lyrium. I came close today – taking the kit out onto my desk and looking at it. The craving is like a beast within me, clawing and trying to get out. I don't know if others would feel it like I do, but it's enough to make me grind my teeth, make me clench my fists, and sometimes start muttering to myself, trying to talk myself out of it. There are times I have become almost delirious with the craving, and today I experienced it again. I had the urge to uncork the vial and smell it, but had the wherewithal to know that would be my undoing – a step too far – and I refrained.

Give it ten minutes, I told myself, and then when that was done, I told myself to give it another ten minutes. I repeated it over, and over, until my craving receded to the point that I could bear it and set the lyrium away and out of sight.

Maker, give me the strength to do this.

In the long hours of the night
When hope has abandoned me,
I will see the stars and know
Your Light remains.

I cannot see the path.
Perhaps there is only abyss.
Trembling, I step forward,
In darkness enveloped.

Chapter Text

8th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I cannot do this.

I saw her it again.

I cannot

I do not even want to write about it. In truth, I want to tear out these pages and throw them in the fire. I do not want to acknowledge whether in ink, spoken word, or with conscious thought that this has happened again. I bruised my knuckles on the doorframe when I returned to my cabin just minutes ago.

I should go beat on a training dummy, spar with Rylen, or throw some daggers. I need to get this energy out, not sit down at this desk and write about how I’m going truly, utterly, raving mad.

The lyrium is calling to me right now, and I’ve kicked the drawer that is housing it twice. I’m choosing to take a stand and not take it out from within the desk, because I’ll be done if I do. I’ll succumb to it.

But maybe just one dose will hold me over for the next few months.

Maybe one will be enough to hold the hallucinations at bay, and then I could keep my position.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing.

No!

If Lady Cassandra were here, I would find her and she would steer me back on course, projecting a confidence within me that I do not feel, but somehow helps me to square my shoulders. I could redirect myself and feel centered, motivated, and steady again.

Lady Cassandra is not here, though. She’s with the Herald out in the Hinterlands. I need to busy myself – I can either run to the camp and risk another hallucination, or find something to distract myself in here.

I’ll explain, first, since outside is where I saw her – and I don’t want to risk that, again. I can’t guarantee that if I see Solona Amell’s likeness again that I won’t do something about it.

I can’t risk the people of Haven or the Inquisition witnessing the Commander lunging at shadows – or nothing at all.

Here’s what happened, at least as my mind’s eye saw it.

I was leaving Josephine’s office, somewhat flustered. She had requested a meeting with me, which I naively assumed would be important. Instead, it devolved into a conversation about my family, my lineage, my hobbies, and then my openness to dating.

I sputtered, completely stunned. “What?!” My voice had hit both high and low notes in the single syllable word.

Josephine hadn’t batted an eye. “I’m not asking for myself.”

I tried to suppress my immense relief as I listened to her explanation of wanting to know how she could play her cards with other nobility, essentially dangling me as a carrot to interested parties.

“To further the Inquisition’s purpose, of course,” she added, smiling in a way that told me she was far cleverer than her frills conveyed, “and if you found a suitable partner in the process, then even better.”

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair and rubbed briefly at my temple, feeling the last remnants of yesterday’s headache. “I’m not interested,” I said, able to keep my voice clear enough to sound firm. “I am too busy for this.”

Perhaps that was too blunt a comment, but I was feeling a little cornered. I did not have the Herald or Lady Cassandra to back me up, both of whom I think would have agreed with me. Leliana, perhaps not.

She proceeded to ask me after my prior “paramours,” as she put it.

I could take it absolutely no longer, so I rose to my feet, flushing scarlet, and took my leave, muttering about something I forgot to discuss urgently with Rylen. I could hardly hear Josephine’s reply as I left.

As I think about it now, Josephine is our expert on personalities. She knows she would get me flustered with her line of questioning, doesn’t she? What is her angle?

Regardless, I will think twice before accepting another invitation from her.

I strode from her office, my feet pounding as I left the Chantry. The air was cold and bracing outside, and the Chantry’s door slammed behind me. I didn’t care, and I only wanted to get back to the soldiers’ camp as quickly as possible and put as much distance between myself and Josephine.

I remember gripping the pommel of my sword with my right hand as I rubbed the back of my neck with my left. I was irritated with myself, and my gaze was focused on the road at my feet.

Something made me look up – but that makes sense, doesn’t it? A hallucination will wait for you, I’m sure.

She was walking towards me, heading in my direction. She had a silver cowl drawn over her head, as if to help hide her, but it was her. I would know her anywhere, and the cowl did nothing to disguise her hair spilling down.
I looked at her face and felt my hand at my neck go still, stunned.

The vision of Solona Amell had her eyes on the hard-packed dirt road, but then flitted to me, and held there for the briefest moment. Her lips parted, as if in surprise, and she reached for her cowl.

I don’t know what I did. I wanted to talk to her. I may have opened my mouth to say something.

The hallucination drew her cowl further down her head, trying to shield her face, and she dropped her gaze, hurrying past me.

She had been so close. I could have taken two strides and reached for her.

I stopped, my legs no longer moving of their own accord, and turned to watch her go.

Beautiful, the hallucination had been. I had always found her to be such.

I watched her until she turned out of sight past a cabin, and then I forced myself to come directly here.

What would I have said to her? I had wanted to talk to her, had been nearly overcome with the urge to talk to her as if the words were jumping out of my throat, but got stuck there. In that moment, I had doubted that she was a hallucination at all and instead saw her as a woman whom I could perhaps patch things over with. Indeed, the last time she saw me, I was not myself and had been demanding the Rite of Annulment.

In short, I would like to apologize to her if I ever saw Amell again. She saved my life, and all I could do was call for the deaths of the rest of the mages in the Tower.

Today, I was not angry when I saw her. I was angry after, and I’m angry now, because this means I’m going mad, and I don’t know how to stop it other than by taking lyrium.

I will have to check in with our herbalists and healers about remedies for hallucinations. Is there a way I can do this without giving myself away? Perhaps I can compose a list of all the known withdrawal symptoms, and inquire about remedies for each. I will have to send it in a report – it is not a conversation I’d trust myself to remain stoic through.

I will do that now and channel this energy into something potentially productive.

I find the behavior of the hallucination odd, though admittedly, I don’t claim to be an expert on such matters.

By nature, a hallucination is an intrusion on the mind and on one’s perception. It seems to me that a hallucination would not shy away, nor run off when it is noticed.

Both times, she has run from me when she’s noticed me.

Does this mean something?

The one thing I wanted but could never have. I almost wonder if there is a symbolism there.

As I grapple for control of my life, I lack beyond work. I am accomplished, yes, but what else do I have? Is this my addled mind’s recognition that I have nothing else to show for my life but my title and my armor?

I awake alone, and if I am lucky to fall asleep at all, I go to sleep alone, with no one to hear me shout out. I feel alone even among my peers. The magic cage separates me from everyone else, as if it is still there, humming, shining, pink, and shimmering in the air, eleven years later.

If she continues to haunt me like this, I don’t know-

I am too tired for this. I am so, so tired.

Chapter Text

9th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I know not whether my mind can be trusted, or whether I must be more critical and discerning than ever.

Today’s events have left me with a profound sense of confusion.

One thing has been disproven, of which I am relieved, and that is that the two hallucinations of Amell and younger Mia were never hallucinations at all.

I will explain.

Rylen and I were hunched over my makeshift desk at the soldiers’ camp, taking stock of our supplies against our numbers of men. Another duty that perhaps I could delegate to someone, but it seems I can make an excuse for why my hands need to be in every pot, why I must be in control.

Rylen is used to my demeanor, anyway, though if something were urgent, he would not wait around for my judgment.

“Harritt says he’s pushed to his limits,” Rylen was saying, setting an inventory list down between us on the desk. “He said we need to outsource a couple of items if we don’t want to get bottlenecked too badly.”

“Can we afford to do that?” The Inquisition hardly has the funds to buy weapons and armor.

“Says he has a contact in Jader who owes him a favor. Man’s a legend in helms, Harritt says. Thinks we can get a good price on about sixty helms and the favor will be done.”

I rubbed my chin and nodded. “Very well. Let’s write to Jader, with Harritt, and request-”

At this exact moment, I noticed Younger Mia striding up to my desk, curls bouncing past her shoulders. I froze completely as the girl first curtseyed and then looked at me, brows furrowed.

Green eyes. Not like Mia at all.

Still, I knew she was a hallucination, and I was arrested in the spot.

Rylen lifted his chin, noticing my abrupt silence, and caught me staring. He turned his head, and I realized that I needed to do something quickly before I gave myself away.

“…Request, uh, the helms to be made, and-”

“Can I help you?” Rylen asked as Younger Mia pointed her chin at him stubbornly.

You see her, too? I almost asked him. Almost.

“Hello, Sers,” the girl said, as firmly as any young girl could manage, I suppose. I was feeling faint, my blood rushing in my ears. I saw her reach across her body to grip what I realized was the hilt of a sword, though I knew in my mind it couldn’t be. It was too small to be any respectable sword. “You are the Commander here, are you not?”

I was looking at her sword – too long to be a dagger, and still sheathed – to realize her green eyes were fixed on me.

“What’s your business here, girl?” Rylen grunted irritably.

I almost sagged in relief to know he could see her, too.

She was real, this girl. I had not imagined her.

That was when I noticed the mabari from before.

Behind Rylen, a low growl rose from the depths of the creature’s maw, and he pushed himself off my desk so fast I thought he had been bitten in the ass.

The girl did not answer Rylen, and my words were jammed in my throat as Rylen turned his body sideways, drawing his sword and leveling it at the black mabari.

“Rylen,” I managed hoarsely, barely able to speak his name. It seemed that slaying a young girl’s guard dog would be reckless for Rylen, but I could do little more than say his name, for my mind was shattering.

“Are you the Commander here?” The girl repeated, frowning at me. The mabari snarled viciously, snapping its jaws.

“I am,” I ground out, forcing myself to look at the girl. Up close, she reminded me less of Mia, with her green eyes – and even the shape of them… they are more almond-shaped than Mia’s. And Mia had a birthmark under her left eye – this girl doesn’t.

“Pleased to meet you,” the girl replied, though she did not look pleased. I was still effectively speechless, staring at her, mind reeling. I thrust out a hand to grab at Rylen so he wouldn’t cut down the mabari, and grappled with his shoulder. The girl continued, heedless of Rylen and his standoff with her mabari. “I’d like to ask you if I can train with your soldiers. I have experience, and my own sword.” She drew the sword from its sheath a few inches for good measure, looking at me pointedly.

Rylen guffawed so loudly, I was certain that the mabari would lunge for him.

The girl pivoted to scowl at him. Scowl! This is funny to me, now, as I write this. At the time, I was stunned.

“Experience?!” Rylen still held his sword out to the mabari, which had not advanced yet, mercifully. I glanced between the war dog’s bared teeth and the girl. “What experience?!”

“I’ve trained with the Kingsguard, and the King himself!” The girl answered him haughtily, still gripping the sword’s hilt, before turning to me again. “All I want is to have a swordsman to keep up my training, Ser Commander.”

“Get the hell out of here, girl-”

“Wait.” I finally found my voice, hoarse as it was. I didn’t lessen my grip on Rylen’s shoulder, and indeed, I nearly yanked him over the desk towards me.

“If you can’t lend a soldier, then I’ll take a dummy to practice on,” the girl said, lifting her chin stubbornly at me. I remember thinking, Maker, this child!

“Lend you some manners, more like,” Rylen growled, earning a vicious, jaw-snapping bark from the mabari.

“Rylen!” I huffed, hauling him backwards around the desk, more out of preservation for him than anything else.

The girl waved her free hand at the mabari, and it instantly quieted, though its teeth were still bared. I glanced at the collar around its neck; stitched leather with small metal plates, like armor to help protect it. The girl was nothing short of nobility, that was clear.

Josephine would be very upset with me if something happened to her because Rylen lost his patience.

“Who are you?” I asked, releasing Rylen.

She lifted her chin even higher and, with the arrogance of a teenager, introduced herself.

“My name is Eleanor Amell. I’d like to train with a soldier so that I don’t lose my skills while I’m here. Like I said, I’ve trained with the Kinsguard in Denerim, and I won’t get in the way-”

I held a hand up to silence her, stunned.

Eleanor Amell.

Solona Amell’s daughter.

I tried to say as much, but my throat was seizing, and suddenly, I couldn’t think. I nearly snapped my neck looking around, scanning the perimeter for the girls’ mother. Rylen must have thought me mad for it.

“You can’t train in a military camp,” Rylen said, refusing to remain quiet and just let me think for a moment. “You’re a child.”

“Why? I see no demons.”

I would have laughed if I didn’t feel like I had been punched by an ogre in the gut.

“Eleanor Amell?” I asked, my voice finally coming together to make some semblance of its normal tone.

The girl nodded, frowning at me.

“Your mother….” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I’m not sure what I was going to say, even now.

The girl – Eleanor – didn’t wait for my stammering to work itself out as she shifted her weight and glanced briefly at Rylen as if she were unimpressed by him. “My mother is Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden.”

I scanned the horizon again, looking for her, but I could not find her.

“You look nothing like her,” I said, without meaning to. She arched a brow at me. “Is your mother in Haven, too?”

Eleanor blinked at me as if I had asked her what age we were living in. But the girl seemed to have some manners, contrary to Rylen’s understanding, because she nodded and forced the faintest, barest of smiles.

“Yes. We are staying with Sister Leliana.”

“Are you?” I braced myself against the desk, feeling unsteady. “How long have you been here?”

Eleanor counted back in her head and slid her sword back fully into its sheath. “Ten days, Ser.”

“Do you want me to bring her back to her mother, Ser?” Rylen asked, growing bored.

“No,” I managed to grind out, “I will.”

“I don’t need to be brought back to my mother,” Eleanor protested, scowling again at him.

I couldn’t let this go on, though. I needed to pull myself together and get my thoughts in order. I couldn’t march Eleanor back to Solona and just stare at her open-mouthed like a fish out of water. Besides, what would I tell her about seeing her twice and saying nothing to her?

I thought I was hallucinating? I surely cannot say that to the woman who rescued me, to whom I’ve embarrassed myself more than anyone in my past.

“I – I will bring you to her,” I said, or some approximation thereof, as I reeled, thinking of what I would say once I got her there. “I was friends with your mother when we were younger,” I told the girl, meeting Rylen’s curious glance. “I will ask her about this dummy.”

“You knew her?” Eleanor asked as the mabari sat back on its haunches.

I nodded and pushed off the desk, deciding I should just get this done with so that I didn’t have time to overthink it. “I was a Templar in Ferelden’s Circle Tower before she became a Grey Warden.”

Eleanor scrutinized me, and I still cannot believe that a child as young as this has such a demeanor to make me almost feel small. It must be a result of her upbringing in the castle, a result of getting what she wants from everyone, including the King.

I expected something critical to come from the girl’s mouth, but instead, she forced another slight smile. “I’m not supposed to be down here,” Eleanor said, “but I’m so bored. My mother won’t let me do anything in Haven.”

“Maybe I can smooth things over,” I said hopefully, trying not to think too much about why this girl wouldn’t be allowed to come ‘down here.’ Does she mean the camp specifically? Obviously, children shouldn’t be allowed in a military camp, but does it have to do with me?

Is Solona Amell avoiding me as much as I’ve been avoiding the hallucination of her?

Eleanor turned and headed towards the village without waiting for me. I didn’t have time to analyze my newfound worries, so I paused and turned to Rylen.

“Do I look alright?” I asked him, my voice low.

“Ser?” Rylen countered, brows furrowed. I tried to feel if my hair was relatively in place, and Rylen scoffed. “Fine, Ser. Go on.”

In hindsight, this was frivolous of me. Solona Amell is the King’s mistress and is not open to other courtiers men interested suitors. But I have taken more care with my appearance in the last few years, and have finally found a way to tame my hair.

Last time she saw me, I had been caged and tortured. I had been unkempt, unclean, and I was ragged. Is it so wrong that I didn’t want that to be her last memory of me? If Solona Amell leaves Haven tomorrow, at least she has seen me like this, and she will never have to know how I feel inside.

I hurried after Eleanor and caught up to her where she waited at the bottom of the stairs, and I struggled for something to say.

“What should I call you, Ser?” Eleanor asked, relieving me of the pressure.

“I’m Commander Cullen,” I said, “or Ser Cullen, if you wish.”

She nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Ser Cullen.”

“And you. What are you doing in Haven, anyway?” I kept my eyes scanning the areas we walked past, looking for Solona.

“My mother says we’re here to help.” She gripped the hilt of her sword at her hip and frowned, staring off. “But I can’t do anything cooped up in the tent every day. That’s why I wanted to ask you to train.”

I could feel myself smiling a little. “I’ll see about getting you a training dummy, but any more than that, we’ll have to see. Is it just the two of you who came to Haven? No guards or anything?”

A selfish question, admittedly. One borne out of my own curiosity.

“Yes, it’s just us,” she answered, though I had wanted a more detailed explanation.

“May I see that sword, my Lady?”

Eleanor looked at me and smirked, as if I should not have called her that. As the King’s bastard daughter, does she not deserve some title, some acknowledgment when spoken to? Is she not elevated to some degree, even if she isn’t technically given the title of Princess?

Still, she drew her sword from its sheath and held it out for me, hilt first. I held it aloft and inspected it. It was castle-forged, well-balanced, well-made. A beautiful sword for a young lady, though I had never seen anything quite like it. “Impressive,” I told her. “I can’t say I’ve seen one this small before.”

“King Alistair calls it Toothpick.” She scrunched her nose at that as I offered the sword back to her, hilt first. I found it interesting that she called her father by his name and title. It seemed very formal considering his reputation for informality and humor.

“That’s not fair. At the very least, it’s a dinner knife.”

She looked at me sidelong and smiled. I returned it, trying to soothe my nerves. We were almost at Leliana’s base of operations, and I suspected I would be seeing her soon.

“Will you be staying here long?” I wondered. Another selfish question that I figured I would be too nervous to ask the girl’s mother herself.

Eleanor Amell pursed her lips and slammed her sword back in its sheath. I almost laughed at the aggression of it. Solona would have her hands full with this girl.

“I think so. Mother was thinking of heading into Orlais, though, for some books.”

Books? I didn’t have the chance to dig deeper because we came into view of Leliana’s base.

I saw her immediately, and I knew that what I had assumed were hallucinations had indeed never been to begin with. I should have felt relieved. Instead, my heart was beating so fast I thought I might collapse, and I was glad for my gloves because my hands were sweating.

Solona Amell was seated on a log bench beside a campfire with something in her lap, her attention on the bundle there. Her hair spilled around her in long locks that I remember used to smell like cloves because of the shampoo they gave to the mages in Kinloch Hold.

She was not alone, and Leliana was across the fire from her, reading something and cradling a nug tucked in her arm.

“Mother,” Eleanor began as we headed for the fire, though my steps slowed considerably. I did not deem myself welcome or acknowledged, and had the acute memory reminding me that she had run from me not once but twice! There was a very real possibility that Solona Amell would be horrified to find me approaching the campfire with her daughter beside me, and so I did not want to scare her nor intrude.

Solona looked up, her gaze finding Eleanor first. It allowed me a moment to see her before my stress took over fully.

She has aged, of course, like I have. The years have taken some of the youthfulness from her cheeks. She is no less beautiful, though.

I noted her green eyes, the planes of her face, and felt… nervous, yes, but something else. Solemn, maybe. She arched a brow at her daughter and then noticed me, several steps behind.

Her eyes flared wide, and she straightened her back, rising suddenly, as Eleanor spoke.

“Eleanor!” Solona sounded exasperated, and the bundle in her lap unfurled. It was a fur-lined cloak that she must have been repairing. “What is going on? Where have you been?”

I hung back even as her gaze flitted to me, though Eleanor answered before I even had a chance to open my mouth.

“I was only asking Commander Cullen for a swordmaster and to practice with the soldiers. He says he will give me a dummy, but it’s not fair that I should have to stop my training.”

I did not promise her a dummy, and I was about to tell Solona this, but she pivoted to look at her daughter. I caught myself glancing at her hands, looking for rings. Maker – I am truly pathetic, aren’t I?

I could find no rings, though. Not that the King would have to put a ring on her finger as his mistress. Still, would it not be a sign of a commitment?

Solona’s expression fell, and she glanced at me again. “Eleanor, we are guests here. This is not Denerim, and you cannot order these men around. Commander Cullen is in charge of the soldiers, not you. If you interrupt him again, I will forbid Leliana from giving you archery lessons.”

Eleanor looked at her mother, scandalized, and it was all I could do to suppress a smirk, though I realized at the same time that Solona just confirmed several things. She confirmed that she knew I was here as the Commander of our forces and therefore, she has seen me and avoided me as I have avoided her.

“I’m almost done with your cloak. You will finish it. I will talk to Commander Cullen about this so-called ‘dummy.’” Solona held the fur-lined cloak out to her daughter and waited.

“Mother, I-”

“Now.”

Eleanor moved begrudgingly, posture stiff. Solona watched Eleanor sit at the bench and pick up the cloak with reluctant fingers, and then turned cautiously towards me.

My breath hitched as her eyes met mine. “Can we walk, Cullen?”

“Er, uh, yes, of course, my Lady,” I stammered, like a fool, as she approached.

She reached me – or rather, found her way abreast of me, and we started to walk side-by-side away from Leliana’s camp. I kept my eyes ahead even as my periphery caught her tilting her face towards me.

“I’m not a ‘Lady,’ I have no titles.”

“Hero, then?”

She laughed. The sound of it actually startled me, a little, and I did look at her sidelong. “Maker, no. I will not tolerate that.”

I didn’t know what to say, though there were many things I wanted to tell her – needed to say – but they were all jammed together in my throat.

“Sewing is one of her most hated punishments.” Solona glanced at her daughter over her shoulder before looking at me again. “What kind of headache has my obstinate daughter caused you, Commander?”

“No headache,” I told her, willing the calm into my voice. “Though admittedly, her mabari and my second-in-command nearly came to blows. I intervened, of course, but….”

I felt that she should know how tense things had been, and I’d rather her not hear it from the girl later and think I kept it from her. Solona searched my face for a moment.

“I apologize for her, but I am not surprised that she did this. She mentioned wanting to ask you the other day, and once she has her mind set, I can hardly deter her.” She smoothed her hands over her gray dress. “So what of this dummy?”

“Is there, uh, harm in letting her use one?” I asked. “She said she is used to practicing with the Kingsguard.”

Solona crossed her arms over her chest as we walked. “It’s true. She does practice with the Kingsguard – they’re just humoring her, of course. But you have a job to do.”

“A dummy will be of no consequence,” I said amicably. “But I don’t think we have the resources to help train her right now.”

“No, of course, not.” She looked at me again and gave me a disarming, polite smile. “I will tell her. I will implore her to stay out of your way. You may just defer to me if she bothers you again. I’m sorry. She is very stubborn.”

We came to a stop, and I fell into one of my more nervous stances, resting my hands on the pommel of my sword. I looked down at her, trying to commit her face to my memory.

“She has a strong will, but you can handle her,” I said, or something along those lines. And then I threw myself over the cliff. “You slayed an archdemon. You… I never properly thanked you for saving me – for saving Kinloch Hold.” She drew in a sharp breath as I spoke, and I wondered if this topic pains her as much as it does me. Yet, I hammered on, anyway. “I was… unwell, then, and afterwards. I know I called for… for the Rite of Annulment after – I want you to know, looking back, I think differently, now. I have… I don’t know. I just – I’ve always wanted to thank you properly – or rather, apologize. I – I think I’m failing.”

Solona looked away, splaying her hands on her stomach, and I despaired. If I had had more time to prepare, perhaps I wouldn’t have bungled this so badly.

She nodded, though, biting her bottom lip, gazing distantly down at the rest of Haven. I had the urge to slide my hands to her face, press my lips to hers, and kiss her. The one thing I wanted but could never have. It is an intrusive, impulsive thought, and would be so easy to do – just reach across the distance between us, but I stuffed the urge away. That would be total, utter madness, and can exist only in my thoughts and fantasies.

“I understand, Cullen,” she replied quietly, and then shook her head. “I’m proud of you – to withstand that, and to be here today.” She gestured to me vaguely. “To be here as Commander of an army. Congratulations, you’ve earned it.”

I was flushing, then, both from my intrusive thoughts but also from her compliment and the nearness of her. “Thank you,” I told her. “I hope I’m worthy.”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “You are, I’m sure. Not that I’m a judge of anything. I… shouldn’t keep you from your duties, I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

I was disappointed, frankly, for our conversation to end so quickly. For her to turn away so quickly… but what else could I have done? It’s not like she would leave the King for me. And why in Thedas is that even crossing my mind? I’m being ridiculous. I must just take this moment and be glad for it, shouldn’t I?

“I -yes,” I stammered, trying to smother my disappointment. “We will build her a practice dummy and set it up over here, by Leliana’s tent.”

She glanced over her shoulder and frowned at me. “That won’t do.” I think I caught her lips twitching towards a smile. “You’ll have to put it near where your men train, or she will feel excluded. As long as you think she’ll be safe.”

“She will be,” I said seriously. “No one will bother her.”

She considered this for a moment and then nodded, sighing. “I suppose I will hear an earful if that turns out not to be the case.”

I chuckled, though I wonder if I should have said something else. I tended to agree with her sentiment. Eleanor did not strike me as the meek, passive type.

Solona folded her hands and gave me the slightest nod, as if ready to duck away, and then she paused, eyes finding me. “Thank you, Commander Cullen, for returning her and for your hospitality. I apologize again for her. I-”

I waved it off. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

The breeze tossed the faintest strand of hair into her face, and I longed to reach for it and tuck it behind her ear, if only to gain a clearer view of her face, and to touch her.

Maker!

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, glancing at me. “Thank you,” she repeated, and then ducked, turning away.

I felt desperate for more, but she was gone, and I watched her leave. I watched the sway of her hair down her back, the graceful, controlled way she carried herself – battle hardened and yet, feminine. I studied the tension in her shoulders as she returned to Leliana’s camp and stood over Eleanor, saying something to her daughter.

I tore my gaze away with force and marched back to the soldiers’ camp, flooding with despair. My mind was racing, and I could not draw a coherent thought from another. I felt like I had been dying of thirst in a desert, and the last of my water had slipped through my fingers.

She had not accepted my apology, had she?

Chapter Text

10th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I must think of other things.

The army is growing by the day. A good number of new recruits are former Templars who, like me, have become disillusioned with the Order. I had been speaking with a small group of them, and had naively assumed that their reasons for leaving were the same as mine, but I learned I was wrong.

One of them, Greshan, explained that he left because he wasn’t given leave to marry the woman he wanted to. Another, Perry, left because of a conflict with his Knight Captain that was supposedly irreconcilable – and he was cagey about this, I’ll admit. Although I worry about insubordination, I’m allowing everyone to start over here.

My reasons, though… I had expected to hear them echoed among the other recruits with more frequency. The Order had fashioned us to punish and oppress mages under the guise of righteousness, claiming our ways and code were Maker-ascribed. We have done – I have done – horrible things in the name of the Maker because of my position and duty to the Order.

No wonder she has not forgiven -

This is not supposed to be about her.

All this to say that I had a crisis of faith. I believe in the Maker, still. But the Chantry? The swords that mankind has fashioned to wield in the Maker’s name? I reject these things, now, I think.

A part of me worries that I am rebuilding the Templars, with so many recruits leaving them and coming to me, for reasons that I believe are lesser. If one takes all the wooden planks of a ship apart to rebuild a ship, is it truly a new ship? Or is the the same ship, just put together in another way?

I will take them all the same, but I must be diligent. We are the Inquisition, not the Order. We have the Herald, and people have started to flock to us because of her. A prophet, some argue. Do I agree? No, but at the same time, we benefit from it, and I will keep quiet on these matters as long as it will further our cause. But isn’t that the problem; an echo of the same cycle that I’ve done before?

We cannot follow in the footsteps of the Order; wielding recklessness and power under the guise of righteousness.

I had three hours of sleep, mercifully. It did not come without a cost.

The more I try not to think about her, the more difficult it will be, I think, because my nightmare was about her. As they used to be.

Immediately after Kinloch Hold’s fall, my nightmares were constant and varied, but many of them involved what the Desire Demon showed me. Fantasies about her – a variety of them, indeed, as it tried everything to break me. Not all the fantasies were lewd. Some were innocent, idyllic, chaste – they involved things like marriage and children. Some were not so – I cannot write them here – they must live in my mind alone, but I can only say that they spoke to my basic desires.

Everything the Desire Demon showed me began good. Every vision was something I wanted, ached for. Yet, I somehow knew I was being held hostage, and as I resisted, vision after vision devolved into something else, something wicked. As I resisted, the demon lost its patience. Every single vision twisted into something disgusting or depraved; if it could not break me by temptation, it tried to do so by terrorizing me. Every vision ended horrifically until I was shaking, crying out, begging the demon to leave me.

There is one that the demon let me just… have to myself. That didn’t devolve into complete wretchedness. As if an act of mercy, or just another manipulation. I’ll never know, nor do I care to.

But I digress – my point in this is that after Kinloch Hold, my nightmares consisted of what the Desire Demon showed me and of everything else I saw at Kinloch Hold. My friends killed around me, and everything else. As the years went on, I had fewer nightmares about Amell – or rather, the fantasies the Desire Demon showed me – and more about the rest of it, about being trapped, being held in that cage, about my friends.

I’m not sure why there was a shift over time, but there was.

And now, last night, I had a nightmare relating to what the Desire Demon has shown me. These types of nightmares are so rare now, but I suppose if Amell is nearby and in my conscious thought, then I should expect these to pop up.

I don’t know how to stop it.

Chapter Text

11th of Harvestmere, 9:41

Scout Lace Harding offered me some tea today. It doesn’t quench my thirst, but it smells so familiar. I’m drinking it right now, and I think I remember where I know it from. This is the same tea Mother drank.

It’s hard to remember her face, now. When I think of her, it seems I can only remember her from the shoulders, down. I can still feel the callouses of her fingers as she wiped away smudges of ash or dirt from my face, and the way that her long, blond curls would spill around her face, a face I can hardly remember.

Even with four children, she always made time for each of us every day.

I wonder how she died, and how Father died. In the Blight. That’s all I know. I hadn’t wanted to know anymore, and Mia’s letter had been so brief – they were still fleeing across Ferelden at the time. I can’t blame her for it, it was more important to make it safely across the country with Rosalie and Branson – just teenagers at the time – than to fill me in on the details. I’m sure Mia was grieving heavily.

I hadn’t even responded to that letter after she’d sent it.

I want to have a relationship with them, but with every week, month, and year that passes, my excuses grows, and my avoidance becomes easier. I feel more ashamed with myself that I cannot just pick up this damn quill and write to her, and apologize.

I suppose I am afraid she wouldn’t accept my apology, like Amell.

If a dog bites you enough, you will stop trying to pet it. And so here I am, my life defined by work and nothing more.

Amell had not avoided me once. She sought me out multiple times. Dare I say, she pursued me. I’m still not sure what she could have expected at the time. I was devoted to the Order, and even if I had entertained her, we could never have been anything more than just hidden trysts in the dark. Does she not deserve better than that?

I had not meant to go off on this tangent. Perhaps this is another withdrawal symptom, or it’s just a thread of the obsessive thinking, of which I mentioned I am particularly vulnerable to. I always have been - more than my peers - focused. I am like a hound on a scent trail, and nothing diverts me. It is infuriating to myself, and I can only imagine how it is to others.

When I sat down here, I meant to describe a few things. Perhaps I should get back to that and the events of the day.

Harritt has helped with the letter to Jader. If all goes well, it will help our supply lines and solve our bottlenecks. Our growth with our soldiers is steady, and we need more weapons and armor. Harriett’s work is impressive, and he is efficient, but Haven’s forge was never meant to accommodate an army, even as small as this one is.

We have built more training dummies. There is one slightly separated from the others, and I have asked that it be marked, carved with the name ‘Eleanor’.

Though the dummy is ready, I have not found my courage to approach the girl or her mother to let them know. I could send a runner to pass the information along, but-

In other news, the Herald has closed another fade rift not far east of here. I have avoided more of Lady Josephine’s prodding and scheming. There is a newly arrived Qunari named ‘Iron Bull’ who has arrived with a motley crew of mercenaries – the Herald recruited them on her last trip.

Work is building, growing. Haven is filled with people. In many ways, I am glad to be here on this mountainside, with the air fresh and cold and very Ferelden blowing in. I am glad for the abundance of trees, the silence in the early mornings, the keening cries of the loons in the lakes. I am glad that Haven is not Kirkwall, where mages and Templars were at each other’s throats, far worse than here.

In another way, I stand out here. I have stepped outside of the Order; their structure, rules, and boundaries. I have greater autonomy than I’ve ever had in my life, and so many eyes upon me. I drink this Ferelden tea and I think about my mother, and then about Mia, and then about all the things I lack.

Someday, if we are lucky, we will no longer be needed. The Breach will be closed. I will be nothing. What will be my reasons for denying the lyrium, then?

Chapter Text

12th of Harvestmere, 9:41

It seems I did not need to tell Eleanor Amell about her dummy being ready.

I had not slept, and my eyes were crossing after spending three hours in the dim light of my cabin planning our strategies for the next assault upon the Breach; whenever that is. I have finally been given a more accurate and updated map of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, post-explosion. I cannot send my entire army all in a column like in great battles that are written about. The Temple has been all but leveled, and my forces can only get into it by taking certain paths, with only modest groups able to fit in these areas. I have to be strategic about the placement of my men as well as the ratios of archers to swordsmen, and what have you.

Anyway, I decided to take a break and warm up, as I didn’t feel like rekindling the fire in my hearth when the sun would be just about to rise. I donned my armor and planned to do some swordplay down at the soldiers’ camp.

As I approached the camp, all was quiet. Although I may never sleep, it seems that the rest of the soldiers quite enjoy sleeping and seize the opportunity to do so whenever they can. I would too, if I could.

I noticed a small figure in the pre-dawn light spinning, lunging, thrusting at the dummy. Her mabari was curled up on the ground nearby, half-asleep. As I neared, I realized who it was, and I felt overcome by the same thrilling anticipation that I used to feel when I would be assigned a rotation that would align with Solona Amell’s presence in Kinloch Hold.

Knowing the girl was there, I found myself searching immediately for her mother, but she wasn’t around. Indeed, Eleanor Amell was the only one in the dummy area at this hour.

It helped me calm down significantly, though not completely. I was still mindful that she could come looking for her daughter, and that at any moment I might come face-to-face with her again.

Regardless, I passed Eleanor with a simple ‘my Lady’ as she looked over her shoulder at me, attention drawn by my footsteps, and took my place at another dummy. It wasn’t the one beside hers – but rather several down.

Eleanor’s is separate, as I had ordered, though still close to the camp. If we spoke loudly, we could talk to each other.

Which we did.

“I’m not a Lady, you know.”

I was warming up by then, rolling my shoulders and going through the motions with my sword and shield, when the girl corrected me. I was reminded of Solona’s correction and snorted, looking sidelong at her.

“Oh, apologies,” I said, wishing I had something more clever to say. “Is there a different title I should call you?”

I did not look at her when she answered, but she said, “No. Titles are for nobility.”

I nodded at her clarification. I still find this interesting, and am glad I didn’t say the first thing that popped into my mind; aren’t you the King’s daughter? Who is more noble than you?

He has never legitimized or publicly acknowledged her as his blood, though, as far as I understand. I would have to ask Lady Josephine to be certain – or Solona, though that would be quite intrusive of me.

“That’s true,” I said instead, and I swung at the dummy. I moved for a few moments, working in familiar, fluid movements that have become second-nature. I’d prefer to spar with a person, of course, but a dummy is better than pacing in my cabin.

“Thank you for letting me have the training dummy,” Eleanor said after a few minutes.

I paused and looked at her briefly. “Of course.” I turned back to the dummy. “Did you ever finish repairing the cloak?”

“I hate sewing.”

I snorted in reply and looked at her again as she stabbed the dummy with her Toothpick.

“Why don’t you wear the uniform?” She asked me, also pausing after drawing her sword from the dummy.

“I am wearing my uniform,” I said, confused.

She looked ready to argue, brows drawing in tight. “But you said you’re a Templar. Where is your skirt?”

The mind of children, I thought. I chuckled slightly. “I used to be a Templar,” I clarified, “but not anymore. I left them a few months ago.”

She studied me for a moment and then nodded. “Oh. Did you know my father? He was a Templar, too.”

Alistair Theirin was never a Templar, as he did not take vows, but I did not say this to her. For some reason, I would have expected her to obstinately argue with me if I did.

“Not well.”

She waved her sword point in circles at her side, looking at me. “What was his name?”

“Er, what?”

I have to admit, I was confused. I imagined I had heard her wrong, or that this was some kind of test. I almost blurted out the King’s name, and then she said,

“My mother won’t tell me. Not until I'm sixteen.”

My jaw snapped shut.

My mother won’t tell me.

Eleanor Amell’s father was a Templar. She doesn’t know his name, and Solona won’t tell her. What?

“So what is his name?” She asked me, again.

I was burning alive; my ears, my cheeks. I felt trapped in a corner and had the dreaded sense that this conversation would get back to Amell somehow, and my awful blundering would make her upset with me. Suddenly, I feared she would think I was prying.

“I, uh. I don’t know.” I scrambled for anything to say. “I kept to myself in training.”

She shrugged and turned back to the dummy. I breathed a sigh of relief with her attention diverted, and tried to gain my bearings.

My mother won’t tell me.

In the moment, I did not think this, but I understand now – there are plenty of reasons for Solona Amell and King Alistair to keep Eleanor’s paternity hidden from her.

Safety, I suppose, being the forefront. Though… if everyone – like me - suspects Eleanor is the King’s bastard daughter, is she truly safe? It hardly seems that her own suspicions matter if the rest of Thedas believes it. If the King goes on to marry and have true heirs, will she not be just at risk as she is now, legitimized or not?

Beyond that, if the King did decide to pursue other options beyond having just a mistress – or girlfriend, however he sees Amell – it would probably be less painful for the girl not to know he is her father even in the first place.

It is not like he can marry Amell, given that she is a mage and he is the King of Ferelden. Someone else could, but not him. Of this I am quite certain.

So if he wants his line to continue, he must legitimize Eleanor, or marry someone else and produce heirs – neither of which he has done.

Maker’s breath, I am spending too much time thinking about this. Obsessive thinking, today – check.

“How is the dummy?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“A little tall,” she replied, and I arched a brow, looking over. She was right. We hadn’t made the dummy for a child, but rather an adult, and had just labeled it for her. Admittedly, it was an oversight on my part, albeit a minor one.

“Oh. Right. Well, I don’t expect you’ll be fighting many other children, will you?”

She laughed.

We kept training with our respective dummies, making occasional small talk. I don’t remember much of what was said. She asked if I had ever fought an abomination. I said yes. She asked why I left the Templars.

I didn’t know what to say to a child.

Thankfully, I was rescued by Solona Amell, yet again, and did not have to answer.

“Eleanor, sun’s up, time to go!”

I turned reflexively towards her voice and caught her gaze with mine. She had a shawl wrapped around her, breath steaming in the cold morning air, and her hair was unbound around her shoulders. In short, she was a vision.

She smiled politely at me and took a few steps forward. “Commander Cullen.”

“Amell.” I said, then wanted to smack myself. What is she, a recruit? “I mean. Er, Solona.”

I don’t know if I had said her name out loud in years. I can’t describe how it felt other than I felt like I was on fire as I said it.

“Is Eleanor minding her manners?” Solona asked me, tugging the shawl around her.

I smirked. “She’s fine, not a bother.”

“You’re up early,” she commented, her breath misting. I could see Eleanor in my periphery take a final swing at the dummy and then drop down to pet her mabari behind the ears.

“It’s a good time for me to be down here,” I said, not a lie, but certainly not the bare-bones truth. “How are you? Are you settled into Haven?”

Never mind that they had been here for over a week now. I just had nothing else I could reasonably think of to say.

Solona shifted on her feet and glanced over her shoulder at her daughter. “It’s different than when I was here a decade ago. A lot more soldiers.” She smirked at me. “But I’m glad to be here.”

I didn’t realize she had been here during the Blight. Whether this is common knowledge or not, I don’t know. I was not in a state at the time to know these things, not during Uldred times.

“Eleanor says you need to go to Orlais for some books?” In hindsight, I wish I had phrased it differently. I wish I had told her, ‘I’m glad you’re here, too.’ An opportunity squandered, like many others in my life. I could have even simply asked her what she was doing here, instead of showing my hand that Eleanor and I had been discussing her behind her back.

Solona scoffed and glanced at the sunrise behind me. “I… maybe. I had wanted to make it here by the time of the Conclave, but I missed it. By quite some time.” I thanked the Maker silently for that. “I’m trying to do some research, and a few other things.”

I wanted to ask what her research was about, but she looked over her shoulder at Eleanor. “We should go. I’m trying to keep her away from your camp while your soldiers are up. I don’t want you to have more to deal with than you do.”

I sputtered. “Uh, I – it’s no issue, er, truly. She’s welcome to it,” I said, gesturing to the dummy, “and the men know to leave her alone.”

Solona smiled patiently at me. “Maybe if she earns it. Yesterday, she was bothering your smith for a shield. A shield! For a nine-year-old girl.”

I snorted, genuinely amused as I glanced at Eleanor, rubbing the mabari’s belly. I imagined her threatening Harritt with the King’s wrath if she didn’t get her way.

“Is Harritt going to make her one?”

“I forbid him. It’s not that I have a problem with her having a shield, but she is… well… you’ve seen her… nature.” Solona shook her head. “I think you keep him busy enough, anyway. Alright. I won’t take up more of your time.” Please do, I thought. “Thank you, Cullen.”

I didn’t know what she was thanking me for, but I nodded. “Of course. Anytime.”

She smiled politely and turned away, and I watched her snap her fingers. The mabari snapped to attention, and Eleanor followed, glancing at me over her shoulder as they left. They were quite the sight, the three of them. Solona’s brown, flowing locks down her back, with the midnight black mabari between them, and the golden-haired girl on the other side.

I had a momentary, fleeting thought where I wondered what effect Eleanor’s paternity has on Solona’s relationship with the King. If he will not legitimize her, and Solona cannot tell her who her father is, will that not strain their relationship? Is that not a chink in their chain?

I do not claim to be an expert on women, nor on intimate relationships or motherhood. I think it is fair to say, however, that a woman would seek security for her child and even prioritize it over all else. Security would be borne in Alistair’s declaration of her as his heir. With it, Eleanor could ensure safety, financial freedom, and power for a lifetime.

If the King will not legitimize her or declare his relationship with Solona, then what does that mean for them moving forward?

Another thought – he does not have to legitimize her publicly and officially for Eleanor to know the truth. Why hasn’t he told her yet?

I am giving in to my obsessions. I fear I cannot help it. How do I stop that? How do I interrupt my thoughts as they careen towards oblivion? I must busy myself.

Back to the fact that she has arrived here without a guarded escort. I could certainly say that I would – if I had a wife, or a woman to whom I had been committed for over a decade, and a child! – I would insist on a guard to see them safely across Ferelden in such dangerous times as these. There are a number of threats between here and Denerim; fade rifts, Venatori, the Mage-Templar War, not to mention all the threats that were already there before a year ago (bears, wolves, what have you).

Solona Amell is a force to be reckoned with in her own right, but if she were mine – if that were my family – I would protect them with everything I had.

He has the resources to do so. He is the King. A few dozen guards is nothing to him.

So why did they come here alone?

Did he even know she was leaving?

Maker, I need to stop thinking about this. I’m going to put the journal away for now and find something else to do. Andraste knows there’s plenty to keep me occupied.

Chapter Text

13th of Harvestmere, 9:41

When I first arrived to Kirkwall, I became very ill for a week. It was some type of flu, supposedly brought on by the new city, which I found filthy and repugnant at the time, though a new slate. I was delirious from two weeks of sailing across the Waking Sea without adequate sleep, often nodding off on the upper decks. I’m sure my refusal to go below deck for any measure of rest didn’t help me avoid getting sick.

It was either panic in the cramped, dark cabin below with other Fereldens and cargo, or fall asleep while standing as the sailors moved around me irritably, thinking I was half-mad. I was, I suppose, at the time. I only wanted to serve the Order, still, despite the horrors I had seen. Only, Uldred had twisted my sense of duty into something far more radical, far sterner.

I’m digressing-

I remember coming down with muscle aches that felt like they penetrated my very bones. Every movement gripped me with pain. I remember getting pummeled in training because it hurt too much to lift my shield or swing my blade.

I ache worse, now. When I rise from my chair, I worry my knees will buckle sometimes. It’s not all the time, of course, but today it is substantial. It is cold and blustery, and the morning started off with a penetrating rain.

I made my rounds this morning: to the soldiers’ camp, to Harriett’s, to the War room, and back to my cabin. I collapsed onto my chair here at my desk after mustering the strength to throw some logs in the hearth and get that started.

I came here as soon as I reasonably could, without rousing suspicion. With the Inquisitor gone, there is more breathing room, I suppose, though guilt eats at me. She is out there facing horrors and trying to establish our name through the realms, and I am here, self-pitying.

At least the ache draws my attention away from other matters. That, I will just say simply, or risk my mind getting the better of me. I saw neither her nor her daughter today, and perhaps that is a blessing. I’d prefer fewer people see me this way – as incapacitated as I am.

I’ve learned – though haven’t written it, yet – that the aches often come with other symptoms. Most often, cravings, the unquenchable thirst, fatigue. Today, I have it all.

I’ve drunk all the tea, water, and watered-down wine that I have in my cabin. If I’m to have anything else to drink, I’ll need to go to the tavern or ask someone to fetch me some (which I will not do). The lyrium I have hidden in my desk and calls to me when I feel the thirst. Maybe the walk to the tavern would do me some good – to put some distance between myself and the vial.

Perhaps I should go to the tavern and have a drink of something. Then I can return and fall asleep, Maker-willing. For just an hour or two.

I am… I should write about what happened. Andraste knows I could not fall asleep now if I tried.

I walked to Haven’s tavern, my mouth and throat feeling irreparably dry despite having consumed every liquid in my cabin, save the lyrium. My body groaned with every step, and the wind was biting.

Naturally, on a night such as this, the tavern was filled with patrons, many of them my soldiers. I barely sent a glance around as I stepped through the threshold and into the sounds of the lyre and laughter. I made a direct line for the bar, intent to take a drink there and head back to my cabin without making conversation with anyone.

When I am racked with withdrawals, I want to hide more than anything. I do not always have this luxury as Commander, of course.

There were no available barstools, so I stood with my hip against the bar and flattened a gloved palm on the bartop.

Flissa spotted me quickly and hurried over after depositing three mugs of ale down at a table in front of three of my men. I ordered an ale and remained standing, glancing around to see if there was an open table for me to sit at by myself, preferably without room for more chairs, so that no one would take it as an invitation to join me.

The door to the tavern opened, and in stepped none other than Amell.

I soared and despaired simultaneously. I did not want her to see me like this, and nor do I think it is a particularly flattering look to find me alone and drinking.

Her eyes found me instantly – and there was the briefest moment where I thought she was going to turn around and leave. I held my breath, unable to tear my gaze away from her, as she paused, the door shutting closed at her back.

Then she strode across the tavern towards me and rubbed her palms together as if to warm them. I straightened and took a marginal step back, nearly knocking into the person on the barstool behind me, trying to give her room if she wanted to stand before me.

“Commander,” she said, and my face heated as my hands suddenly felt like they had to go somewhere. I gripped the ale with one hand and with the other, anchored it into my opposite elbow.

“Er, you can just call me ‘Cullen,’” I stammered, ever the conversationalist. “No need for formalities.”

Solona had enough room to stand before me at the bar and rested her hands on it. I looked at her hands, which I perceived as delicate and slender, and felt like she was just so remarkably close, and I couldn’t think.

“I did not take you for the tavern-going type,” she remarked, arching a brow at me before she glanced at Flissa, who was busy with her back to us.

“I’m not.” I was eager to prove myself. “I ran out of things to drink in my cabin.” Realizing how odd that sounded, I tried to recover and began to stammer again. “I, uh, came here just for one drink.”

She smirked at me, and her voice was not taunting as she spoke. “You work so hard, Cullen. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did come here to unwind for a few minutes.”

I nodded, initially unsure of how to respond. My body aches were momentarily forgotten. “And you? What are you doing here?” Meeting someone?, I wanted to ask, but restrained myself. Barely.

She glanced around at the patrons. “I was told there was an elf that walks the Fade named ‘Solas.’ I was hoping to find him and speak with him.”

She was so close, I could easily wrap an arm around both of her shoulders. It made me almost dizzy, but I focused on her words and tried to look at her only in brief spurts so as to not get overwhelmed. “Solas? I don’t think he spends much time in the tavern, but he’s been staying nearby. Why do you need to speak with him?”

I was prying, I knew.

At that moment, Flissa interrupted.

“Can I get you something, dear?”

Solona glanced at my drink and then at Flissa. Her eyes flitted to me. “Can I stay with you?”

Please, I almost said. “Yes.”

Solona turned to Flissa. “I’ll take a glass of wine, please.”

I knew Flissa would gossip about this, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I still don’t.

She angled her body towards mine, and I distinctly realized that she hadn’t come in here to see me, but she was willing to stay to – what? talk to me? My heart, which felt like it couldn’t have possibly beaten any more powerfully, began sputtering worse. She continued to speak.

“I am trying to research some things, and Leliana suggested I pick his brain.” The light of the tavern cast her in this glow that just….

“May I ask what you are researching?” Maker, she was going to make me work for it. I could feel myself getting almost unbearably warm under my gorget and my layers.

Solona cast a sidelong glance around us, as if to figure out who would overhear. I suppose she should use discretion, but I was burning to know anything. Anything at all.

“Do you know anything about Grey Wardens, Cullen? And what happens to them when they start to get… older?”

I did, but I was under no impression that I knew everything about it, or even about what she had been referring to in this conversation. So I forced myself to breathe as I answered, “Do you mean the Calling?”

Her green eyes widened at me in surprise as Flissa slid her a glass of wine. She thanked the barkeep and turned the glass in her hands, head tilted toward the side as if considering her answer.

“Precisely. I am trying to find some answers – ideally, how to stop it from happening.” Solona took a sip of her wine and set it down on the bar. I couldn’t think straight with her so close. “I’ve been on the hunt for some time, but I don’t feel much closer to any answers, or the answer that I want.”

I had a thousand things I wanted to say and ask her. I honed in on one. “And Solas being able to walk the Fade is a lead for you? How so?”

She pursed her lips, and I caught her glance at my scar. I’ve been told it makes me look ruggedly handsome, that it contrasts my ‘prettiness’ as the other women put it. I wondered what she thought of it.

“The Calling is caused by the Blight in my veins, just… over time, building. There is a theory that spirits can reverse things like Tranquility. I am curious if they can have a similar effect on… the Blight.”

I felt my jaw clench, and also had the sense that she was studying me acutely for my reaction, as if this were a test of sorts. Until the other day, the last time I had seen her, I had been raving and demanding the slaughter of all the mages in the Circle Tower. I believed corruption was everywhere.

I was speechless, though, and then I was glad for it. I could not have trusted myself with whatever words were going to leap from my mouth.

She continued. “I never wanted to be a Warden. And I was told that Wardens couldn’t have offspring.” She snorted softly and took another sip of her wine. “I know you will judge me for it, but I have to think about her future. If I have the Calling – and it’s irresistible, they say – who will care for her?”

“Her father,” I said instantly.

She looked at me. Somehow, it seemed like I had said the wrong thing, though she said nothing of the sort.

“Yes, well…” she drifted off, and took a sip of her wine again. “I… I want to stick around as long as I can. Even if she is independent in a few years, I’d like to be there. I didn’t have my mother.”

How dense of me. I had jumped immediately to solve the problem, that her father could watch her. But I did not have the time to self-flagellate in the moment.

“You were taken to Kinloch Hold early, weren’t you?” At least I was talking in clear sentences.

She nodded, searching my face. “Five, maybe. I’m not sure.”

I don’t know if I have ever truly stopped to consider what it is like to grow up in the Circle, especially at that young an age. I should have thought about this before – but truthfully, I haven’t. In the moment, I could not reflect on it, because I had to use all of my faculties to focus and not implode from the inside.

Now, though, I must say I am glad she got out to be a Warden, even if she was reluctant. I am glad I never accepted her pursuit of me. The Circle was all she knew at the time. If all you know is a cage, is it healthy to adore your captor?

“So young,” I murmured.

“And you.” She arched a brow, and I felt myself draw to full attention, my breath caught with the attention turned on me. “Youngest Templar in Kinloch Hold, at the time. You left the Order. Care to talk about it?”

I supposed we would gloss over her Fade-walking, spirit-cleansing inquiry with Solas, and for now, I was inclined to comply. I did not want to ruin this moment.

I had all but forgotten about my ale. It was a place to keep my hand busy where I gripped it with such force that my hand ached. “I… yes. I… served in Kirkwall after Kinloch Hold, and things…” I could not look at her as I said this – all too aware of the despicable things I was a part of – “…spiraled out of control. I…” I felt very hot, and I have become accustomed to the feeling of my neck when it flushes, and felt it then, “… was not my best for some years. But I saw, eventually, that the Order was not as I had idealized it to be.”

I squeezed the inside of my elbow to keep my mind from flying off, acutely aware of her green eyes upon me, though I could not stomach to meet her. Her judgment felt too much.

“I left home when I was thirteen to become a Templar,” I told her. “All this time I thought I was doing good. I wanted to protect the public from mages, yes, but I also wanted to protect mages. As I became Knight Commander, I got to see it – really see it – for what it was.”

I could go no further. At least, not without input from her.

“And what is that?” She asked.

I risked a glance at her, found her to be leaning against the bar top, studying me calmly. Any hint of disgust I expected to find was simply not there.

“A tool of control and oppression against the mages and the Templars, alike.” I cleared my throat. “All of it under the guise of righteousness. I could not be a part of it anymore.”

I was looking over her head, unable to meet her gaze, but a few moments passed, and she had not said anything, so I began to panic. When I looked at her, she had the faintest smile.

“Remarkable.” She paused, and I felt my eyes tighten, trying to catch the slightest change in her features. She tapped a finger to the side of her wineglass. “So what do you think should be done about mages?”

I was honored, I think, that she wanted my opinion on the matter. I dug into the crook of my elbow hard, as if anchoring myself as I prepared my answer.

“They should not be prisoners, certainly, though… I do believe magic should still be monitored. Mages should feel safe and supported, allowed to do their research and practice in peace, with restrained oversight. Templars should not be jailers. And Templars should not be controlled as they are, either.”

Again, I awaited judgment. Solona was silent for a moment, and when I finally dropped my gaze to her again, she reached out. Her fingers rested on my vambrace – on the cold steel, and the flaming sword hammered into the metal. It is my last remaining armor piece from my time served as a Templar, and I don’t know why I haven’t replaced it yet.

It fits well. They are just vambraces, peripheral pieces of armor by nature – much like the role I wish my past the Order will take on my life. Everything I think of is an excuse as to why I haven’t discarded them entirely.

Both of us watched her fingertips graze my vambrace. It was a silent call-out, I think, an acknowledgement of my hypocrisy.

“I gave up lyrium,” I said, just as I saw her about to draw her hand away.

I was flailing inside to say such a thing. I took her acute observation of my vambrace as a silent, unfavorable judgment and felt that I had to convince her of my integrity.

“You did?” Her hand froze in the open space between us. My throat was tight and dry. She studied me. “Cullen. When?”

“Uh, two months ago.”

She thought about this, eyes pinned on my breastplate as if she were doing some calculation in her mind. I released the crook of my elbow and nearly took her hand in mine, because she was just holding it there in the open space.

“How did you do it?” She murmured quietly, intrigued. “Did you do it gradually?”

Flissa hurried past, and that should have been my cue to pay attention to anyone around us, but I didn’t.

“I stopped suddenly.”

She blinked. “That’s -” dangerous. I could almost fill in the word for her. Instead, she redirected herself. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” I answered automatically. Her brow furrowed as she finally held her wineglass in both hands again. “I am.”

“I hope so.” She was clearly skeptical. “Why did you do it?”

She drank more wine as I answered. “I only wanted some control over my own life.”

She shut her eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Good for you. I wish you success. If you need any healing… my healing hasn’t improved much, I’m afraid.”

I snorted, and she smiled.

I frankly had forgotten about the aches, too distracted by our conversation. My mouth felt dry, though, so I took my first swig of ale since she had arrived, and accidentally slammed my mug down with a little too much force.

I wanted to move past the topic of lyrium withdrawals, anyway, so I was thankful when she said, “May I ask you – in Kirkwall, was there a mage there by the name of Amell?”

“No. Why?” I would know, certainly. I would have been driven into a tailspin if there had been.

She tapped her finger to her wineglass again, frowning. “I’ve learned that I have – or had – siblings that were sent to separate Circles. I’ve been trying to find them, I suppose. Kirkwall seemed too… easy, though. My cousin didn’t think I had anyone in Kirkwall, either.”

“Hawke?”

“And his sister.”

My chest was so tight, thinking that she and Hawke have conversed– he and Bethany knew know so much about me. Most of it is unpleasant. Unflattering. I thought I was going to collapse standing there, thinking about all the ways she might judge me. My ale had hardly been touched.

“No, there were no mages with your name.” That I knew of. I hardly knew all of the mages. “I’d remember if I heard the name. I could ask a few of my men. Rylen was Knight Captain of Starkhaven – perhaps he would remember if there was an Amell there.”

She set her empty wineglass down on the bar. “Wishful thinking, maybe. Thank you. I should go. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

I despaired. “Wait. I’ll… walk you back?”

“Surely you have someone who would be… unhappy, if you did.” Her green eyes watched me beneath her lashes, lips tilted almost playfully.

I wasn’t sure at first what she meant, and then I shook my head. “No. No, I don’t.”

Though perhaps that was a polite way to dismiss me. If it was, I didn’t see it as such in the moment. As I’ve mentioned, I’m no expert in intimate relationships women.

Solona seemed to hesitate. “You’ve barely touched your ale.”

I took another swig of it and pushed it across the bar. “I don’t want it, anyway.”

In hindsight, perhaps I was like a puppy running after a bone, but she finally grinned at me, and my chest fluttered. “Alright.”

I paid for our drinks, and I followed her out into the cold. I didn’t pay attention to my muscles aching.

We were too close already to where I assumed Solona and Eleanor were staying. It would be a short walk, and I didn’t want to return to my cabin just to be alone and in my thoughts with the lyrium so close.

And outside, I found myself suddenly incapable of conversation, frozen by what felt like silence around us. It was so jarring to the tavern.

She spoke, anyway. “So this is quite a departure for you. What’s next, I wonder?”

“I can’t say I wonder the same thing,” I said, stepping beside her and gripping the pommel of my sword with both hands to busy them. “I only think of our survival right now.” And you.

She nodded and folded her arms as if cold. It was cold outside, but I was so hot from my nerves, from talking with her. I wanted to tear off my armor and throw myself in the lake.

We walked the rest of the short way in silence, though I was vibrating inside with energy. I tried to force my face to be calm, my posture relaxed, but I doubt I was convincing. She was, though.

Finally, in front of Leliana’s base, she stopped and turned towards me. I thought about how she must be cold in one of the tents.

“It’s good to talk with you. Leliana was right.”

“She was?” I didn’t know what she meant.

Solona just smirked and reached out to squeeze my gloved hand on top of my sword pommel. It was the briefest touch, but it sent a jolt through me. I had been gripping my pommel like I wanted to crush the steel between my fingers. She must have thought I was mad.

And then she was gone, disappearing into a tent that I decided was too cold and dark and cramped for the Hero of Ferelden, the woman who rescued me. Not that I would have done anything about it.

Chapter Text

15th of Harvestmere, 9:41

Lady Josephine sent me cookies this morning. These types of small, kind gestures are not unusual for her (though for my part, I am often exasperated by them). Am I expected to return the favor somehow? What am I supposed to give her? I am not in the habit of giving gifts to women.

I have made little effort to get to know her, and nor do I see the point, honestly. We are here to work, and the world is waiting for no one. At the risk of sounding standoffish, I think we can work together amicably without all the frills – literally and figuratively. That being said, her heart is kind, and I felt her gestures warranted a thanks, though I didn’t want to encourage more of them.

I was making my way towards her office in the Chantry when I saw Solona emerge from inside, shut the door, and smooth her hands over her dress.

I almost turned, but her eyes caught me, and she smiled faintly. I hadn’t realized I had come to a complete and sudden stop until she started her approach.

Today, her hair was braided around her face like a crown. I don’t know if there is a name to such a thing, but it allowed me to see the delicate curve of her neck, the slope as it trailed out towards her shoulders. My heart sputtered in my chest as I finally moved, crossing a few steps in her direction as I set my fist on my sword’s pommel and reached behind my neck with the other.

“You have business with Josephine?” I asked, a blunder. It was not even a complete sentence.

She stopped within an arm’s reach. The dim light inside the Chantry played on her cool features.

“I’ve made some friends in the last decade that I hope to enlist to support the cause here, even if I have to strong-arm them. Lady Montilyet is an excellent fit for her role. I’m impressed with her.” She arched a brow at me, green eyes assessing me. “And you? Are you here to pray?”

Her tone wasn’t condescending by any measure, but I shook my head adamantly anyway. “No, I’m – uh – also here to see her.”

“Oh. I – go ahead, I don’t mean to keep you.”

“No, it’s – I’m just – I just need to thank her for a gift she sent me.”

I felt the familiar burning heat flood my throat, and I flexed my free hand at my side, irritated with myself.

Solona did not know what to say. It happened so quickly, as just a flutter of surprise over her face, before she nodded politely. “Of course-”

“It’s just cookies,” I told her. Maker, why did I feel like I had to explain myself? It wasn’t like she was even interested in me. Every time we had run into each other, it had been happenstance or because of her daughter. “She had cookies sent to me. She makes it a point to have a birthday gift for everyone, but mine has passed, you see, and I wouldn’t respond to the messengers that asked about what I wanted.”

She watched me with what I would dare say is rapt curiosity, and then smirked. “Cookies? Sticky buns are your favorite, though, aren’t they?”

I swallowed nervously, glancing over her head and noticing Mother Giselle at the far end of the room. The gossip would be muttering about us talking to the whole village by the hour.

“You remember that?” I asked, surprised. I could never forget the time she offered me one of those sticky buns as she passed me in the library, and I had taken it somewhat reluctantly, thanking her because I told her it was my favorite.

I accepted it not because it was from her, at the moment, but because Mia used to make them when we were children around the winter solstice. They reminded me of home. It had been five years by then since I had seen my family, and I was feeling nostalgic.

But I had been reluctant because I could not ‘fraternize’ with her. It sounds so ridiculous now. This is just one of the many glaring faults of the Order I notice now – empathy and human nature being stigmatized. If the Templars and mages had not seen each other as ‘other’ so much as ‘us’, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps what happened in Kirkwall would never have occurred.

And yet, I had thought I’d be punished for taking the pastry from Solona all those years ago. It was a pastry, not some relic attached to blood magic.

“I remember.” She winked at me and clasped her hands together. I wanted her to squeeze my hand again, but I doubted she would do such a thing. “I’ll tell her, if you’d like.”

“N-no,” I stammered, shifting on my feet. “The more she knows, the more she’ll- I don’t need any of this. I don’t need gifts.”

Solona smiled faintly again and dipped her chin. “Is it so bad if she wants to do something nice for you?”

I sighed long-suffering, seeing no way to explain myself without sounding like a stubborn, ornery auroch or a hypocrite. She laughed softly.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, brushing past me. I barely restrained myself from the urge to watch her leave – Mother Giselle was still watching, after all – and I strode towards Josephine’s office, glad to find my opening. The ambassador would be busy after her meeting with Solona, trying to get correspondence out, so I’d be able to make it quick. Or so I thought.

I knocked on her door and popped my head in. Lady Josephine looked up from her papers where she was writing. “Oh, Cullen! Good to see you, please come in-”

“I wanted to thank you for the cookies,” I interrupted. “They were very good. That’s all-”

She beckoned me forth hurriedly. “Good, good. Come in, there are a few things I wanted to discuss. I just met with Warden Amell.”

I suppose I was curious about their meeting, so I entered.

Josephine briefed me on several matters that she deemed important, and I began to regret my choice to enter her office until she finally broached the subject with Amell. Apparently, Solona has connections across Ferelden that she is happy to exploit for our cause, and Josephine will offer up her own connections in exchange.

“What could she possibly want from us?” I asked, hoping I sounded nonchalant. That, at least, was a genuine question. As far as I was concerned, Solona Amell could have anything she wanted, and our budding organization nestled high in the Frostbacks had limited resources to offer.

“There’s a reclusive Orlesian nobleman I may be able to convince to grant her an audience with,” Josephine said with a long-suffering sigh as I tensed. “Marquis Du Vanciement. He is a… prodigy, they say, and the Hero believes he has information for her for her studies.”

I rubbed at my jaw, thinking. “Her studies. You mean about the Calling?”

“Indeed. She has a vested interest in prolonging her life, being a mother to a young child. She worries about what would happen to her daughter if she were to… perish.”

“Eleanor Amell will never go without,” I said casually, though my chest tightened. “She’s the King’s bastard. He’d never allow harm to come to her.”

Josephine’s gaze darted over my left shoulder at her door and then back to me, narrowing as her face shuttered in shock.

“Cullen!”

I frowned at her.

“She’s not the King’s daughter. Grey Wardens can’t have children together.” Josephine’s eyes flared wide as she continued. “Cullen, have you called her the King’s bastard to her face or to her mother?”

“I, uh, I-” I felt like I had been thrown off a cliff and into the icy waters of the lake below Haven. “No, no. I haven’t, I, uh, no.”

Josephine sighed in relief and then laughed lightly. “Because that would not be-”

“What did you say?” My throat was tight, my chest was seizing. She’s not the King’s daughter.

“That wouldn’t be appropriate – or correct – to call her the King’s bast-”

“Before that.” I leaned forward and gripped the edge of her desk, as if this were the most urgent thing in the world. Josephine seemed unfazed.

“That Grey Wardens can’t have children together?”

“Yes.”

“Well, they can’t.” Josephine shifted in her seat, arching a brow at me. “Eleanor Amell’s father cannot be a Grey Warden, because if he was, she wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought Grey Wardens couldn’t have children at all.” Isn’t that what Solona had told me? “But she has one.”

Josephine could have been less polite, but that is not in her nature. She smiled. “It’s unlikely with just one Grey Warden as a parent, but impossible with two, from what I understand.”

I nodded. “This isn’t something she told you, then? That Eleanor isn’t the King’s?”

I realized I was being too insistent, then, because her eyebrows arched curiously. Josephine had wanted dearly to get to know me, and here she finally had something that arrested my attention.

“I have gathered enough to understand that King Alistair does not see himself as the father, nor does Solona Amell expect him to fill that role for her. That, coupled with what I know of Grey Warden fertility… I think it is safe to assume.”

I had to restrain myself from asking her what I truly wanted to – who is the father, then? Because now I know he was a Templar, and apparently not the King. How many Templars could she have come across in her time during the Blight? Is it someone I knew? There were so few of us after Uldred-

“Are you alright, Cullen?” She asked sweetly, but her tone was knowing. She learned something of me deeply personal at that moment, and I could not take it back. Josephine was too smart not to notice things like this. She would sense this vulnerability in me.

She could certainly learn more – she might even ask Leliana, or Amell. Both are women who have seen me behind the cage, at my worst. Whether Leliana even remembers that was me, I’m not certain, I….

I’m overwhelmed thinking that another person may uncover my past that I have tried so hard to smother.

“Er, yes. I-I, I’m just confused.” I pushed away from her desk and stood. “I – excuse me, Josephine. I must go.”

I crashed through the door to her office like a panicked horse and into the main hall of the Chantry, my heart thundering and my breath ragged.

I went straight for the soldiers’ camp, my mind reeling all the way.

I try to stand straight and tall, I throw my voice in front of my men, and in the War Room, I argue my points to the point of stubbornness. I show no break in my rigidity with my colleagues, and I have no little tolerance for anything beyond work.

But then something like this happens.

It is like the marks upon my soul hide just beneath the thinnest layer of my skin, and if I were to stretch it or flex, anyone could see me for what I truly am. It is like the scars Uldred has left me are visible if only someone squints just right, looks a little too long at me. I present myself as whole, but I am broken beneath, and if you study me, I am quickly laid bare.

Is this what Solona sees when she looks at me? Does she see the echoes of Uldred in the planes of my face, the creases of my eyes? Does she see my failings when she looks at me? Does she hear my voice screaming for the slaughter of all of the mages in her ears?

My steps pounded down to the camp. The weight of my armor barely felt like it would keep my feverish energy in. I needed to train, to spar. Though the men would be at lunch, maybe I could get someone to fight with me who would be willing to eat later. A dummy would not do, today.

I saw the girl – Eleanor – training on her dummy as I approached. She’d been practicing daily with her Toothpick sword; before the soldiers woke up, at lunch, and when the soldiers were finished for the day. I suspect Solona told the girl to make herself scarce when the camp was in full swing, though I had commanded the men to let the girl be.

With my newest information, I looked at Eleanor as if I was seeing her for the first time. The mabari lying nearby sensed my approach and cocked an ear, opening an eye, but otherwise remained sprawled in the dirt.

Eleanor swung her tiny sword at the dummy with as much strength as she could manage with her little limbs, and I studied her blond curls, the angles of her face as I hurried past.

I barely remember what the King looked like, but I know he had straight hair.

Eleanor heard my footsteps nearby and she looked over her shoulder at me. I wasn’t planning on talking to her, but I stopped. My heart was thundering, still. I felt like I was going utterly mad.

“Ser Cullen,” Eleanor paused and turned, curtseying quickly. I told myself her parentage is none of my business – and in that moment, I decided I simply cannot ask her any questions that would lead me in any direction to know more. I could not risk Solona learning that I was snooping.

Why does it matter, anyway? I still don’t even really know why I care.

I’ve never held any claim to Amell. She’s never owed me any kind of… loyalty. Fidelity? That’s just madness, on my part.

But if it is a Templar, and not the King…. What if it is someone I worked with in the Circle Tower? Did one of the men have a relationship with her that I didn’t know about? Maker’s breath – I can’t even -

What if he died there? What if the Circle falling was just as horrifying for her as it was for me?

“Eleanor,” I replied, my voice strained. I needed to see if Rylen would spar with me, soon.

Eleanor straightened and lifted her chin, shoulders squared. “I think it’s time my training moves beyond a dummy. When can I start training with a swordsman? He must be good, because as I’ve said, I have experience.”

I blinked at her and cleared my throat. “I, uh – we’ve agreed on the dummy, for now.”

Eleanor was immediately dismissive of this as she began to sheath her sword, slamming it into the sheath. “I understand, but I will get no better without help from a swordsman.”

“I have to train an army, Eleanor,” I said.

“I want to be a knight.” She crossed her arms and leveled a stare at me. Her mabari seemed unbothered, thankfully, and was barely watching us with his snout tucked into his paw. “My mother said you use a lot of Templar moves. I want to learn more.”

I made a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. She scowled at me in response.

“Do you want to be a Templar Knight?” I asked, trying to clarify. “Or a Grey Warden Knight?”

“I want to be a Templar.”

I set my jaw and nodded, looking around. “I… I can’t have someone train you. I just don’t have the resources. You… you can take it up with your mother, and she can take it up with me. But I can’t.”

“She’ll tell me ‘no.’”

I laughed. “Good to see you think she has more of a spine than I do.”

She arched a brow at me. “Huh?”

Perhaps she didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t intend to linger long. I paused. “Why do you want to be a Templar?”

She kicked at the ground, suddenly looking more like a child than she has ever seemed. “Everyone thinks I’m going to be a mage,” she told me, looking uncertain. “But it’s not good to be a mage. It’s better to be a Templar than a mage.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I tried to think. I tried to focus myself so that I could try to give this girl some sense of… something.

“What do you mean ‘it’s better’?” I asked. “I was a Templar longer than you’ve been alive. I don’t know if it’s any better.”

She tilted her head at me, skeptical. “Demons possess mages, and Templars kill mages.”

I suppressed my wince, barely. I nearly said, mages kill Templars, too, but I stopped myself. This girl did not need to think about that, or create some scenario in her mind of her mother killing a Templar.

“Everyone is afraid of mages,” Eleanor added. “I don’t want people to be afraid of me.”

I smirked, thinking about how if she continues to go around ordering everyone, they will be afraid of her, regardless of whether she is a mage or not. Then, I thought,

“Is everyone afraid of your mother?”

She looked at me, skeptical still. I worried that I gave her more fuel to her argument, and then a slow smirk spread across her little face.

“No. Not everyone. Leliana isn’t.”

“See?”

She giggled. “But why are you?”

I cocked my head at her. “Why am I what?”

“Why are you afraid of my mother?”

“I’m… not.”

She jutted her chin stubbornly at me. “Leliana said to her, ‘he’s more afraid of you than you are of him.’”

I paused at this, and I knew I couldn’t give it the time to properly process in the moment, because that could take me… all day. “I… I don’t know. I’m not….”

Would Leliana have meant that I’m afraid of Solona for being a mage, as Eleanor is implying? Or that I’m afraid of Solona for the fact that she is the woman I’ve longed for since I’ve been old enough to want anyone, making a joke about my clumsiness with women?

And as for Solona being afraid of me….

Is she?

Eleanor didn’t allow me time to think on it any longer. “I have to go. Mother makes me leave when the soldiers are done eating.”

I said nothing.

Chapter Text

16th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I must think of something else.

I thought if I didn’t write about it, I wouldn’t think about it, but that’s apparently ineffective. It seems that smothering and attempting to force my unwanted thoughts away is less helpful than I had hoped, so I must write them out. Perhaps once they are on the page, they will be gone from my mind.

This journal… I flip back through the pages and see less about lyrium withdrawals and more about Solona Amell than I ever would have intended.

Does that mean I’m not experiencing the withdrawals? Certainly not. I’m simply distracted from them. I’m not certain if this is a blessing or a curse, as even the Breach was not proving to be as effective as distracting me as… well. Maker, that sounds insane.

As for the withdrawals, today I am… exhausted. I have not slept since before I had that drink with Solona in the tavern. I am sluggish, ravenous, irritable.

My thoughts are spiraling out of control.

I will begin with the easier? (I suppose ‘easier’ is arguable) topic at hand – which I have decided is Eleanor’s parentage. It is simply not my business. Because it is my business, it must be off the table. I must stop brooding about it and what her parentage means (which I detail below).

I have composed a list of rules for myself to keep myself from overstepping boundaries in this matter. Notably, my rules are as follows:

1. I will not ask anyone any questions that may lead me to answers about Eleanor’s parentage; this includes Josephine, Solona, Eleanor, etc.

2. I will not entertain any gossip or conversation about this (though I doubt the opportunity will arise). If it is a discussion occurring around me, I will try to remove myself, if appropriate.

3. If I grow curious, I will remind myself that even if it is a Templar I know (worst-case scenario), that I was never entitled to Amell, and she owes me nothing, and I must revert to Rule #1.

This brings me to ‘Worst-Case Scenario’, which for me, is that Solona Amell was forced by a Templar that I know. How can I disprove this scenario? (Indeed, I believe only a Templar could force himself upon her, since her magic could stop any other man if she did not consent).

In my attempt to disprove the idea that Solona was forced by a Templar, I first have to think about when she became pregnant.

I don’t know when Eleanor’s birthday is – nor am I going to ask (see Rule #1). When I last saw Solona Amell during the Blight it was just a couple of months before the Archdemon was slain.

My memory of that time is unreliable, as I’ve said before in these pages. I am quite certain, however, that she was not visibly pregnant at the time she rescued me in the Tower. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine a woman heavy with child fighting and killing an Archdemon. Though if anyone can do it, it would be her.

Which brings me to the concern that the father is was a Templar in Kinloch Hold. There were so few of us left after Uldred. Is it possible that during her rescue, one of my brothers forced her? Could she have willingly…? I feel sick thinking about it. I think it’s more likely she was forced.

This may break Rule #1, but I cannot help it, and I will do it in my head if not on paper, so here goes nothing. Here is a list of the surviving Templars after Uldred:

Me: Raving mad, insane after her rescue. I remember fragments, but I know it’s not me. Surely even I could tell fantasy (what the demon showed me) from reality, if the latter had actually happened.

Greagoir: He had been level-headed even in the wake of it all. I don’t think there is a possibility that he would have fathered Eleanor. I’d bet the Inquisition’s coffers on it. I do not think the man capable of rape, either.

Carroll: he was crass, and would have bragged about coupling with her, if he had done such a thing. I would have throttled him for it. The man always rubbed me the wrong way. Capable of rape? Maybe.

Geoffrey: he was older, married happily to a woman in Kinloch Hold, and held firm to his values. I highly doubt Geoffrey.

Terence: Terence preferred the company of men. I overheard him once talking with a mage in the library.

Bernard and Heath: both of these men could be…. they are within a couple years of my age, relatively handsome, and had survived the Circle Tower without nearly as much destabilization as I had. If either of them had had sex with Solona Amell, I may not have heard about it. But do they look like Eleanor? I would not say so. Heath’s hair is a pale brown, and straight. Bernard’s hair was black.

Can I tolerate knowing it was one of them? What does it even matter to me? If I learned it was one of them, what would I do? Run around Haven, screaming about it? Bah.

Why does it make any difference if it is the King, Bernard, or some unnamed man from Crestwood? Why do I even care?

And what if it isn’t a Templar that I know? What if it’s a man in my ranks, and that’s why she is so avoidant, trying to keep herself and Eleanor hidden from the soldiers’ camp?

I need to just… let this go. Why have I always struggled with things like this in my life? I never release things easily. I see a problem – a puzzle, rather, because no one has asked me to solve this ‘problem’ – and I become intent to ‘fix’ it, or solve it. Though no one else agrees that this is a problem. To me, it is a problem. It is a problem because it is Solona, and I sense my irrationality, but I cannot reign it in.

Now, for what I have deemed the more difficult subject, because I cannot solve Eleanor’s parentage, nor does it really concern me.

Solona’s ‘fear’ of me, as Eleanor had put it.

“He’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”

These words, apparently spoken from Leliana to Solona, and overheard by Eleanor, if a child’s recollection is anything to go by. What had they been saying up until that point?

I’d venture to assume some kind of hesitance on Solona’s part; a trepidation, a caution regarding me. Perhaps she didn’t want to be alone with me. Well-warranted, I’m sure, considering my behavior at the Circle Tower.

It had been important for me to apologize to her, and yet, I don’t think that had been adequate. Perhaps words are not enough.

I am no threat to her. I hope she knows that, on some level. I would sooner protect her than harm her.

To think she may fear me. I -

I don’t know how to make the things of my past right. Uldred was the beginning; the crash that started the avalanche that set in motion the subsequent rest of my life. My beliefs, my behavior became the snow that crushed everything in its path, destroying everything that was good in my life, everything that had once been held sacred.

I have not known peace since, though I endeavor to someday deserve it. If I can protect, if I can help save us, then I would give everything I have. I need nothing at the end, I need nothing left when all this is done. I will be happy enough to say that I have done my job to the best of my ability.

Chapter Text

17th of Harvestmere, 9:41

Eleanor Amell practices on her training dummy with Toothpick every morning, lunchtime, and night, per my reports. The soldiers grumble about her sometimes, but they know better than to complain to me directly after I’ve given her sanction to do what she does.

What I haven’t given her sanction to do is pester my soldiers about training her, specifically. So when Rylen informs me that he’s received complaints from eight of the men that the girl has commanded them to train her, I feel a bit dismayed. When he tells me that she’s nearly sicced her mabari on two of them, he tells me I can’t ignore it any longer.

“What did the men tell her?” I asked irritably. By then, thoughts of Solona Amell being afraid of me had kept me up longer than expected.

“They told her they can’t talk to her.” Rylen shook his head.

“She’s… tenacious,” I said amicably, though I knew I would have to talk to Solona about this.

Rylen grunted. “Something needs to be done, Ser. Respectfully.”

I frowned at him. “I’ll talk to her mother. There’s no harm in letting her train on the dummy. And the men can stand to simply tell her ‘no’ if she keeps asking them. She’s a child, not Lady Montilyet.”

Rylen huffed a laugh at that.

I was feeling in better spirits after getting a few hours sleep last night and drinking my weight in elfroot tea, so I carefully touched my hair – Rylen noticed – and dismissed myself from our work, telling him I’d return in a few minutes.

Afraid of me or not, Amell had asked me to tell her if Eleanor caused any trouble with my soldiers. I intended to keep my word, though I was assessing my posture, my stride, my expression, even my breath as I carried myself up and into Haven to find Leliana’s camp.

Ultimately, Solona wasn’t in Leliana’s camp, I was told by none other than Leliana herself after she dismissed some of her scouts. She asked me why I was looking for her, her brow arched at me as if seeing into my thoughts.

“I, uh… just wanted to talk to her about Eleanor.” I tried to sound as calm as I could, but I know Leliana better than to think I can sneak much past her. “Apparently, she’s been causing a little bit of a stir at the camp. It’s no bother, I just… Solona asked that I tell her if there’s any issue.”

Leliana studied me, her mouth twitching. “I’ve heard about Eleanor’s antics.”

“So she knows? Solona, I mean?”

Our spymaster chuckled and shook her head. “I’ll leave it to you to tell her. It’s your camp down there, after all. She’s talking to Solas, if you want to see her now.”

I shifted my weight on my feet and rubbed my jaw. “Perhaps you could let her know I was looking for her when she’s returned? I don’t want to intrude.” I don’t want to scare her. Leliana seemed reluctant to agree, so I added, “If I am not… welcome… I don’t want to be meddlesome, if you understand.”

I hated admitting what I’ve just said, but Leliana is my coworker. I believe she guards Solona’s secrets along with my own. She has seen behind the curtain of my facade – she sees what lies just beneath the skin if she remembers me at my worst. If she doesn’t remember seeing me in the cage, then she has certainly heard about it from Amell, her dear friend. I will only make myself look more the fool by trying to deceive, to play someone I am not.

“Has she told you that you aren’t welcome, Cullen?” Leliana asked me, expression less amused than a moment ago.

“N-no, not that I- I don’t…. No, she hasn’t.”

Leliana’s expression softened. “I’ll tell her.”

I nodded and turned to leave, wanting to take no more of her time for this matter than absolutely necessary.

“Cullen,” she added, stopping me, “I was thinking of inviting her to our War Meetings for now, as they relate to the Breach. She is working closely with Josephine, and her magic is… extraordinary. I suspect she will be helpful in closing the Breach. Would you object?”

“Of course not,” I said before I had truly thought about it. Inviting Solona Amell into our high-level meetings made sense to me at the time, and now I wonder why I was so quick to agree. Perhaps I trust her.

Leliana nodded and started to turn towards her desk. “The Herald will return in a few days with Lady Cassandra. I’d like to discuss it with them as well.”

I dismissed myself after that and returned to the soldiers’ camp. I kept myself busy with tasks – I certainly have enough to do – though I found myself looking over my shoulder for her.

Rylen and I were sparring late afternoon when the other troops had been dismissed, though many of them lingered to spectate. I had energy to burn, and Rylen is a good match for me, blade-for-blade. He tends to acquiesce when I need a sparring partner, and I often leave our duels with a bruise here and there. Neither of us makes it easy for the other, which I appreciate.

Our breath was coming out in hot puffs of steam in the cold, and our steel was ringing out at the soldiers around us commented on our parries, blocks, and swings. We were rattling each other’s teeth, my pommel slamming him hard in his shoulder, his blade crashing into mine.

Since Kirkwall’s demise, these sparring matches with Rylen have been a lifeline for me. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have this way to exert my energy. I sometimes fear that I would boil up from within. It is like a pressure valve, only able to be released through intense physical exertion. When we had the lowest census of mages after the near-annulment of Kirkwall’s Circle, there were some days I would run along the Wounded Coast for hours, in full armor, because I had the staffing coverage to do so. I would exhaust myself to the brink of collapse, and it was the only time I could feel a semblance of peace in those days. And then Rylen came, and I could stay in the Gallows and just spar with him. We developed a friendship through it, too.

Rylen’s pommel caught me inside my shield just beneath my gorget, and I pivoted my weight, sliding my shield back into place. He’s younger, faster than I am, now – but I am stronger. My age… I am not going to get any faster as the years go on, and this is something I will have to reconcile. I am lucky to be Commander, where I can use my mind over my body, and use it to keep the younger, faster men safer.

With a grunt, I shoved my shield into him and pushed him backwards. I must have caught him at the right moment, because Rylen stumbled a couple of steps before regaining his balance.

A swash of blue in the background drew my eye briefly, and I looked over him to see Solona Amell lingering, not mingling with the soldiers, but close enough. I had only a moment until Rylen found his feet, and in that moment, she smiled faintly at me.

I was ready for him when he charged again. I met his strikes with my shield or I parried them, and then on an upswing – of which I know for him is his weaker swing – I was able to knock his blade from his grip. I raised my sword, pointing it at his armored chest – I didn’t need to be so dramatic as to hold it to his throat, or anything of the sort – and he threw his empty hand in surrender, breathing hard.

“Well-played, Ser,” Rylen grunted, tilting his head back to look at the darkening sky. I sheathed my sword, ignoring the exclamations of the soldiers around us, only feeling the flush of my neck and thinking about her eyes on me. I excused myself from the throng of men and made my way towards her.

Solona was still waiting, thankfully, by the time I reached her. My breath was still steaming from my exertion, and sweat had gathered at the base of my neck and my back, beneath my clothes and armor.

“Well done, Commander,” she said. I noticed that she had her hair in a braid down one side of her chest, and that her hands were at work untying the tie holding it there.

I remember this nervous habit of hers from the Circle, where she would undo and remake her braid. I wondered if she would do it now.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t… well, I thought you would come, but I didn’t know when.”

Solona was undoing her braid. “I should have come sooner. I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s no emergency.” I watched as her eyes glanced behind me, and I realized then that maybe she’s not comfortable down here, surrounded by my soldiers – all of these former Templars. “Do you… do you want to talk somewhere else?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too forward.

She was silent for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. Can we walk?”

I remembered my earlier Worst-Case Scenario, and the thought I had that she has a history with one of my soldiers, but I did not have the time to ruminate about this in the moment as we started walking the road towards Harritt’s.

“My daughter has been causing some issues down here?” Solona asked. The wind carried the scent of her hair to me, and my heart was thundering in my chest. She was looking up at me from beside me.

“Not issues,” I said gently, “I just… heard that she’s been asking some of the soldiers to train her. I think she’s unhappy with the training dummy, now.”

I paused to look at Solona, smirking, and she was redoing her braid.

I didn’t sense her magic, though. Seasoned Templars can sense when mages are very nervous, because the magic hangs thick in the air, like a pressure. Solona had been adept even at a young age, so it wouldn’t surprise me that she can control her magic even when she is feeling nervous.

It is one of the things that draws me to her. Solona has a sense of quiet confidence that has always impressed me. She can present as calm, regal, restrained– but I know that she is powerful beyond her peers, powerful beyond measure.

“Asking?” She re-tied her braid. “That does not sound like her.”

I snorted in laughter, and she grinned.

“Asking may not be the word I’ve been told, either,” I admitted as we passed Harritt’s and continued on our way as if we were to leave Haven. “I have to hand it to her, she is tenacious for her age.”

“That’s a way of putting it.” Solona crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry. I will talk to her. Hopefully that will work.”

She sounded doubtful, and I tended to agree. “She reminds me of myself,” I mentioned, and I noticed Amell stiffen beside me, her shoulders tightening as she glanced at me. Then I told her about my incessant efforts to become a Templar from an early age until my parents finally allowed me to join the Templars and be brought to the Chantry when I was thirteen. At the end of my story, Solona laughed softly, and we were outside the village limits.

“I suppose that does sound similar. What would you do if she were y -” she stopped herself and cleared her throat, “if you were me, rather. How would you respond if you were me?”

I was hardly practiced at playing out imaginary parenting scenarios in my mind, so I took a moment to consider this. “Well, I don’t know Eleanor very well,” I said carefully, looking from Solona to the valley beyond, “but I know that I would not have been deterred as a child. My parents certainly tried and failed to keep me from wanting to join the Templars. I was not deterred from what I wanted. If I were you… I would try to find a way to give her what she wants. Unfortunately for me.”

Solona laughed at that. “So I should convince you to lend a soldier to train her?”

“I suppose that is my advice,” I said with a shake of my head. “I…. How about this? Let her come train on the dummy when we are running drills. She can follow along, listen to our trainings, but no one is going to spar with her. No one will work one-on-one with her. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”

“That’s very generous of you.” She thought about this for a moment in silence. “I… I don’t want to take advantage….”

“It’s not – you’re not,” I assured her. “The risk is that she will hear… insensitive comments, probably. The men know not to bother her. As far as I can tell, they’ve been adherent to that.”

“They have,” she agreed, and I felt relieved at that. We were descending the hill leading from Haven, and Solona took this moment to stop and turn towards me. “Thank you. I don’t know… I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but I appreciate you accommodating her.”

I rested my hands on the pommel of my sword, intent on keeping them relaxed. I was physically calmer now than immediately after sparring, and the fading light of the evening was giving me a sense of privacy with her that put me a little more at-ease, like she couldn’t see so many of my vulnerabilities.

“Are you planning on leaving soon?” I asked, despairing. There had been talk from Josephine of her going to Orlais, and now….

“I don’t know when, but not until at least the Herald returns.” Solona reached for her braid again.

Was I doing something wrong, I wondered? Was I making her uncomfortable?

I released the pommel of my sword and reached to rub the back of my neck with one hand, the other dangling uselessly – awkwardly – at my side.

“Did you have any luck with Solas?” I asked, thinking I should change the subject. “Leliana told me.”

She released her braid, letting it fall against her. We still hadn’t moved – we were neither walking further away nor towards Haven, instead standing in the middle of the dirt road. She had her back to the lake below, and mine was to the rising slope.

“I… I can’t get a good sense of Solas,” Solona told me softly, looking at me through her lashes. “He seems to suspect that there are some answers in the Fade, but seems… reluctant to help me. I’m trying to get to know him, first.”
“I hope you get whatever answers you can.”

“So do I.” She glanced up the road.

Perhaps it was the fear that she would be leaving soon that made me say the next thing. Despite what I know about her and the King. I don’t know what it was, but I could sense that she was about to suggest we turn back to Haven, and I didn’t know how long it would be until I’d see her again – if I ever saw her again.

If she planned to leave when the Herald returned, then this could be it, really. She had been…. I just… I suppose I needed to know.

“Solona,” I breathed, my voice strained. Her eyes snapped to me, searching. “Would you… have, er, dinner with me? I know, er, you’re not… I mean… I don’t, er – I don’t know if you’re available, but, er….” Maker’s breath! I stopped myself before I could make myself look any more the fool. I had gotten the most important words out; dinner, available. She was smart enough to surmise the rest.

Her fingers laced together, index fingers twirling, as her cheeks darkened.

“Um, Cullen, I….” Oh. Oh no. “I… shouldn’t. It’s not because of you-”

“No, certainly,” I tried to cut her off, unable to bear the rest of the rejection that I sensed was incoming, but she reached out and took my hand, and I froze completely.

“It’s not because of you,” she implored, and her hand was in mine, and my chest was seizing up. “I… I.” She pressed her other hand to the back of mine, holding my hand in both of hers. “I wish I could tell you why, but I can’t. If you knew me, Cullen, you wouldn’t….”

She trailed off, but didn’t release my hand. I could not decide where to look, from her face to our hands pressed together. I could not see her eyes, because she was looking at her hands on my own, but her tone sounded genuine, solemn.

I dared to rest my other hand on hers, so that both of our hands were enclosed in each other’s, and she did not pull away.

“If I knew you, what?” I asked hoarsely.

There was a fissure breaking down my middle, starting from my chest and snapping down the front of my body.

She shook her head. “I can’t say,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip before lifting her head and looking at me. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I promise.”

Of course, I don’t believe her.

“Amell,” I breathed, and I could feel her pulling away. I was growing desperate inside. It was welling up within me like a monster. I wanted to hold her hands tight to my chest, keep her with me, tell her that she was wrong. I would accept her no matter what she said.

I released her hands, though, because I am not that kind of man. She retreated one step and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

I held my hands before me like she had never pulled them away, just watching her in that moment, unsure what she was going to do. She hesitated and turned towards Haven, hurrying up the road to the village, leaving me there on the road. I watched her until she was out of sight.

And then I went for a run in full armor, as if I had never even sparred earlier.

I had not expected her rejection to have this effect on me. In fact, I’m not even certain why I had put my neck out there in such a way, considering she’s the King’s mistress, as far as I’m concerned, and probably not interested in other suitors.

Is that what I am would be? A suitor?

As Commander of a military force, it is my duty and obligation to weigh the risks, probabilities, and the likelihood of various outcomes of any attack or defense. I am supposed to judge scenarios based on strengths, weaknesses, history, the lay of the land, the resources of each party, morale, the sun’s positioning in the sky, and other extraneous factors. I am supposed to know the risks – and if they are too great, I am supposed to order the retreat.

It’s a lot like courting a woman, I suppose. Though I certainly hope I am better at military matters than women, or else we have little hope going forward.

By all rights, I should have expected rejection. She is the King’s mistress, I think. I was a raving madman in the Circle when she last saw me. There are probably many reasons to expect that she would have rejected me today.

Not the least of which is that she is ‘afraid’ of me, though I am somewhat skeptical of this claim, now. She had reached out and touched me, held my hand in hers. Why? Why would she do that if she did not feel safe with me?

Her hands in mine.

I had plunged myself into the depths without considering the risks that she would hold me in her hands and crush me. I hadn’t considered that she would do this, though by all rights, of course she would. Who am I to her but a broken man? I am no King.

I didn’t fight alongside her in the Blight. She had to rescue me, and when she did, I called for all of their deaths. I called for the Annulment, like they were beyond redemption, every single one of them. She must remember that.

She must think me a monster.

Why did she try to comfort me? And still I took it like a drowning man. I -

Weepiness – check. (Lyrium withdrawals – though I can’t remember the last time I shed actual tears.)

Chapter Text

18th of Harvestmere, 9:41

With Solona around, I cannot avoid thinking about Uldred, the cage, and the things I experienced.

The visions. The fantasies.

I am reluctant to put my quill to the page and confirm them. Earlier, I had mentioned that some will remain in my thoughts alone: that is true. I simply cannot let them see the light of day.

The demon knew that I wanted Amell. What it did not know was how I wanted her. Since it did not know, it tried many… ways ideas? It showed me what I imagined were the desires of men all across Thedas. It showed me my own desires with her. There was a spectrum, if you will. Some of it horrified me, and some did not. Some things, I admit that I hadn’t wanted until I saw them in the visions.

As I also said, it not only showed me lewdness, but once it realized my affection for her went beyond that, it seized the opportunity like a wolf upon injured prey. I was helpless to these visions, especially in such a weak state as I was emotionally.

I nearly gave in. So. Many. Times.

I banished the demon endlessly, but it always returned. Even a second inside my thoughts was enough to show me a lifetime of what it would be like with Amell, if only I just slipped and said ‘yes’. If I let myself crack only for that moment, it would be enough, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

Some part of me knew it wasn’t real. I knew that the demon version of the woman I loved cared for wasn’t the same as the real one.

It was just barely enough to keep me alive until she came, flanked by Leliana and him. He was no one to me at the time. I was too addled to even notice his Templar’s posture.

She stood before me, bloodied and ethereal, and every time I blinked, I saw her as the demon showed me. Her voice was in front of me, and it was in my head. Her flesh was outside of the cage, tinted pink by the magic pulsing between us, but it was within my grip, bending to my fingers as I held her, as I -

Maker preserve me.

Maker watch over me.

Andraste guide me.

I spoke of one vision that the demon gave me, as if another of its tests, to see if I would break. The demon presented her to me, and I was uncaged – though in most of the visions, I was uncaged – and we-

No.

I cannot write this, this… this ‘filth’. This is the true filth – not what I had with Solona. Not what my feelings really are were: notably admiration, longing, a desire to protect, awe. I was in awe of her, terrified of her power and her beauty, but in a way that I did not truly fear because I also trusted her.

I held my blade above her neck at her Harrowing.

I trusted her not to fail.

I-

Maker, I need to sleep.

Chapter Text

19th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I’m not sure how long I slept, but I suspect it’s been a substantially long time, considering I feel… different, better. More even-keeled. I’ve only just woken up, so I’m not certain what symptoms I’ll have today. I’m certainly thirsty, but after so long asleep, that would be expected.

My body feels… fine. There are no aches. My head has a faint throbbing, but nothing that will disrupt my duties if it stays at this level. My nightmares – there were some as I slept, of course, but they feel far away now. I am grateful.

Someone has been coming into my cabin to feed the hearth because there are still embers burning, and there is a tray of snacks and water that’s been replenished beside my bed.

I have a vague memory of Rylen being in here, handing me some elfroot tea, and then… Lady Cassandra?

If Lady Cassandra has returned, then that means the Herald has returned, and I’ve been asleep for nearly a day. They’re probably waiting for me to have a meeting. Why has no one woken me up?

Maker’s breath.

I will return to this later, after I handle everything I’ve missed while I’ve been asleep.

Rylen did attend to me while I was asleep and immediately before, apparently, sensing that I was delirious and half-mad with sleeplessness. He is perceptive, though I wonder if my deteriorating faculties are more obvious than I’d hope to others. At least he knows what to do to keep me out of the view of the rest of the soldiers and the people here, though today he grumbled that I am not a particularly compliant and reasonable man when I’m like that.

Apparently, Lady Cassandra had also come to visit before I had finally collapsed from exhaustion, and it was she who decided that the War Meetings would wait until I woke up. She decided that I would not be interrupted by anyone else until I finally rested, and she kept the Herald and others away, per Rylen.

I do not wish to delay our progress and our efforts. I do not wish to be in the way. The Breach is waiting for no one. The end of the world is not waiting for me to catch up on my sleep.

I told her this much later today, but she dismissed me with one of her spectacular grunts of annoyance. She told me that she and the Herald also needed rest, as well.

The Herald doesn’t know about my problems. She must think I’m mad for needing to sleep for so long, but I can’t find it in me to care enough to tell her why.

I am tired of explaining myself to no effect; to Cassandra, to Solona. What does it matter if I say anything to the Herald?

Once I finally woke up, donned my armor, and emerged from my cabin, freshened up. A runner came almost immediately with a stack of reports, and then hurried off to the other advisors and the Herald to propose times for a War Meeting.

An hour later, I was standing at the table inside the Chantry beside Lady Cassandra, Josephine, and the Herald, when Leliana joined us. My eyes lifted and met Solona’s gaze as she approached us beside our spymaster.

My breath hitched, and I shifted on my feet. She had rejected me the last time I saw her – but I was trying not to think about that, because of course she would reject me. I tried to think instead about the feeling of her hands in mine, the way they felt, the way I did not want to release them, I wanted to use them as an invitation to draw her in towards me.

Her green eyes held mine for a moment before shifting to the others. Today, she wore a pale green dress with a silver fur shawl. I wondered why she didn’t wear typical mage robes, but I would not complain about the slimmer fit of her clothes and the deeper neckline.

“Herald, Lady Trevelyan, and Lady Cassandra,” Josephine began as Leliana approached with Solona from beside me, her voice lilting, “this is Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden. Solona Amell, please meet Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, our Herald of Andraste, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast.”

I watched as Solona arrived at the table across from me and smiled politely at the Herald. For a moment, I stopped listening to what was happening, just watching her in the dim light of the room.

“-in the Blight together,” Leliana was saying before she gestured to me, “and she already knows Cullen personally from the Circle.”

I snapped to attention, looking away from her and to Lady Cassandra. In my interrogation in Kirkwall, I had divulged some information about my history with Amell, and in that moment, I wondered if Cassandra remembered.

Cassandra’s eyes were alive with interest, and I realized she wanted to get to know our Hero. I had to suppress a smirk as I noticed her body language: the lifting of her brows, tilting of her head, a few pointed questions about the Blight and the archdemon, and a suggestion that they meet later to discuss further. Solona was gracious enough to humor her, and I could feel the Herald’s eyes on me as I suppressed a chuckle.

The Herald then briefed us on her journey into the Hinterlands and the fade rifts she closed, as well as the tasks she accomplished. Most notably, our presence has become quite known, fade rifts have been closed, and the Inquisition has been doing good deeds throughout Ferelden. We have secured horses for our cause, and the Herald felt that she had a much clearer understanding of the mage and Templar war.

Which led her to her next step: a decision as to who would help us attack the Breach.

To summarize, the Herald has decided to accept Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation to go to Redcliffe and meet with the rebel mages to discuss a potential alliance with them.

I bristled, a cold sweat prickling my skin as suddenly I could not keep myself calm enough. I argued my points, gesturing about, my voice even rising by a notable margin. Only Lady Cassandra agreed with me. Josephine remained relatively neutral. But the other three – I was outnumbered, certainly, and outmatched.

Solona is enough to make me back down after I’ve made my points, but the three of them at once! Maker’s breath.

I respect all three of them. I do.

If Leliana were not my colleague, and she and I were not fighting the same enemy, I would fear her.

The Herald puts forth a tremendous effort, though I still don’t know how or why she was thrust into this position.

Solona, though. I respect her to the point of reverence. And yet, she cannot understand why I am so discouraged by this, can she? All mages are not like her. All mages cannot stare down an archdemon and live to tell the tale. All mages cannot fight their way through a Circle filled with abominations – people who used to be her friends, my friends.

She is made of sterner stuff. She carries herself with a regal stoicism even in the wake of chaos and destruction, of death and horror. She is not like the rest of us.

To invite an entire rebellion of them into our ranks – to ally with them. It is nothing short of inviting discord, inviting death and destruction. I do not want to relive Kirkwall or the Circle. I don’t want to do any of this again, and I don’t want my men subjected to the horrors I’ve seen.

I don’t want my army – already compiled of former Templars – to fall into their forsaken roles. How will we they not do so if there is an army of mages surrounding us? How will we remain calm?

And what will happen to the Breach? With so much magic poured recklessly into it, I don’t know what could happen to it, and to all of us in turn. The safer bet is to recruit the Templars.

It is not simply a political choice – to favor who is more oppressed – but rather what is the safer choice for all of Thedas.

We should not be -

Andraste guide me, I have already made my points, and the decisions have been made. There is no need to rant about them again, here, where it will serve no purpose but to drive me to pointless frustration and helplessness. Hm.

To think about being surrounded by an army of rebel mages who have just spent the last several months slaughtering Templars…. My heart pounds, my throat is tight, my neck is damp with sweat. Suddenly, my cabin seems too small, and it hasn’t felt this way until now. Perhaps I need to take a walk.

I’ve returned. Hours have passed.

First, I made my way to Solas to gather his thoughts on what may happen if the mages are recruited and sink their magic into the Breach. I was surprised to learn that he rather agreed with me, though he did not agree that the Templars were a better solution. I implored him to speak some sense into the Herald before she leaves for Redcliffe, which she plans to do tomorrow. He told me he would consider it.

Then, I met with Rylen and a few other men to go over plans for the regiment that would meet the Herald in Redcliffe. The regiment chosen is already nearby; all I have to do is send word to them to meet her there as backup. It is a diplomatic mission rather than military, and I am glad not to be a crucial part of it, though part of me worries for what is and what is to come.

Leliana will be joining the Herald, though I don’t believe she’s chosen the rest of her companions.

After meeting with my men, the rest of the soldiers in the camp had cleared the training area in favor of dinner.

But not Amell’s daughter.

I intended to make a lap around Haven and check in with a few others, Harritt being one of them, but as I neared Eleanor, I noticed her form.

“Loosen your grip a little on that hilt,” I told her as I paused, arching a brow as she cut the side of the dummy with her Toothpick. Her knuckles were bone white. “You’re going to give yourself a cramp.”

“That’s fine,” she retorted, swinging at the dummy again, cutting across from her left side. I suppressed a laugh. Nothing this child did was gentle.

“That’s not why,” I said, and I waited as she stabbed at the dummy, dislodged her Toothpick with force, and then turned to regard me. “If you hold the hilt that tightly, you limit the movement of the sword, and it makes it harder to recover after impact. Have you ever fallen off something tall?”

She frowned, thinking. “A horse. Yes.”

“Well, jumped. Have you ever jumped off of something tall?”

“I used to climb the trees in the Palace’s gardens, and sometimes I’d jump down off them.”

“When you jumped down from the trees, did you hold your body stiff and tight for your landing, or did you land a little loosely, maybe with your knees bent so that you wouldn’t hurt yourself?” I waited for her to smirk and answer an approximation of the latter. “Similarly, you don’t want to be so loose that you just flop out of the tree – or hold your sword like that, either.”

I drew my sword and showed her what I meant. I mirrored her death-grip, a grip too loose, and then one that was more moderate. “This allows me flexibility and control,” I told her.

Eleanor relaxed her grip and showed me, holding her hand and Toothpick up to me, but I was happy to keep my distance and judge it visually.

“Much better,” I offered, and she gave me a faint smile in return.

“Thanks,” she said, and made a few practice swings while trying to keep her grip moderately relaxed. I stayed there for a moment, wondering why no one would have corrected her form like this before – it is such a basic thing that surely the Kingsguard would have noticed if she were ‘practicing’ with them, whether they were humoring her or not.

If the girl took these things this seriously, I supposed that the Kingsguard were doing her no favors by allowing her to get more deeply ingrained in bad habits. Still, I had told her mother that I could spare no one to help train her, and here I was, correcting her myself.

“You’re doing it again,” I commented, smirking.

Eleanor grunted irritably and fixed her grip, but I saw a hint of a smile as she took another swing. I noticed that, like many beginning swordsmen, her swings were not made with fluid, full-body movements, but rather just violent, chopping swings. This, too, would not do her any good and could only serve to cause injury over time and ultimately be less effective in a battle.

“Would you like more advice?” I asked. By now, I had sheathed my blade, and her mabari was getting up from the dirt, stretching.

She paused, nose scrunching. “What am I doing wrong?”

I know how I speak to my soldiers. I am firm, sometimes insulting. I might shout at them, push them to their limits. I will call out a problem as I see it – without asking leave to tell them – and make them bury the bad habit in favor of something better. I cannot afford for my men to be lazy, to take bad habits into the theatre of war. I cannot let their lives be lost for carelessness.

If it is a preventable death, then I will do all that I can to prevent it.

But this is Eleanor Amell, a child who will not be marching to war with my soldiers, and is arguably safer than most children of Ferelden based on the sole fact that Solona Amell is her mother.

I can treat her differently than I would a soldier of mine. So it was with a gentle, patient tone that I replied, as her mabari approached me to sniff me.

“I noticed that you’re only using your arm. We call it ‘chopping wood.’ Over time, you’ll injure yourself and miss some of your swings because it doesn’t give you a good sense of where your blade is.” I drew my sword again, carefully, as I was mindful of the mabari sniffing around at me. At least it wasn’t ready to bite me like it was Rylen. I modeled a chopping movement as Eleanor studied me. “You’ll want to use your whole body in the swing. It should be a fluid movement.” I modeled this: a swing with a turning of my hips, a movement all through my body.

“Like this?” She made an approximation of what I showed her.

“Better. Even down to your legs. You can step into the swing.”

She tried again, eyes widening at her results. I chuckled.

“Much better. Loosen that grip!”

She threw her head back, annoyed, and I snorted, dropping a hand to offer it to the mabari. The dog nuzzled my hand, and I looked down at it, daring to scratch it behind the ears.

“I’m missing all the fun.”

I snapped towards Solona’s voice to find her approaching us. The mabari glanced at her, and his nub tail wagged, but he pushed against my hand.

“You are,” I replied, and rubbed the mabari behind the ears, cautious.

“Are you minding yourself, Eleanor?” Solona asked, coming up near me. I could feel my heart stuttering in my chest with her approach.

“Yes. Ser Cullen was just helping me.”

I met her gaze as she stopped just out of arm’s length and glanced at the mabari.

“Ser Cullen says I chop wood, and my grip is too tight.”

Solona chuckled softly and looked at me as Eleanor continued practicing. “You mean you don’t just tell her what she wants to hear?”

I was still scratching the mabari. “I hardly think that is helpful if she is not to be deterred from this. The deeper she falls into bad habits, the more at risk she will be if she ever has to use her Toothpick, Maker forbid.”

“Dinner Knife!” Eleanor called, and I arched a brow, only vaguely remembering at the time that I had suggested that name for her sword.

“What?” Solona asked, looking at her daughter.

“Dinner Knife. I like it more than ‘Toothpick.’”

I watched Solona’s expression. She stared at her daughter with an almost solemn set to her face, eyes soft, and mouth turned slightly downward. She lifted her hands to her hair and plucked out a thick lock to start braiding. I caught her throat bob as if she thought of something emotional.

“Solona?” I breathed, releasing the mabari and straightening to full height. She glanced at me, and I saw that her green eyes were somewhat glassy.

“I’m fine.” She released her attempt at a braid and smoothed her hands over her dress. She paused and looked at me sidelong. “You’ve made friends with Shadow, I see?”

“Is that… oh.” I looked at the mabari, which was now sniffing at my scabbard. “Shadow,” I repeated the name, watching the mabari’s ears twitch, though he otherwise ignored me.

“If Shadow trusts you, then you can consider yourself part of the inner circle,” Solona said, folding her arms across her chest and turning her attention back to her daughter. Part of me warmed at that.

“Whose inner circle?” I wondered aloud.

Solona shrugged. “All of us.”

I was silent, and I caught her smirk at me faintly from the side.

I didn’t know what to say. Was she rethinking what she told me earlier? Was I thinking about this too much?

“Are you alright after that meeting?” She asked, turning towards me and tilting her head as she searched my face, serious now. “Things were a little heated in there.”

I felt myself stiffen with tension and a sharp intake of breath. If anything, I was the one who got heated, not anyone else. “I am alright,” I began, “though I do feel that the Templars would be the safer choice.”

I was prepared to let it drop there, and Solona’s eyes darted past me for a moment as if searching the horizon. “Part of why I advocated for the mages to be chosen is because you have so many Templars in your forces – former Templars, sorry. I felt that it was the safest scenario of all. With your men, you could help keep the situation safe. We don’t know if we’ll need mages or Templars, so why not have both?”

Keeping her arms folded, the fingers on one of her hands twirled a strand of hair spilling down her body as I contemplated my response.

“I don’t have that many former Templars,” I replied. “I… not every mage has as much control as you do. What will we do if -” I dropped my voice so that Eleanor couldn’t overhear us, “the mages start to fall to possession, and we are overrun by demons? Have you been to the Temple since the explosion? It is difficult to navigate – we would be trapped, it would be a bloodbath-”

I was starting to feel panicked. Even the word ‘trapped’ is enough to heighten my awareness most days, but when it comes to planning the assault on the Breach, my heart pounds and my palms sweat thinking about how we’ll accomplish this. Templars will simply be better able to strike down anything that comes through that Breach in such a small fighting field.

If the mages around us start to fall prey to demons, then there will be almost no point to my strategy, no benefit to formations and tactics. It will be a scrabble for survival and to avoid being crushed, bottlenecked inside the ruins.

The way Solona looked at me, it was as if she could sense this within me, like she knew where my fear truly came from.

“I haven’t,” she said softly. “I haven’t seen what it looks like.”

I forced myself to draw a slow breath to steady myself. I was working myself into a panic and needed to relax. “It’s tight. Our forces are putting their lives on the line for us. You may not know our soldiers, but I do. I – it’s my job to keep my men as safe as possible. I’d be remiss not to argue and fight tooth and nail on their behalf. Even if I’m outnumbered. Even if I know the outcome is not going to be in my favor. I am going to do it, anyway.”

She watched me, the pale evening light dimly illuminating her face. She was so achingly beautiful, I hated to think that she had rejected me just days ago. I wanted to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and run my thumb along her lips.

“Thank you for helping me understand,” she murmured, still studying me. “I’m sorry that it did not go your way.”

She could have referred to a few things, but I assumed she meant the meeting. “I know how to fall in line when I need to.” My tone was less than enthusiastic, though.

“You were right for this,” she told me, glancing at Eleanor. "Right to be Commander."

If only she thought I was right for more things.

We both heard footsteps approaching and turned to see the Herald. We exchanged greetings as the Herald paused at Solona’s side.

“I was hoping I could borrow the Commander to go over some details before I leave tomorrow.”

Solona nodded politely and smiled at me before excusing herself and clicking her tongue at the mabari, Shadow. Within moments, the Herald and I were walking away together, but my mind was admittedly elsewhere. I was a little annoyed at the disruption, but I I forced myself to engage, anyway.

The Herald was asking about Redcliffe, logistical concerns about allying the mages, and seemed to also want to smooth over any issues that may have sprouted between us from the meeting earlier. We talked and walked back towards the War Room as I relayed my concerns – civilly, certainly – about lyrium, mage-Templar relations, and my worries about the Temple.

I was leaning against the War Table, my arms braced against it, and I was feeling calmer. I assured her that we would be fine, though I’m not certain that this was the most appropriate thing for me to say – I didn’t know that this was true. I shouldn’t be making promises I may not be able to keep, especially in times as uncertain as this. I told her that our men would ensure that we would do everything we could to be safe when it came time to assault the Breach.

“I know you will,” she said. “I only have the most confidence in you. I’d like to hear more about where you learned so much of this sometime. Maybe when I return?”

I was a little confused, and I looked at her. She was across the table from me, smiling faintly. “So much of what?”

“Military strategy, I suppose.”

My eyebrows lifted as I started to suspect she was flirting with me, again. I pushed off the table and scratched my jaw. “Hm. I, uh… as Knight Commander in Kirkwall – that was the closest I – to anything like this. We had to sweep the city several times after the attack on the Chantry.”

She dipped her chin and let the matter rest, and I was soon able to extricate myself from the War Room and return to my cabin to write this. It was another borderline humiliating debacle.

I didn’t know what to do or what to say, and I felt backed into a corner. I didn’t want to pursue anything with her in the moment. I didn’t want to accept her advances. In fact, I don’t want them from anyone except one, and I may never….

Why should I wait for Solona? I should just… move on. I should forsake her, like I had meant to do years ago. Like I thought I had.

There are some things I suspect, and some things I know for certain.

Here is what I suspect: I suspect that she is afraid of me. I suspect that she knows I still harbor feelings for her, still, and that is why she keeps me at such arm’s length.

Here is what I know: I know that she rejected me already. I know that she is the King’s mistress – do I know this? I think so. Anyway, I know that she has a child with someone – I’m committed to not trying to figure out who that is. And I know that she is leaving soon for Orlais.

I suspect know that I simply have no future with her.

I must let her go in my mind and in my heart. It is not that I have been hanging onto some hope that we would be together – that has not held me back for the last decade, certainly. I’ve hardly entertained the idea except in distant fantasy, I suppose, or in my dreams. And I have had other women since I’ve met her; brief stints of ‘paramours’ as Lady Montilyet calls them.

So I have not kept myself from the opportunity to be with women, but I certainly have not been… fulfilled. Any relationship I have attempted has been half-hearted, pathetic, distant (figuratively), and superficial. As Knight Commander, there were two attempts; both women in Kirkwall, about a year apart. As Knight Captain, I had a more physical engagement with a female Templar within the Gallows for a few weeks before my guilt got the best of me, and I declined to see her after hours anymore.

I know that I must release Solona Amell, whether she is here within Haven, across Ferelden, or far in the Deep Roads. I must let her go. I have no place in her life, nor does she in mine. And yet, why do I keep thinking about her?

Chapter Text

20th of Harvestmere, 9:41

The Herald left again today after only a night in Haven. I suppose she is taking no chances and moving with an urgency that we should be thankful for. Considering this woman literally dropped out of the Fade at our feet, she is taking things seriously and is effective, spreading our name throughout the Hinterlands and getting things done. I’m growing to respect her, though I’m still disconsolate about her choice in allies, and I could do without the flirting.

Speaking of…

I cannot expose myself to more rejection on that front. I cannot risk to look the fool again. She must think I’m utterly mad to ask her to dinner when she warms the King’s own bed.

I’ve decided on some new rules, such as I have implemented with Eleanor to keep myself from seeking information on her parentage like a hound on a scent. I need to do the same with Solona or else I will spiral out of control.

Here are my rules as they pertain to Solona:

1. I will not ask her to dinner again.
2. If I must seek her out, I will send a letter.
3. If a woman flirts with me or propositions me, I will be absolutely sure that Solona has nothing to do with my rejection of her.

I admit, the third rule is strange to my own mind. But I need to be honest with myself.

I cannot fully rule out that my blundering with the Herald was not affected by a sense that… deep within me, I may be holding out for Solona. Which is… madness. Stupidity. Stubbornness. Obstinateness. Something that Meredith and the Chantry tried desperately to hammer out of me in ways I described earlier.

This feels like a deep part of me that I cannot untangle, like it is woven into my veins. Is it my rigidity? How do I forsake something that feels entwined into my very being? The more I have tried to dismiss her over the years, the deeper she has become embedded in my mind, in my skin.

I am not aware of other people being like this; so fixated on one person that they forsake all others, even if they never had a relationship with that person. I can only surmise that something is wrong with me because of it.

Perhaps the lyrium has done this to me. Perhaps it will ease as the lyrium leaves my body, though, it’s been thirteen weeks now, and I feel no better.

Chapter Text

21st of Harvestmere, 9:41

By my account, I had followed my rules today. It did not end… as I expected.

I hurled myself into work with Rylen and my soldiers, knowing that I’d have little to do with Leliana and Lady Montilyet today, since the Herald is gone. I supervised the soldiers’ training, reviewed countless reports, sparred with Iron Bull among other duties.

My body was cooperative, generally, though my mind tends to have a will of its own. Still, I refused to look at Eleanor and Shadow as the girl trained with the dummy. Whenever my thoughts slipped towards Solona, I scrabbled to focus on something else, though this is easier said than done.

Despite my best efforts, I still….

I need to write how the day ended, despite its beginning. As I was saying, I endeavored wholeheartedly to move on, to be a man who was no longer stuck in the past in so many ways.

I reminded myself that I gave up lyrium to start to take control of my life. Why should I not take control of my life in other ways? If a woman flirts with me, I should not sabotage it in favor of waiting for… her.

At least, this is what I told myself today. Until the sun went down.

I was in my cabin earlier in the evening than usual and had already gone through all of my reports and attended to all the correspondence I could with my men out in the field. There was this span of time I could use as I wanted; to read, throw daggers, find someone to talk to.

I didn’t particularly feel like seeking out any company, so I sharpened my blade and then polished my armor as I sat by the hearthfire in my cabin. I was casually dressed: a linen shirt, the sleeves pushed up at the elbows, and tan pants, as I did not expect to see anyone or to leave my cabin. I had plenty of water brought in for elfroot tea, and some watered-down wine. There was a tray of snacks that the tavern staff brought me that I had been picking at.

I was polishing my left pauldron, already finished with my breastplate and backplate, when there was a knock at my door. I paused, for the briefest moment that I could ignore my visitor, but what kind of impression would that give, of the Commander hiding in his cabin and pretending he isn’t home?

I set my pauldron down and rose, heading to the door.

When I opened it, my chest ached.

Solona Amell stood in my doorway, a sage green cloak drawn up and covering her hair. Her eyes met mine, and her expression was uncertain, a small crease on her brow.

“Cullen,” she breathed, her voice haunting to me. “May I?”

Of course, I tried to say, but I couldn’t. I stepped aside so that she could enter my cabin, and shut the door behind her. She pulled the hood of her cloak down, revealing her unbound hair, and glanced around.

I didn’t know where to go. The cabin felt too small for us as I reminded myself that she is afraid of me, and that I need to act carefully so to not startle her. I retreated from her a step and leaned against my table, which I use as a desk, the one where I write in this journal.

I set my hands down on the lip of the table and watched her, trying to remain calm though my heart was stuttering in my chest and my throat felt tight.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she said, her gaze flitting to me only for a moment as she turned around, taking stock of my cabin from where she stood. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

I felt her words in my chest, like they squeezed mine. I schooled my features as best I could and kept my hands on the table. “For Orlais?”

She noticed I had been polishing my armor, because she was looking at the evidence of it beside my chair and hearthfire.

“Yes,” she replied, sounding faraway. I watched her throat tighten as she swallowed and glanced at me again.

My thoughts were spinning wildly out of control, but I asked, “Can I send an escort with you?”

I had already thought of it, honestly. I had already planned on asking, by way of a runner, because going to her would break one of my rules.

Solona’s lips twitched towards a smile. “I can handle myself, but thank you.”

“I know you can,” I said reflexively, defensively. “I want to insist.”

She took a step towards me, and the effect in my body was…. I felt it like fire, like lightning. My nerves were running wild, my heart thundering in my chest, my pulse fluttering. I gripped the table white-knuckled and kept myself against it.

“I…” she paused, frowning. “I should probably go.”

“Don’t,” I murmured, and I felt panicked at the thought. “Why did you come here?”

For a moment, I thought she was going to dart through the door and out into the night. She bit her bottom lip, as if debating something, and then took a breath. I was holding my own, though everything inside of me was burning, exploding.

Then she reached up towards her throat, and began to pull the ties holding her cloak closed, as if she were going to….

I sucked in a breath as she drew off her green cloak. Maker, I was going to pass out.

“I should not be here,” she told me as she loosened her hair, dropped her cloak to the floor, and began to pluck off her leather gloves. I watched every movement with rapt attention, as if I was in a dream – no, a vision sent by the Maker - that I would only be allowed to see once. “I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t… I am drawn to you, Cullen. If you send me away, I’ll go. I will.”

I was hardly able to listen to her as she dropped her gloves to the floor on top of her cloak and lifted her gaze to me, the color high in her face. She clasped her hands together in front of her and waited for my judgment.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. My ears were ringing as if I’d been hit with a sword pommel in the head.

She took another step towards me, carefully and hesitantly.

I finally snapped out of my trance, then.

There is something I could have asked to soothe tomorrow-me: What about the King? But I couldn’t find it in me to care in the moment, and I will have to live with that decision.

“Don’t go,” I said instead, my voice rough. I was vastly unprepared for this.

She moved closer to me and rested her hands on my chest. I captured her elbows gently, reverently, like she was holy. To me, she has always been adjacent.

I slid my hands up her arms, coming to cradle her jaw as I stood, thumbs tilting her face towards mine. It was as though I had to ensure she was real. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers, and her own hands fisted in my linen shirt. She parted her mouth for me, eyes hooded – an invitation if I’ve ever seen one, and I bent to kiss her.

Excitement rippled through me so brightly that I could hardly focus on the kiss itself. Her lips were soft, and I devoured her like a man starved.

We kissed for a time – how long, I could not say. It would never be enough. She explored my mouth, and I hers with a hunger that roared to life from deep within me.

What happened next – I could not have planned nor hoped for, not in my wildest dreams. She pressed her body flush against mine, and my hands trailed down to her hips, hopeful and eager to learn the curves of her. 

I kissed her lips, her throat. I pulled her flush against me as my mouth sought the hollows and grooves of the delicate column of her neck. She breathed a sound that was between a sigh and a moan, and already, I needed - I needed her -

I guided her – or she guided me, or us together - towards the door, and when her back was against it, I dropped to a knee. She was still fully dressed, but I lifted her skirts. I wanted to taste her, and she did nothing to retreat from me.

My thoughts were that I would never last if we jumped ahead, and I wanted to prioritize her pleasure before I risked my own humiliation. It had been so long for me that I knew I would earn no praise for endurance tonight.

The lust of the moment took me over in a way I’ve simply never felt in my life. I lifted her skirts, and she took them from me, holding them around her hips as I ran my hands up her calves and the backs of her thighs. She pushed her hips out, shoulders against the door, and I leaned forward to press my mouth against her thigh.

It’s 9:41. I’m in Haven. I’m safe. There is no demon. She’s real, I told myself as I paused to breathe.

She smelled clean and aroused, and I noticed scars on her legs that spoke of confrontations long past, and I wanted to learn the story behind each one, but not in this moment. In this moment, I wanted her to be overwhelmed by me, and me by her.

I ran my mouth along her thigh, holding that leg still with one hand as my other hand trailed along her opposite thigh and towards her center, finding her glorious heat. She shifted above me to gather up her skirts in one hand, freeing the other, as my fingers grazed her folds. I breathed against her core and felt her tremble around me.

The fingers of her free hand dipped through my hair and ran softly along my scalp as my mouth met her, and a finger trailed her gentle lines along her. Her hips tilted out to meet me as if seeking more friction, and I could do nothing but oblige her. I could never refuse her as long as I live, I'm sure.

She was divine, and she tasted divine. I only pressed one finger inside as my thumb ran in circles around her more sensitive parts, where my mouth worked. Within minutes, she was arching, trembling, making sounds that I tried to commit to memory. I worried vaguely if she would rip my hair out, and more than once, her skirts fell and got in the way. A thud rattled the door as she threw her head back, and I smirked against her glistening skin.

“Cullen, please, I’m -” she trembled and cried out, and I could feel the tension ripple through her as I chased her, pressing her into the door as she met her release. I was bound tight as a bowstring and unsure if I would even be able to stand up without passing out.

She released my hair as I held her thighs in my hands and pressed a kiss on the softest part of her thigh, making a lazy attempt to dry my mouth, though it was more for her benefit than mine. I didn’t care. I didn’t want this moment – this night – to end. I was dizzy with lust and need, but if she wanted to be done, of course, I would have watched her walk away without complaint and finished the job myself in privacy.

I leaned my face against her thigh and looked up at her, still not trusting myself to stand, and she was blushing fiercely. So beautiful. I couldn’t believe…. I thought my heart was going to leap from my chest.

“Cullen,” she breathed, pulling at my shirt, tugging me towards her, encouraging me to my feet.

I pushed off my knee a little stiffly and forced myself to breathe. I’d never been that hard in my life, and any movement that wasn’t what I desperately wanted to do was borderline uncomfortable.

Her free hand dropped to the laces of my pants as I caged her against the door, towering over her, searching her expression. Her eyes darkened, thin rings of green holding my gaze, and I realized that she was not afraid of me at all, if she ever was. Good. I didn’t want her to be.

I bent to kiss her throat again, mindful she may not want to taste herself on her lips, and my mouth was probably bruising with how I burned with lust and desire. I do not want to use that word after Kinloch.

Lust is too basic a word, too. Is lust not just physical attraction? It is beyond that with Solona.

Her fingers worked open my laces with some effort, and I took her skirts from her to free up her other hand, wanting to feel her hands on me. I wanted to see what she would do with them if allowed. Would she touch me gratuitously and greedily? Would she hesitate? I wanted to observe, I wanted to learn everything she did. So I fisted her skirts in one hand and held them up at her waist, and with the other, I touched her over her dress. Her laces were at her back, and I could not be bothered in the moment to take a break to work them open.

I palmed her breast which was still trapped in her dress, eliciting the breath from her, for I suppose I was pushing with some force, and it took my restraint not to tear the fabric to bear her.

She pushed my trousers past my hips as I pressed a firm kiss to her neck, and she moaned into the air of my cabin. I could feel the air hit me, and then her hand run feather-light along my length. I shivered as she pulled at my hip.

“Please, Cullen.”

I wanted to ask her what she was asking for. I wanted to draw this out, make it last all night. I wanted to savor it, but I couldn’t find the patience within me. I was lost in the need, desperate and knowing that tomorrow, I would lose her to Orlais. Perhaps I’d never see her again.

So I pressed into her as slowly as I could bear, hilting inside of her warm, tight depths, and we both cried out. I pressed her against the door, lifting her by her thighs and holding them to my hips as I leaned my head against hers, wanting to apologize, wanting to ensure that she’s alright, but my words stuck in my throat.

“Please,” she groaned into my ear, and I began to move within her.

The door rattled with our weight as I thrust into her, trying to force myself to go slow, but unable to. I set a punishing pace out of pure need and desperation, years of pent-up longing wound tight and coiled. She held on to me, arms around my shoulders, fingers digging into my skin. I was utterly lost in the feeling of her, mumbling nonsense that I'd rather forget - not worth putting to paper.

She gasped and cried out, moaning and making noises that urged me on, told me that she was not uncomfortable with my pace.

My arousal was too much. She breathed my name as I buried my face in her neck.

“I’m too – I can’t last,” I gasped against her, lost in the feeling of her.

“It’s alright, Cullen, just-”

I pulled out just in time, but didn’t release her, holding her up against the door by her thighs. I panted against her, somewhat furious with myself for what felt like a brief performance. I felt her fingers trail along the back of my neck, and then her nails ran up into my scalp.

She was starting to feel heavier in my arms, but I didn’t know what we were going to do. I wanted to carry her to my bed. Maybe if she wanted to stay, I could be ready again in a little while.

I adjusted her in my arms and straightened, pinning her gently to the door so that I could look at her. The color was high in her cheeks, but she looked at me, green eyes studying me, dilated and open.

“Thank you,” she breathed, letting one hand trail from the back of my neck down to the center of my chest, though I was still wearing my shirt. She flattened a palm against me, as if listening for my heartbeat, though slightly to the side.

I didn’t know what to say. “Are you hurt? I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Her gaze flitted around my face. A smirk curved her mouth. “Don’t be sorry. I’m quite… satisfied.”

I forced my lips to twitch upward, though I was still so irritated with myself that it didn’t feel genuine. I didn’t want to release her, but she prompted me.

“I need to go back to my daughter, Cullen,” she said softly, smoothing her hand over my chest. I nodded and eased her to the floor to her feet, her skirts pooling back around her. I quickly tucked myself away into my pants and felt an overwhelming, profound emptiness as soon as we were no longer touching.

I gathered up her cloak and gloves from the floor and held them for her as she adjusted her dress, studying her. So beautiful, so real. I was aching already with the loss of her, about to leave the cabin, even though part of me was elated.

She had a small, polite smile as she reached for the cloak, but instead, I swept it out to put it on her for her. I wanted to do this small act of affection after what we had just done, after I had just rutted into her like an animal.

“Lift your hair,” I whispered, and she did so that I could set the cloak over her shoulders. She dropped her hair as I tied it at her chest, and I was thankful that she let me do that for her, and then….

“Will I see you again? Will you return after Orlais?”

She was pulling on her gloves, and her gaze flitted to me. I was holding my breath with the question.

Solona held my sanity in her hands with her answer, and she shattered it.

“This is just sex, Cullen. It’s casual.”

Her green eyes met mine as if wondering if I could accept that. If I could fall in line. Her gloves were on, and she laced her hands together, and suddenly it was like we had not just been intimate, if I were to read her posture by itself. Her shoulders were squared, if a little more relaxed than when she had arrived.

My answer was reflexive, spoken more out of fear of losing her entirely than anything else. “Of course.”

She nodded, and I realized I was now standing between her and the door, so I stepped aside, feeling-

Solona gave me another one of those polite, forced smiles, and it made me shift with uncertainty. What did I do wrong? Why did she come here if she rejected me just days ago? Why would she dismiss me so quickly?

Perhaps I should have made more of an effort to stop her, but the risk was too great. I couldn’t handle it, again. It was already too much, and so I said absolutely nothing to her as Solona stepped past me and left my cabin, out into the cold.

I began this day endeavoring to forsake Solona, to move on and start to allow new opportunities into my life. Even if she is here in Haven, I decided I would no longer use that as an excuse to reject every woman who advances upon me.

That is how I intended to finish the day.

This is a one-time thing, I’m certain. She made that quite clear with her sharpness, like a knife plunged into my ribs.

I should be grateful. I should be thankful. Most men my age would be more than satisfied with this. They’d puff out their chest tomorrow, glad for the lack of ties, glad that they finally knew the woman they intimately wanted to know. Another conquest, if you will. I have never been like that. I have never seen women as territory to be claimed. And I have never put Solona in the same category as everyone else.

I feel like a drowning man who has been thrown a lifeline. But can I really be that grateful if it is only to be snatched away again?

The one thing I wanted and could never have. Leaving for Orlais, to eventually return to warm the King’s bed, again.

Why did she come here, to lift me up like that if I am to feel… almost worse than before?

It had been… what is the opposite of agony? No word I think of suffices. I suppose it will exist in my heart and mind alone, before I was left with this emptiness.

I wanted to write things as they occurred above, in an effort to get things down on paper as it was as fresh as it will ever be. But I did not include something, save for once, though the reality was that it happened more than once. I had to remind myself of where I was, when it was, and that she was real, that this was no demon taunting me, tempting me. It was not as difficult as I expected, I suppose. Perhaps it is because I was having a good day, today? Differentiating between the past and present can be difficult for me – and I think if my withdrawals were worse, perhaps this evening would have ended differently.

I don’t know what to do with this emptiness inside of me, now, that I did not feel before. It is like she has reached inside my chest with her hands and scooped it out of me, left me with this ache.

Why did she come here?

Chapter Text

22nd of Harvestmere, 9:41

‘Warden Amell,
Please consider an escort of Inquisition soldiers to accompany you and your daughter to Orlais. I assure you, they will not delay you.
- Cullen’

I sent it at dawn with a runner because I was feeling too cowardly to approach her. I wrote the message four times before deciding on my final draft, not that it was anything poetic or polished.

Dressed in my freshly polished armor, I tried to distract myself as I waited for her reply, leaving my cabin where we had copulated only hours before. I headed for the soldiers’ camp and prayed I hadn’t already missed her departure, though I didn’t think so.

I had made several rounds through Haven in the middle of the night, walking the streets out of a sheer need to do something with myself or I was going to lose it. I figured it would be good to ensure that the soldiers weren’t falling asleep at their night watches. I threw daggers at a dummy in the soldiers’ camp, and tried to read a book in my cabin – a hopeless effort, really. It was all just feeble attempts to busy my mind, distract myself from the feeling of her, the sound of my name on her lips, her thighs wrapped around me, the taste of her, the warmth of having her there with me, knowing that she feels safe enough to seek me out. A confirmation of something so deeply validating, I almost feel… proud? Not of the ‘conquest’ as I mentioned before, but rather that she sees me as someone worthy enough to do what we did, even if it isn’t more.

Her reply finally came.

‘Commander Cullen,
I appreciate your offer, and I know your soldiers wouldn’t slow us down. I am respectfully declining, however. Eleanor will scare away any threats.
Thank you. Again.
Solona.’

I read it several times and pocketed it. It was hard not to look for hidden meanings in her words, especially the ‘Again’ standing all on its own. I wanted to find more there, a promise of return, a validation that she approved of me, still.

Ideally, there was so much I wanted from her. There would be no limit, truly.

If she gave me something less – told me I was good enough, but that she couldn’t leave the King, I would understand. If she could just tell me why she came to me last night, I would… I would take that answer and hold it to my chest, whatever it is.

But it seemed I would not get that today.

An hour after dawn, I watched from a respectable distance as she, Eleanor, and Shadow headed past the soldiers’ camp and towards the stable. Solona noticed me standing at the edge of camp, as if I was standing watch or vigil, and she lifted a hand. The very hand that pressed against my chest that now aches, empty.

I lifted my hand in response, unsure what this meant other than good-bye, but glad that she was not intent to ignore me, even if she was not running over to speak with me. Though why would I expect that, either?

I waited there, receiving reports even as they left the stable on horses; Solona on a blue roan mare and Eleanor on a chestnut pony, Shadow prowling along beside her.

I waited until they were out of sight, and then I found Rylen, who was reviewing something with another soldier.

“Rylen,” I said, by way of announcement.

“Ser.”

“Solona Amell, her daughter, and their mabari just left Haven on horseback for Orlais without armed escort. I want any of our men between here and Orlais reporting back whenever they see her – just to make sure they get there safely.”

Rylen’s mouth twitched slightly, but he was able to school it quickly. “Would you like some scouts to follow them in secret?”

“Leliana’s not here to approve it, but… yes. Just one.” We didn’t have the resources to use on this. One scout wouldn’t be able to do much to protect her, but it was probably more for my own alleviation of my concerns. If something did happen to her, someone would need to notify the King. Solona could protect herself. She was stronger than any of us, here.

“Of course, Ser. Where in Orlais is she going?”

“Someone named Marquis Du Vanciement. I don’t know where he lives.”

Rylen nodded. “I’ll go see it done, Ser.”

He returned a few minutes later with a letter and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. To my lifted eyebrows, he said, “Apparently, Leliana wrote this ahead of time for you and suspected you’d do this.”

I took the letter, a little annoyed and more than a little ashamed, and cracked the seal.

‘C,
She refused my offer, too.
Did you really think I would let my dear friend and Ella traverse the wilderness alone? I already have half a dozen armed scouts tasked with pursuing her in secret.
I won’t tell if you won’t.
-L’

It helped a little.

Chapter Text

24th of Harvestmere, 9:41

My cabin has become a new cage. Tormented by sleeplessness, when I shut my eyes, I can feel the flesh of her thighs under my fingers. I can taste her on my lips, I can hear my name spoken like a soft cry, can feel her against me and around me, the divine tightness of her.

Was she thinking of the King, instead?

Was she settling some score, coming here?

What did it all mean?

I almost feel like it is some part of a game that I am only seeing part of. Like I can only see the move of the pawn when there is an entire chess game occurring behind a curtain.

She is intelligent, careful. She has the power to manipulate me without magic, and she knows this. I am helpless against her: I know it, and she knows it. It should make me wary. If she told me to jump, I would be the first to ask, ‘how high?’

She knows this.

But why?

She did not have to have sex with me to have this power over me. If there is something she wants from me, she would have it with or without what happened the other night. So why did she come to me?

What are the possibilities?

1. She wanted to satisfy a basic urge. I have these urges, too, but I do not pursue it the way many others do, so it’s something I don’t always understand when I see promiscuity in others. To think that a woman would pursue ‘just sex’ (as she put it) with a man with whom she is not committed, especially if she is in a relationship with a high-status man– I find this generally unlikely.

And yet, I cannot rule it out entirely.

2. She has some feelings for me. I find this unlikely, though I do not deny that my heart aches for it…. I will try to find reasons and excuses why this could possibly be true. I will try to find any evidence why she may actually want me for me, despite the evidence to the contrary.

Evidence she may have feelings for me includes: she pursued me in the Circle and she came to my cabin to seek me out. That’s it. That’s all I can scrounge up when I think about it.

Yet, I must be honest with myself. She has rejected me outright. She has told me, ‘it’s just sex.’ I do not know how much clearer she could be that I am not special to her.

3. She is manipulating me somehow. If this is the case, I don’t think I’m going to figure it out today. I’m left with too many questions. Why leave without the promise of return? What manipulation would that serve?
And she has asked nothing of me.

To think that she would manipulate me…. I am part of this group, this Inquisition. Why single me out? Surely, she would not turn against Leliana. If she were trying to manipulate me, I could only see it as being for the purpose somehow of the Inquisition, but Leliana and I are two parts of the same body, so if she works against me, she works against Leliana as well. For that reason, I find this the least likely of the possibilities.

It simply makes no sense unless there is some discord with the King, and she is using me as some type of revenge. I suspected there was a rift between them. My own assumptions, really, led me in this direction, but they added to this all the same: he allowed her to cross Ferelden without escort, or she left without notice. Either way it does not speak to a harmonious relationship.

I know it is wrong to want their relationship to fail, but I want it anyway.

Chapter Text

26th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I am glad there is a skeleton crew here at Haven, for I am wracked by withdrawals and have retreated into my cabin.

Lady Josephine and I are the ones essentially in command here at Haven, and I’m relying on Rylen to be my face to the men as I try to suffer through this wave of bone-cracking ache, weakness, irritability, thirst, – everything, really. This bout has lasted three days now, and there is no end in sight.

I am drinking elfroot tea constantly, and my head throbs so hard I have a hard time seeing the words as I write them. It is a lucky thing that the Herald is away, and much of what we are doing here is still just scaling up, training, arming ourselves, trying to fill in the boots of a proper army. I am useless in the state that I am, hardly able to do more than barely comprehend reports and give directives.

My thoughts are like wading through thigh-high mud, sluggish and clumsy. I am struggling to problem-solve in this state. Everything I think of has a thick film of pain clouding it, interfering with my ability to think clearly.

I’m doing a poor job in this journal of sticking to my symptoms. With Solona entering my life, I have expectedly been swept away by her. She has that effect on me. I wish I could dismiss her or resent her, as logic should have me do, but she has always been the exception to the rule.

I cannot even think about her clearly in the storm of what I feel right now.

I almost wonder if it even happened. When she came to my cabin and discarded her cloak, plucked her gloves off… did that happen? Was that a dream?

It had felt so…. My blood rushes just remembering.

Perhaps the Desire Demon is taunting me again, entering my dreams, trying to trick me. Picking apart my weaknesses and exposing them.

What if it had never happened at all?

I look at the door as if I will see evidence either way – there isn’t.

I wish I had kept something as proof. Her gloves, maybe.

Does it matter, if I will never see her again? I tell myself to let it go, but that is against my nature. I can think of so few things in my life that I have just… let go of with ease. I seek control and do not give it to others, even when I should – case in point my difficulty relinquishing and delegating tasks.

The word ‘stubborn’ is used to describe me frequently by the women of the Inquisition, and I can’t say I disagree, though they could use a kinder term for it. Strong-willed suits me just fine.

The Order, what happened at Kinloch Hold, the horrors I’ve done in Kirkwall, Solona, and Lyrium – these are all things I cannot let go of easily. I am trying, as best as I know how. But, I grip these things white-knuckled, clutch them to me even though they are not good for me, even if they hurt me.

Chapter Text

29th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I received a report today from a scout in Orlais that Solona and her daughter have arrived at the estate of Marquis du Vanciement in Lydes. Apparently, they have stayed generally out of danger with the exception of running into bandits and a few red Templars. Per the report, Solona dispatched all threats efficiently and decisively, without injury.

It did little to ease my mind, thinking it was just the two of them (not including Shadow). I’m not sure why she insists on traveling alone, especially with a child to protect, but I suppose I don’t get to make those decisions. I’m no one to her, just a… what would she even consider me? Acquaintance? Friend? Lover? Does one earn that title after a one-time tryst? I tend to think, ‘no’.

My withdrawals eased, anyway, and I was able to emerge into the village yesterday. I’m still questioning whether we engaged in our… affair? It’s possible I imagined it, I think. Perhaps it was a warning of my bout of withdrawals, the way that animals and birds will hide and go silent before a storm approaches.

Have my other bouts of withdrawals had strange warning flares like this, however? I can’t remember, if so. Maker, don’t let my memory fail me now, too. Scaffolding. I need to do better at tracking this.

I should consult with someone who could know better than I what is happening to me; not just about the withdrawals, but about my concerns with the Desire Demon. Is it pursuing me now, trying to finish the job from a decade ago? Is it entering my dreams again?

If what happened with Solona was not real, then that was a dream. My dreams of her have always been what happened in the cage – my torture. This was not… torture, by any stretch of the word. And yet, I’m afraid to label it, now. Now that it is over and the lust has receded, she is no longer pressed against me. I am afraid to give it a name because what if it wasn’t real?

I need to know if I am being pursued again. I cannot accept a Demon into my life without question, as I had when Solona came to my cabin. I need to know if she was real. I told myself she was. But I cannot be trusted, my mind cannot be trusted, my mind is broken, I need to know, how can I know?IneedtoknowIcannottrustmymindwhatifthatwasthedemoncomingforme

Chapter Text

30th of Harvestmere, 9:41

I had not felt so close to madness in a long time.

After my entry last night, I left my cabin, found Rylen, and asked him to spar with me. It was late – he wasn’t in armor anymore, but he obliged me. He must have seen something in my face because he even asked, “Are you alright, Ser?” once we made it to the sparring ground.

I shook my head, but said nothing more. I fought him like I was possessed by Rage, not Desire, and more than once, Rylen’s expression was concerned and even fearful – whether of me, or for me, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care. I exhausted myself all the same, hammering him into the ground until my concern for him eclipsed my own need to continue.

Finally, I stopped.

Rylen dropped his sword and shield and put his hands on his knees, sweat plastering his hair to his brow. “Ser, you could have killed me.”

He’s not one to complain, and I knew I had crossed the line.

“I’m sorry, Rylen. I won’t do it again.”

I meant it, too. I felt out of control when I stalked out of my cabin, but now I was feeling better, like some of the kettle had bubbled out, and I could move about my business.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, gasping. I knew he could have just as easily asked, ‘what’s wrong with you?’

I shook my head and sheathed my blade. “It’s nothing to do with….” I gestured vaguely around us, breathing hard.

He nodded, still bent over and braced on his knees. “That woman, then? The Hero of Ferelden?”

I looked away, my jaw clenched so hard I could have broken my teeth. “What? No – uh. Maybe. Something like that.”

Rylen snorted and pushed off his knees. We were alone, without an audience as I wanted it. “I saw her go into your cabin before she left,” he said. “Ser.”

I snapped my head towards him. “You did?”

Rylen must have been a little angry with me, because it wasn’t like him to say things like this to me. Anything beyond work, he typically didn’t bother to bring up. I had to be the one to ask about his background, his childhood, where he was from – which is not something I was ever in the habit of as Knight Commander, or now.

“Aye,” he replied with a shrug, chest heaving, still. “Didn’t come right back out, either.”

I had planned to go to Solas after sparring with Rylen. I had wanted to see if he could try to find out through the Fade if I was being pursued by the Desire Demon, though I was still trying to work out how I would ask him to do this without incriminating myself as a madman. But I had needed to calm myself before going to Solas, and to do that, I’d beat Rylen black-and-blue or else I’d go to Solas wild-eyed, frantic and raving, which I couldn’t risk.

If Rylen confirmed that Solona had come to my cabin, then that settles it- it did happen. It wasn’t a dream, and I can stop questioning my sanity, for now.

I stared at Rylen, and his expression twisted into one of discomfort, like he was worried I was going to scold him for insubordination.

Then I sighed in relief and dragged a hand over my face.

“Maker preserve me.” I kept my hand clasped over my mouth for a moment and looked up at the sky, deepening twilight, almost too dark for us to see. Too dangerous to be sparring, certainly. I did put his life at risk tonight, because I don’t trust my own mind. Because I’m losing my mind, or I’m losing my mind less than I think I’m losing it. “Thank you, Rylen. I’m sorry. I am.”

“Better, now?” Rylen asked, his tone not as irritated as before.

“Much.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll get Bull next time.”

“You better not, Ser.” He winked at me.

Chapter Text

4th of Firstfall, 9:41

Today’s symptom inventory was only a headache, but it did not keep me from my duties as I went to the soldiers’ camp and supervised training. Things are always busy, but I do think we are in a small lull until the Herald returns with mages.

Upon receiving word of that news, delivered by one of the runners from Josephine, things began to fall into place within my ranks. I needed to start preparing my men to accommodate the mages who will come to Haven. We cannot be at each others’ throats like things were in Kirkwall. This is obviously more of a concern that I have with my men who were former Templars, rather than those who are civilians, but it is a concern, still.

It has been a part of training since the Herald left for Redcliffe to explore how the soldiers will fight alongside magic. They have to know – Templars and civilians alike – about magical traps, barriers, and how to avoid certain spells. They have to know how the battlefield is impacted by magic, not only when used against them, but with them. This is something even I am somewhat… naive to, I suppose.

And there are not many mages within Haven willing to help me demonstrate or train the troops in this way. Notably, Solas has declined my request. I am considering asking Madame Vivienne, but for some reason, I delay.

Something else interesting happened today, before I received word that the Herald was on her return journey with an army of mages.

Varric was trying to distract me as he does, sometimes. I was less irritated with him, still benefiting from the relief I felt when Rylen confirmed Solona coming to me had been real. He was talking about all manner of things as I rifled through reports, signing directives, and glancing up at the troops’ training.

“You never come to the tavern, Curly,” Varric was saying as a runner dropped off a report from Orlais. I scanned it quickly and then started over, reading it a little more carefully as he continued. “It won’t kill you to spend a little time with the rest of the village, let them enjoy seeing you, for once.”

I ignored him as I read about the state of things in Emprise du Lion, scanning for anything concerning.

Someone approached Varric. “Varric Tethras. For you, Ser.”

“Ah, what’s-? Oh!”

I glanced sidelong to see Varric accept a package; something wrapped in leather and twine. I straightened and watched as Varric opened the package and drew out a book, grinning widely.

I read the title. “A children’s book?”

Varric nodded, opening the book and flipping through a few pages. There were some illustrations, and it was in good condition. To me, it seemed a rare find.

“For Eleanor Amell. A book of more uncommon legends and tall tales of knights, warriors, overcoming evil. Things she likes. Her birthday is coming up on the sixteenth – she’ll be ten. I like that kid. She’ll be gutting wicked bastards by the time she’s fifteen.”

I tilted my head, looking at the book. I had many thoughts at once.

First, that Varric had made friends with Eleanor – and Solona, I imagine. That would be no surprise, considering Hawke and Amell are cousins, and Solona had been asking after her relatives. I’m sure he’s been spinning his tales to both.

Secondly, Eleanor would be ten years old on the sixteenth of Firstfall.

I hadn’t asked – it would break one of my rules – but he had told me without prompting.

I could do the math so quickly. I was trying not to, it was almost a compulsion. But I could map her birth out to a rough time of conception, if Solona had carried her to term. This is a detail I’m not certain of because I had been mad at the time, sent away to that rehabilitation center, cloistered from the rest of civilization. “Leveling out” as they called it.

I tried not to do the math in my head. I really did try, but I knew too much. I knew that Eleanor’s father was a Templar. I knew he wasn’t the King. I knew she wasn’t far along when she rescued me because she did not appear to be with child then.

That is what I knew, and then separate from that, I had my fears. I feared it was a man I knew, potentially a man under my employ now. Perhaps a man who had hurt or forced her. Given all of this, I simply did not have the fortitude to not calculate it.

I lasted about twenty seconds before I timed Eleanor’s conception to the cold month of Guardian.

“Curly! Are you there?”

I looked at Varric, irritated. “What?”

“I thought I lost you there. You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I barked. “Why are you getting presents for her? Are they returning to Haven?”

Varric’s eyes twinkled, and I had the impression he had meant to trap me like that, bait me into something. If he hadn’t, I still admitted something in my tone and what I didn’t say. “Of course they are. You think Serene and Lioness aren’t coming back?” He laughed.

“Lioness? Serene? Who’s who?”

I found the nickname curious, though in the back of my mind, I was focused on Eleanor’s birthday. What happened nine months before? It was Guardian, 9:31.

“C’mon Curly, you can do better than that.”

My mind was reeling. Guardian, 9:31.

Varric was still talking, probably explaining his choice of nicknames, or laughing at me for not guessing at it, but all I could think was, ‘Guardian, 9:31.’ I braced myself against my makeshift desk and focused on the directive in front of me, my ears ringing.

Guardian, 9:31.

It was only two months before the Blight ended and the Archdemon was slain, but I know it for another reason altogether.

Guardian, 9:31.

I remember the snow whipping around the Circle Tower. I remember the wind howling through the cracks in the windows and the hearthfires burning hot inside the tower. The mages – and Templars alike – were excitable with the storm, watching it blow in over Lake Calenhad and bury the shores.

It was the last time I was… whole.

Guardian, 9:31.

By the time the snow melted, I was still trapped in the pink, shimmering cage, and everyone else was dead or possessed.

By the time Solona rescued me, it was still Guardian, 9:31.

Me. Greagoir. Carroll. Geoffrey. Terence. Bernard. Heath. We were all that was left alive. Eleanor’s father is one of them. I’m almost certain of it.

Perhaps Carroll. Perhaps he forced himself, hurt her. Maker. Maker, I hope not. I -

“Curly!”

I straightened, pushing off my desk with an effort that felt monumental.

“I – I need -” I didn’t know what I planned to say, but I gathered up my papers and stuffed them under my arm.

“Don’t bother, Curly, I’ll leave. You’re not fun today, anyway. Not that you’re a ball of sunshine most days, anyway.”

I rubbed my chin as Varric left me to my rumination, and I slapped my papers back down onto my desk. It wouldn’t serve me to leave and run off to my cabin to think through the same things I’ve been thinking of since Solona came to Haven. I can’t let these types of things consume me, but how can I stop it?

Guardian, 9:31. The month my life changed forever. And Solona’s, it seems.

Chapter Text

6th of Firstfall, 9:41

What I know now doesn’t change anything, I tell myself.

For some reason, I am perseverating on the date of my rescue and precisely how many days I was trapped and tortured. Neither of these things I know exactly.

I know that the snowstorm came on the 4th of Firstfall.

It was early on the 7th that Uldred turned.

I know that it was certainly over by the 29th, because that was when Greagoir told me he was dismissing me from the Circle Tower and that I was to be rehabilitated at a Templar-sanctioned facility. It was over for several days before that. Maybe more than a week. My mind wasn’t working enough to track it.

By my judgment, Eleanor was conceived within days of Solona’s rescue, if she carried her to term. And if everything else I know is true; that Eleanor’s father was a Templar, notably, then he was certainly one of the ones I knew.
This knowledge eats at me, but I can do nothing about it. I am not going to break my rules, especially now, because she is not even here.

Who was she with?

I am not even jealous. I do not consider myself a jealous man, because it is not as though she were ever mine, nor that even if we were in a relationship, that I could lay a claim to her as such. I have been jealous of the King, certainly. But I am not that jealous of a man who would force himself upon her.

Rape is something that I… was in denial of in Kirkwall. I did not know – really know – until I was Knight Commander how rampant it had been in my years serving there. There are few methods of oppression and control more severe, and I did not think my fellow brothers would stoop that low. They did.

They were not our slaves or prisoners, but our wards, our charges.

And to think, for a mage to be raped, a Templar would likely smite them first – strip them of their only defense; their magic. Otherwise, the mage could incinerate them or do something equally terrifying.

Is the violation not that dissimilar to what the Desire Demon did to me? Stripped me of my defenses, penetrated my mind, imprisoned me in that cage, and violated my thoughts over and over and over and over again until I lost great chunks of myself that I would never reclaim. Is that not the same?

There is a difference, and as I’ve said before, I do myself no favors by being dishonest.

The difference between my experience and a mage’s is that I was able to go on and reclaim my position of power. My past became the blade that I held above the mage’s necks like an executioner for years. I had nearly carte-blanche to do as I would, and I was unapologetic about it, working deliriously. I was as dangerous as any blood mage, but no one stopped me.

If the mages had acted like lunatics and raged like I had, they’d have been promptly made Tranquil or slaughtered.

I was promoted.

Chapter Text

9th of Firstfall, 9:41

The Herald has left Redcliffe with the mages in tow and is expected to return within the week.

Today was… eventful. Most notably, Solona and Eleanor returned.

I kept myself in check. Not too eager. Not too wild-eyed.

I was standing with Rylen and a retinue of former Templars who we had grouped into formation to face an imaginary threat – the Breach, and whatever creatures and demons poured forth from it.

I had been handicapping myself trying to train my men to fight on a battlefield with magic – which is notably something even I am not familiar with. Indeed, I’m more used to fighting against magic than with it. These are strange times.

We were discussing which schools of magic the mages would and would not be able to use in the attack agaisnt the Breach, in order to keep the men safe.

Rylen looked at me. “They can’t use fire. They can’t use chain lightning unless it’s the most adept mages. They- we have company.”

I frowned at him and followed his gaze.

She was here, approaching with quiet footsteps, her hair braided. Moving with quiet grace, I watched her step towards us tentatively and pause for my invitation.

“Solona,” I said, careful to keep my tone steady in front of my men. Professional and restrained.

She took a few more steps, hands clasped before her, glancing at the soldiers. “Commander. I was told that I might be of some assistance here?”

“Er, indeed.” I gestured to Rylen. “This is Rylen, my second-in-command. Rylen, this is Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden.”

I briefed her on what we were trying to do as she stepped up beside me, and I tried to ignore the way my heart stuttered in my chest at her proximity, remembering our time together before she left for Orlais. As I finished my summary, I added, “I don’t know how long the Herald will want to wait before we assault the Breach, so I’m getting a head start.”

Her eyes were twinkling with interest. “I suppose mages and Templars – or former Templars – have never learned how to fight a common enemy together, have they? I’d love to help. May I?”

I delighted in her offer inside. Additionally, I would not have to ask Madame de Fer.

“I’d be grateful,” I told her, and then we got to work.

We fell into a rhythm. Solona would let her magic fly while the soldiers had their backs to her. She tried a manner of different spells that she believed could be done without harming them specifically, though many, she claimed, would be too dangerous to use, such as walls of flames, entropic traps. She specifically targeted the men several times for things such as shields and barriers – only protective spells – and while they were under her protection, she used a little less precise magic.

The men were terrified. I could see them flinch, and some of them even broke rank as Solona’s magic soared over their heads at an imaginary target. I made them get back in formation every time. One of them tried to smite her, but she had too much for him to drain her. I made him drop and do one hundred pushups, anyway.

The exercise was as much to get them desensitized to magic as it was to figure out how we would logistically attach the Breach. Whether I was traumatizing my men further or actually helping them get over their fears of it, I don’t really know. I know that I wouldn’t have wanted to be one of them, certainly.

None of them got hurt. If I thought Solona couldn’t control it, I wouldn’t have allowed her to help.

And Solona’s magic…. I have never seen her work, not truly. Even this appears to be child’s play to her, like she is humoring us. As experienced a former Templar that I am, I can sense a mage’s hold on their magic; whether it is tenuous or whether it is firm, steady. Hers is clear, unquestioned. It bends completely to her will.

I cannot help but to be in awe of her, and I wonder if the other men here think the same. Does Rylen?

Several hours of practice, and my men were no longer looking as terrified, but rather… tired, and I decided that we could all be dismissed. I didn’t suspect that Solona’s magic was low, but most mages would be low if not empty of their magic by now, and I did not want to ask too much of her.

“Thank you,” I said to Solona as Rylen took his leave of us, and the soldiers dispersed. “Thank you for being careful.”

She smiled politely. “I’m glad I can help. Or try to, anyway.”

“How was Orlais?” I asked. I noticed that not far away, Eleanor was seated on a low stone wall as if she had been watching the whole thing, scratching Shadow behind the ears. She was looking at us.

“It was alright,” she replied. “I visited someone who is considered to be a scholar on blood issues, like illnesses. He knows about everything there is to know about the Calling without being a Grey Warden, and with his connections, I thought he might know even more.”

I inhaled sharply. “Did you learn anything?”

She tilted her head, and I was distracted by the supple muscles in her neck. “A little. He has some theories about how the Calling can be cured or delayed, and none are pleasant.” She frowned, her gaze shifting back to me. “How are you?”

We had not spoken privately yet.

“I’m well,” I said. It wasn’t a lie, in my opinion.

She studied me for a moment, green eyes searching for any inconsistencies. She dropped her voice nearly to a whisper, her tone soft and serene.

“May I see you again?”

As if I would deny her!

My heart was like a bird fluttering in my chest. I nodded once. “Of course.”

“Just… casual.”

“Of course,” I repeated instantly, trying to shield myself from what I perceived might be a blow. “Casual,” I echoed, as if this would be natural to me, as if I frequently find myself in casual, carnal relations with women.

I would make it work for her. I would fill whatever need she has for me, if that is the only way I can have her. I knew it in that moment. I would do it and I would not complain about it. Not to her.

Solona’s mouth twitched towards a smile. “I’m glad to work with you.”

I inclined my head. “As am I. I apologize for Piter-” I said, indicating the man who had tried to smite her.

She waved a hand dismissively. “It is not the first time a Templar has smited me. And not the first time one has failed, either.”

It was hard not to think about my theories about Eleanor, but I forced myself to remain focused. “Perhaps tomorrow we can do this again with the same men. But… the other men need the training, too. The former Templars need it the most because they’re… afraid. But the others don’t have the magical resistance… I don’t know – what do you think?”

Solona frowned. “I have enough magic for both. Let’s split them up; have some former Templars mixed with men that weren’t Templars, so that they can benefit from each other. We can train both in a day, it’ll be fine.”

I was reassured by her confidence, and I would not question it. “Then that will be our plan. Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said and dismissed herself. I watched her walk away a few steps and glanced past her at Eleanor, all of my theories running wild in my mind. Perhaps Eleanor is Carroll’s.

If that is true, then I am honored that Solona would trust me enough to have this relationship with me, as base as it is…. And yet, she is clear that that is all I will be to her. It is confusing, but I am hardly in a position to ask for more.

It is late, now. I’m sitting here in my cabin, which feels less like a cage than it did not too many days ago. I can’t deny that I’ve been alert, listening for a knock on my cabin door. I had scrubbed myself raw in the bath tonight, tidied my cabin, made everything perfect.

But it’s late, later than I would expect an arrival, even a discreet one.

I don’t think she’s coming tonight.

And I will not go to her. That would break one of my rules.

Chapter Text

10th of Firstfall, 9:41

The men seemed less terrified, today, during training. Only Farley broke formation and bolted with a particularly loud crack of lightning, but he promptly got back in line, head bowed. I rotated the former Templars out in favor of my civilian soldiers, wanting to get them all used to having magic soar from behind them and over their heads.

Solona is… remarkable. She is in total control, even when unleashing her magic. I had been nervous at first, but it seems that was for little reason. She can cut the flow of her magic abruptly if needed, with what seems to be minimal effort on her end.

She is a force in and of herself. I can only hope the mages that are coming to us can control themselves, as well.

When training was complete, we huddled with Rylen and reviewed the map of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I was glad for my height on her because I was able to observe the way she studied the map like a problem to be solved without her catching me looking. It gave me a vantage, if you will.

She suggested different classes of mages for different alcoves, different places on the map where my men would be split into chunks. She wanted elemental-focused mages in one area, force mages in another, and healers spread throughout the ranks. She provided her reasoning when prompted, and soon, even Rylen stopped questioning every suggestion.

It was fascinating, our minds working all at once together.

Later, after we had dispersed and I eventually returned to my cabin, I stoked the hearth fire and sorted through the reports that came in during the afternoon. I was finished replying to them, and writing a quick letter to Mia, when a knock came to my door.

It was her, and my heart leapt to see her there in the star-filled night. Her cloak was drawn up again, as if she needed to hide herself to come here.

“May I?” She asked softly, the faint glow of my cabin warming her face where she stood in the darkness.

“Of course,” I said, a repeat of last time. I shut the door behind her as she entered and quietly locked it. Her eyes flitted to me.

Casual.

“Is this a good time?” She wondered, glancing at my desk and at my sword belt, which I hadn’t yet removed, though I had removed the rest of my armor and wore only a shirt, wool sweater, and my trousers.

“It is.” I swallowed tightly, nervous. I didn’t understand ‘casual’. How did she want me to…? How were we supposed to begin?

Sensing my unease – with myself, not her – she took a careful step towards me, with a hand out as if I might bolt in fear.

I saw her and thought about Carroll, who probably hurt her, and I ached. I wanted to… make up for his sins, I suppose. I don’t understand it. I wanted to show her that I wouldn’t be like that, that I could do better. I could do better than even our desperate rut we had against my door.

I let her close the distance between us as her hand touched the center of my chest. Her eyes stared up at me, and I lifted the hood of her cloak away from her face carefully, delicately.

“How do you like it?” She asked, voice soft. I might even say it was seductive. I could hardly breathe.

“I-” How could I tell her I didn’t care? It didn’t matter to me as long as it was her. But if I said that, would that be too much? Not ‘casual’ anymore? I didn’t understand the parameters she wanted. Where were her lines in the sand?

She leaned up and kissed me, her hand fisting in my shirt. I caught her by the arms and parted my mouth for her, found her yielding and soft and perfect. I kissed her deep and hard, supporting her weight by her elbows as she leaned into me.

I felt something else, and realized her other hand had started at the laces of my breeches. The heat within me didn’t build – it roared to life, consuming me, blazing like a hot fire, and my restraint as dry kindling. Just like that, I forgot my concerns about this ‘casual’ term, and followed her lead as she pushed against me, pushing me towards my desk.

I leaned against the edge of my desk, and she stepped in between my legs, still working my laces free with one hand, her other hand trailing from the center of my chest to the nape of my neck, and threading into my hair.

She broke away from my mouth and kissed my jaw as her hand slipped into my loosened breeches. My heart was thundering, my breath coming in short and clipped. I tensed in anticipation as she touched me, and my own hands slid down her back, her waist, her hips.

She was still fully clothed, and I wondered if this thing – whatever this was between us – would last long enough for her to bare herself.

I was afraid to intervene and take control of the situation, I realize. She was between my legs, now kissing my throat, and taking me in hand carefully, and I just – I was afraid to scare her off, like if I distracted her or messed anything up, that she would go running and leave me. I couldn’t risk such a thing happening. So I groaned throatily and let her trail her mouth down the muscles of my neck, acutely aware that she had taken me in hand in my breeches and her other hand was now braced on my thigh.

Then she lowered herself to her knees, green eyes dilated and focused on me.

“Solona,” I breathed, concerned and delirious with need.

She said nothing and tugged my trousers down just past my hips, so I had to lift off the desk, and then she guided me back against it with a palm against my abdomen.

I gripped the edge of the desk white-knuckled as she leaned in and began to use her mouth on me.

I thought the last time I had never been so hard before. I was wrong. I could hardly look at her for more than a few seconds at a time without fear that I would expend myself – the sight of her lips wrapped around me. Maker, it’s so lewd, but I feel that if I don’t write the details, I might lose it, like I might forget it, though how could I ever forget this?

She used her mouth and hand, free hand braced on my thigh, as I nearly ripped the wood off my desk. She bobbed and sometimes looked up at me with those darkened eyes, and it took everything I had not to-

I made noises that I’m not proud of. I’ve never been a particularly vocal lover, but I think I muttered things to her. Curses, maybe. Praise? I can’t remember, honestly. Hopefully, that was all it was.

I warned her that I was close, and then she hummed as if affirmatively. It was too much for me, and she didn’t move away or release me. I released the desk with one hand and clapped my hand to her shoulder, thumb parallel to her collarbone, and tried to push her away. She fought me to stay, leaning in to the side I wasn’t pushing.

I was too far gone and didn’t give it enough time to pull her off me. I tried to bite out another warning, and she hummed again, and didn’t release me. I finished inside of her, bowing forward over her, and somehow my hand shot from her shoulder to her hair, fisting there, though she still had freedom of movement.

Shame burned me, and as I felt myself softening, Solona finally withdrew as my hand relaxed. She smoothed her hands over my thighs, and for a moment, I could not look at her, I was so embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” I said raggedly, flushed. Solona got to her feet between my knees and frowned.

“Why?”

“I – I should not have….” I could not speak it out loud.

“I wanted you to,” she said, blinking. I still felt like an animal, but it helped.

I reached for her hips and smoothed my hands over the curve of them. “I… let me, next.” I meant to say ‘let me pleasure you, next,’ but these things don’t come naturally or easily to me.

She smiled, and I think she understood. “I have to go to Eleanor – Leliana isn’t here to keep an eye on her.” She bent and kissed my throat, and I captured the back of her neck with my hand gently, trying to coax her to stay without words, but she pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asked.

My breath hitched. Did she mean we would do something like this tomorrow?

“Yes,” I said, and my hand was still cradling her neck as she stood between my legs, still fully clothed. I could feel her pulse beneath my palm, the delicate muscles beneath my calluses. She pressed her own hand on top of mine and drew my hand away.

“Tomorrow.”

She turned and left, and I was still lacing myself up by the time my door was shutting.

The cabin suddenly felt very empty with her gone, with only the sound of the hearth fire crackling. Or perhaps it was this small void opening up within me, like her absence tears open a hole somewhere within that I would not feel if she had not entered my space at all. I don’t understand it at all.

I always wanted intimacy with her – so should I not feel more fulfilled by this? Why is there a void at all? Why do I sense her absence when she leaves?

She won’t give me more – not as the King’s mistress. She wouldn’t leave him for me. Can I be alright with that? Could I accept this role in her life, a purely carnal role?

I want to say that yes, I will take her however she presents herself to me. I’d like to be more than happy with this. But this absence…. I don’t know.

Truthfully, I don’t know.

Chapter Text

11th of Firstfall, 9:41

This morning, a sticky bun was sent to me without a note. I suspect it came from Solona – ordered from the kitchen, of course. She is the only one who knows my preference for that particular pastry. I may have smiled.

We spent the day working again with the soldiers. It was productive, and I enjoy working alongside her, though it’s hard not to be distracted by memories of last night.

She visited me again tonight. It was later than last night, nearly midnight, but I imagine my window showed that my hearthfire was still burning bright, even with my curtain drawn. I was sharpening my throwing knives, and allowed her inside when she knocked.

I can’t say I wasn’t listening for the knock, and jumped up from my chair so fast I nearly flipped it over. I’m not proud of it.

Within minutes, I was rucking her skirts up her legs and kissing her throat as she sat on the edge of my desk, knees braced against my hips, and I felt a surge of guilt that almost stopped me in my tracks. I bowed my head against the crook of her neck and tried to will myself to go on.

“Cullen? What’s wrong?” She asked. She had lifted off my shirt already. I think that had sparked my guilt – I can’t say for certain, but it is as though it symbolized another step, something deeper, that one of us was baring ourselves.

I ran my nose against her throat and pulled away for a moment to look at her. “Are you – you’re with… will the King be angry?”

She stilled, her hands on my chest flattening. Confusion flickered across her face. “What?”

I felt anger, shame, and guilt all flare within me so bright. “The King – aren’t you… with him?”

She frowned at me, and a moment passed. “Where did you hear that?”

Her thighs were warm beneath my hands, which were beneath her dress, and I was regretting saying anything. I just… it felt so wrong to do this with her, if she was being unfaithful. Not that I owed him anything.

“I don’t-” I couldn’t remember, truthfully. Where had I heard it? “I don’t know. I thought you were with him since the Blight.”

The flicker of a scowl crossed her face. “Maker’s breath, I’m not with the King. That’s a rumor, Cullen, it isn’t true. We’re just friends, and we’ve only ever been friends.”

I searched her expression as if looking for the lie, though I would never suspect her of being dishonest with me.

I felt relief. Such a selfish relief that I had risked our ‘arrangement’ for, because I had shown too much of my hand. Casual. That’s how she wanted it, and here I was, setting a condition that it mattered to me whether she was faithful or not to another.

Solona seemed to be balancing on a knife-edge with the way she looked at me, and I regretted saying anything at all. In that moment, I would have taken the uncertainty over the relief.

Her green gaze flickered to my chest, where one of her fingers was trailing along a gnarled scar on my right pectoral. “Cullen, if we should just-”

“No, it’s fine,” I interrupted, unable to hear whatever she was going to say, which I determined would be a proposal at a termination of this. I would take this over nothing, certainly. I squeezed her thighs gently and ran my palms up them towards her hips. “I’m fine.”

“This is what I can give you,” she said to me, expression almost… impassive. Schooled.

I felt something inside me fracture, but I would not let it show. I forced myself to smirk at her, let my hands glide over the smooth, but scarred skin of her thighs.

“Then let’s stop talking,” I suggested, biting back the bile that rose in my throat at it. She watched me as I dipped back to her neck and kissed her there again, pressing firmly, almost furious kisses.

The tension between us was expressed in white-knuckled grips, her nails digging into my skin, my hammering thrusts, bruising kisses, my hand cradling her neck, tilting her head back to bear her throat to me. She encouraged the hungry pace, even asking for it against my ear breathlessly.

I had never done this to a woman before. So… vigorously? Rough?

We finished together, slick with sweat, with one of my knees on the desk and her leg thrown over mine as I held her against me.

I immediately softened, not just below my belt line, but the rest of me. I smoothed her hair and ran my hands over her body gently, climbing off the desk to give her a little bit of room. She held my shoulders, and her eyes were dark, studying me.

I caressed her hair, tucking it behind her ear, and bent to kiss her temple. My part in our coupling had been almost angry- but I hadn’t been angry with her, certainly. I was angry with myself for jeopardizing this thing we had between us, this ‘casual’ thing. For putting her on that knife’s edge and making her question whether I could hold my end of our bargain.

I would not do it again. I would not have her question me again.

“Was that too much?” I asked. It was as much care as I allowed myself to show in that moment, for too much might frustrate her and complicate us.

She shook her head and slid from the edge of the desk, getting to her feet and pulling me against her as she stood. I let her, though I kept my expression flat as stone, or tried to.

“No. That’s what I wanted tonight.”

I couldn’t stop the frown from flickering across my face at that, but she didn’t see it, thankfully, because she pressed a kiss to my chest, just above my heart, and eased herself from between the desk and I.

I felt her absence like a thing living, a gaping void, but I didn’t show it.

She shrugged into her cloak and drew her hair out from beneath it. There was not much for her to do, since she hadn’t gotten undressed in the times we’ve been together.

I laced my trousers and avoided her gaze, my jaw tense.

I could do this, I told myself, thinking of this ‘casual’ thing. I could do it.

She was at my side and trailed a kiss along my shoulder. My gaze shot to her and found her studying me carefully, and I felt her fingers running gently up my back.

There was a question in her eyes. I could see it there, but what was it? I couldn’t ask. I wouldn’t ask, not if it meant risking her trust in me and my ability to abide by her guidelines.

Whatever she would say would have to do for me. If that meant this, then I would accept it.

I just didn’t – I don’t – understand why I don’t feel very happy with it.

She flattened her palm against the center of my back. “I enjoyed this,” she murmured softly. “Are you enjoying this, too?”

The most truthful thing was, “Yes,” which I said. I am enjoying it. I’d just be enjoying it more if I had more. I turned to her, finished lacing my breeches, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I am.” I cleared my throat.

She nodded and left without saying anything more.

I stared at the door after it had shut for several long moments.

She denied being in a relationship with the King. She denied ever being his mistress. I am only now realizing how wrong I had been as I write this. Until now, I had been so focused on my self-directed frustration that I hadn’t even stopped to consider I might be wrong about her and the King.

Maker, that is jarring.

What else could I be wrong about?

Chapter Text

13th of Firstfall, 9:41

The Haven of today is much unlike the Haven of yesterday.

Yesterday, it was a relatively busy little village, filled mostly with my soldiers, the banging of steel, villagers whose lives have been totally upended in the last few months. Now, it smells like lyrium, and it is brimming with mages that only weeks ago had been fighting a war against the Templars.

In short, the Herald has returned with our new ‘allies.’

I do not want to complain, but this is hard for me. I cannot help but wonder if I were not in this station that I am in now, but rather if I had been caught unawares out in the Hinterlands – maybe on my way to see my family – that these mages would incinerate me on sight.

I need to swap out my vambraces. It is the final piece of my armor signaling my history in the Order.

But even if all of my armor is replaced to no longer carry the Order’s flaming sword, I still carry myself like a Templar. I still behave like one, an observation that is obvious to anyone who has spent any amount of time in and outside of a Circle. All of our new allies will know me for who I am – or rather what I was. I suppose I cannot outrun my past, not that I’ve tried to.

It does not help to make Haven feel comfortable for me, now that we are teeming with rebel mages. It makes the village feel like a tinderbox ready to catch fire, and I worry about the tensions here. Perhaps I am imagining it – I hope that I am, and it would be no surprise if that were the case. My mind is proving less reliable these days.

Regardless, I’m trying not to think of Haven like Kirkwall before the Chantry explosion. I recognize – I do, truly – that my unfounded fears can only serve to harm our cause and get in the way to sow discord between us. The Herald chose this path, and I will walk it with her as well.

Yet, it does not take away the years and horrors that I have been through.

Since this is Haven, not Kirkwall, and since I am no longer a Templar, I am going about things in a different way. I am not giving in to the reflexive urges I feel that will only serve to stoke this discord. In Kirkwall, this would have looked like mistrust, being quick to blame the mages rather than seeing my own men’s part in things. I see things so differently now, but… seeing their army marching into Haven – I cannot pretend that it doesn’t put me on edge.

I plan to lay low and spend as much time with my soldiers as possible; both because I want to ensure that there are no interpersonal troubles between them and the mages, and because I don’t think I need to be… elsewhere. With their arrival today, there was no attempt to train my men with Solona’s help. I’m not sure if I’m relieved about that or not.

Her daughter was there, though. Tenacious little thing with her Dinner Knife. Several times, I caught her observing our drills before she would practice them on her dummy. I reminded her of her grip at one point, and the girl stuck her chin stubbornly, though I think she was glad for the tip.

She reminds me of myself at that age, though she has a stronger will. I was more agreeable and malleable, I suppose, or I’d like to think so.

It’s strange to think that Carroll could have fathered a child like this. I didn’t know him before the lyrium degraded his mind to the point of brash immaturity, but maybe he shared a little of this personality before.

Anyway, there was a war meeting held with the Herald, Leliana, Cassandra, Josephine, Grand Enchanter Fiona, and Solona. In the meeting, we thoroughly discussed the events of Redcliffe and then our next steps, which in short is to assault the Breach.

With so many in the meeting, and feeling outnumbered by so many women and mages, I found it difficult, but I presented my proposal. I explained how the layout of the Temple proves difficult for navigating an army, and then explained what Solona and my soldiers had been working on together.

I felt certain sets of eyes on me, studying me; Leliana, and the Herald, particularly.

Solona waited until I had presented the overview to give details on which classes of mages she felt should be placed where, and why. She said this with emphasis to Grand Enchanter Fiona, their leader, and encouraged input from the elven rebel.

We spent another hour discussing the assault after that. I don’t think Grand Enchanter Fiona was happy about splitting up the mages so much among the soldiers, but we seemed to come to no better solution in the moment. It was also decided that we would need a day or two to practice and ensure that the mages chosen to head into the Temple had good aim and control of their magic. I needed to know – for my own sake – that my men would not get hit with stray fireballs and lightning from behind.

I hate knowing that my men might get injured in this practice, but it is better that it happen in Haven rather than in true battle, when they might get overrun by demons at the same time. At least in Haven, there will be ample mages to heal them and no additional threat, and we can halt practice to tend to the wounded.

I hate knowing that I must ask my men to step into danger, even if it means it might save them from danger later. This is the choice and responsibility I have as Commander. It is the privilege, and I see it as sacred.

If only I could trust the rebels as much as I could trust Solona.

Chapter Text

14th of Firstfall, 9:41

The smell of lyrium is driving me mad.

Outside my cabin, I’m busy enough that I can generally focus on other things, though it is there like an undercurrent, like a pain or a limp. But inside my cabin, I want to climb the walls. The smell of it seeps in through the door, it seems, or perhaps it’s just stuck in my nose from the day spent among the mages.

I am sitting close to the fire to try to get it out of my senses, but every breath I take is like the breath I would take just before I’d gulp it down.

Today was spent training the rebel mages on our tactics. Solona and my men demonstrated what we’ve been working on, essentially just stressing the need not to hit my men. Solona mentioned several spells that she considers off-limits for them to use on the battlefield, and Grand Enchanter Fiona was inclined to agree with her about these.

From there, Solona and I stood side-by-side and observed as Grand Enchanter Fiona rotated out several mages to prove to us both their prowess with magic but also their surety with their aim.

I noticed my men have also grown to trust Solona, and they were a little more skittish with the new mages. For good reason, in a few cases. Grand Enchanter Fiona made many good recommendations – most of her chosen mages will be able to join us on the assault, but a few will not.

Two of my men were injured. A fireball had split in two, and half of it had hit one of my men in the neck. He will bear scars, though he was promptly healed. Another was hit by rogue chain lightning, which I admit is difficult to control, but we cannot afford mistakes. I am not in this position for being lackadaisical, and I would not be a good commander if I don’t push for perfection.

We are going to wait one more day, and then we will assault the Breach. The only reason for the delay is to give the mages a little more rest from their trek across Ferelden.

I’m glad. I don’t want to wait any longer. The sooner this is done, the sooner they can be on their way, and this smell can get out of here. Who would have thought it would reek so intensely? The Circle never smelled this strongly. They must have supply lines that are – I don’t even want to think about that.

Perhaps I am more sensitive because I’m not taking it, or perhaps it is because they are at war and are taking more than usual.

Regardless, I need to not think about it. I need to not think about many things.

There seems to be nothing safe to think about.

She did not visit me last night, and I don’t think she will visit me, tonight.

I have my rules, one of them being that I will not seek her out except through a letter. I made this rule before we became… engaged physically – casually – but still. It is good that I abide by the rule. I need to keep myself at a distance from her, or I will surely ruin it, somehow.

I worry that I have ruined whatever we have with my question about the King.

Perhaps if I can keep to myself, keep this distance from her, only allow her to seek me out, she will feel comfortable with me again. ‘Casual.’ This is her limit, her boundary, and I must adhere to it. I cannot pressure her into anything more.

It is strange for me.

If this is how she wants to be loved cared for, then I suppose I can try.

Chapter Text

15th of Firstfall, 9:41

It is like the deep breath before the plunge into water.

Tomorrow, we will assault the Breach. Everything is in place. My soldiers are outfitted, their swords sharpened, their captains assigned. They know their positions, their entry points into the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the names and roles of the mages assigned to their retinues. They know the signals to retreat, and they know where I will be, where the Herald will be.

There is nothing left to do but pray for our success and rest.

I cannot sleep, of course.

Solona just left.

It is hard to watch her leave.

I-

She -

I am glad she came to me tonight - I don’t want to sound ungrateful. Maker, when my hands are on her, and when I’m in her, I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care about the lyrium or the Breach. The cage feels… wider, looser.

I am glad, yes, but… there is a sharpness to the end of things. I know she has to leave me after, it’s just… I wish we had a better way to blunt it, soften it.

She came to the cabin, shrouded beneath her hood. Is she afraid to be seen coming here? Is she ashamed of me?

I locked the door. I wondered if I could get her to my bed this time or if we would remain forever in this half of my cabin. Maybe the bed means something to her. Perhaps the bed is not ‘casual.’

As I turned around from the door, she stepped up to me and rested her hands on my shoulders, rocking onto her toes to kiss me. I cradled her waist, my hands slipping behind the small of her back. Her body was already flush against me, and I felt myself hardening in response, helpless against her.

I wanted to walk her back towards my bed. I wanted something softer, gentler than our previous times, but she turned, guiding me again towards my desk. I let her lead, because I see this on her terms, not mine.

Her back-end brushed against my desk, and I pinned her there gently, kissing her deeply. I plucked the ties of her cloak with one hand, and with the other, began to tug on the laces of her dress.

I suppose I was intent on something new happening tonight; her nakedness, if not my bed.

I pushed her cloak over her shoulders, and it spilled onto my desk, and I dipped down to drag my mouth over her throat. She arched, baring her neck to me as she slipped her hands beneath my shirt, running her fingers along my chest.

“I thought about you all day,” she murmured. My heart stuttered, and I told myself it meant nothing. “I thought about this.”

I worked at her laces and pressed an urgent kiss to her collarbone. “So did I,” I ground out roughly, unwilling to say more and risk more. The more I told her, the more I risked exposing my true feelings, which would be too much for her.

She pulled at my shirt, and I broke away from her to get out of it as she bared my chest before bowing over her again, returning to her laces and her throat. She ground against me as I pinned her to the side of the table, my own lust growing to unmanageable levels.

I started to grow frustrated with the laces and yanked on them, but I had done enough, and her bodice was loosened as Solona grabbed my arms and pressed against me, trying to stand. I gave her just enough space for her to writhe out of her dress, and then suddenly, she was naked.

She leaned back, and I felt almost dizzy with longing as I braced myself against the edge of the desk on either side of her hips, and looked at her. I really looked at her.

I couldn’t find it within me to feel ashamed of it, either.

“Maker, you’re perfect,” I breathed, and touched her with my calloused hands. She was wholly still but breathing, watching me with her green eyes, hair unbound and spilling down her back. I trailed my fingers along a scar running nearly parallel to one of her ribs, and then another along her pelvis.

Solona flattened her hands against the woodgrain of my desk as she let me touch her, let my fingers roam over her valleys and peaks, trailing over her skin like she was the surface of a lake I didn’t wish to disturb. She watched me take her in; the curves of her, the shape of her breasts, the evidence of battles long past, likely times when she could have been lost to the world.

“I want to learn every one of them,” I murmured, indicating another scar at the top of her thigh, “the story behind them. Will you tell me?”

A hint of a smile graced her lips, and her eyes were dark. “If you tell me yours.”

In hindsight, this may have been a step over the line, a push against the boundary. I was grateful she didn’t retreat.

I dipped to kiss her mouth, and felt her arms snake around my neck. I lifted her onto the desk; one hand behind her back and another under her thigh, and I climbed after her.

I touched her everywhere; her breasts, her waist, her hips, the delicate column of her throat, the heat between her thighs. She allowed me to touch her gently, softly, until I was between her legs, and then she encouraged urgency, power. She started to dig her fingers into my shoulders and writhe on my desk beneath me.

“Please, Cullen,” she huffed as I kissed the hollow of her throat, my thumb working circles around her sensitive nub and two fingers pumping within her. I had been trying to savor this, moving slowly and lazily, but even I was feeling my control fraying.

“What?” I asked, smirking against her. My knees were aching against the solid wood of my desk, but I wouldn’t have stopped if they were falling off.

“Please.” Her legs trembled as I ran my thumb over the spot that makes her lift her hips. “Please – I want – Cullen, just-”

I couldn’t deny her any longer, but I don’t think I gave her what she meant. I lifted my head to watch her as I worked my hand with vigor, dug my thumb into her. She met her release within moments, and I watched it on her face, felt it against my hand and as she clamped her legs around me. She grabbed my wrist as if to push me away and I eased my movements, gentling my touch.

She was breathing hard as she relaxed her legs again – a little – and slid her hand up my arm. Her gaze had not left me, and she traced circles against my shoulder.

I thought she was going to leave – she had finished, after all. It’s not like we both had to be satisfied.

But she reached with her other hand, then, and touched me, and my breath hitched. I was dizzy with longing, and it was so easy, and so… Maker forgive me, but it was… perfect, pressing into her. She was tense, still, after having met her release, and I knew that once I was hilted, I would not last much longer.

I didn’t think the desk could take it, but somehow it lasted until I, too, met my release, catching myself awkwardly in my hand just in time as I pulled out. It was less dignified, but I thought I had a little more time. I kissed her on the lips again and then just above her breast, and eased myself off the desk, my knees screaming.

I tucked myself away quickly as I got steady on my feet.

“You can feel free to stay there,” I murmured to her, smirking. She was naked but for her boots, laid out on my desk – little more than a table – with her hair splayed out around her. We hadn’t even cleared the surface before our activities, and some papers were scattered, and my journal was wedged in the corner.

When I noticed it, I panicked a little.

Solona gave me a half-smile, glancing at my chest.

“Like the view?” She asked.

More than that, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I picked up my shirt and held it in a ball in my hands, gazing at her body on display on my desk. I wasn’t being lustful, truly. I was longing. I was willing her beauty to my memory.

“Wouldn’t anyone?” I replied, instead, though it felt disingenuous, and something about that felt almost gross to me. It’s not that I disagreed with my sentiment, but rather that the humor in my question masked my sincere feelings, which I suppose was the purpose. Still, it felt dishonest; that by being superficial, I was lying to her.

She sat up, and I caught a glimpse of her back, also riddled with scars. I offered a hand to help her down from the desk – a simple, unnecessary gesture, as she needs me for nothing – and she took it, anyway.

“How about this one?” I asked, and touched something that resembled a burn mark just behind her shoulder. It was small, and she looked over her shoulder at where I was indicating. I smoothed a thumb over it.

“Something called a ‘broodmother,’” she said softly, flatly, as she gathered up her dress and stepped into it. I had heard of these foul things, but didn’t know them in-depth. “It’s a darkspawn. The scar is from its acid. A little bit got through my robes and burned me.”

She had the dress on and was starting to tighten the laces. I supposed I could try to help, though I was not practiced in this regard. I stepped behind her and cut in to help, tightening the laces that I had loosened in my frantic need to bare her.

“Just one of many incredible feats of yours,” I murmured sincerely.

She gathered her hair and pulled it to one side as I continued tightening the laces.

“What of yours?” She asked, ignoring my compliment. I couldn’t see her face, but I assumed which one she meant. It’s the one everyone asks about.

I smirked behind her and finished tightening the laces. “Another time, perhaps.”

She turned, brows raised, but did not push the issue.

I wanted her to return. That’s why I said it – it wasn’t to avoid answering. She already knows the story, likely, just as everyone does. Maybe if I withheld something, she might be inclined to return. It’s wishful thinking, but I will think it all the same, because that’s all I have with Solona right now. I have no other bargaining chip to bring her back to me.

Solona smoothed her hands over her dress and plucked her cloak from the floor, pulling it around her. I pulled my shirt on and resisted the urge to sweep her into my arms, to kiss her again.

“Another time, then.” She moved to the door. No embrace, no kiss. I heard the door unlatch. She didn’t look at me as she said, “Good luck with the Breach tomorrow. Goodnight, Commander.”

Chapter Text

16th of FirstFall, 9:41

Victory.

I did not think we would be so lucky.

After the Blight, after Kirkwall, with the Mage-Templar War raging and the Conclave -

I never imagined I would be in the gravitational pull of a victory, of something good. That’s what this is, right?

I wonder if I’m only dreaming, really. Will I wake up in a moment to another reality? Will I wake up and have to march my men to the Breach because the reality is that we haven’t actually assaulted it at all?

But there’s so much that happened and that I remember. Solona left my cabin, and then I tried to sleep – I did sleep for a few hours. It was nothing short of the Maker’s intervention that I slept, and then I remember waking up before dawn, and getting ready with the soldiers, the Herald, Grand Enchanter Fiona, the mage rebels, and Solona to approach the Temple.

Everyone knew their roles.

Solona and the Herald were beside each other, and I was not near them at the Temple – a decision I was regretting as I stood there with a separate retinue. It had been a purposeful decision to spread the leadership out in case of disaster, to increase the likelihood of one of us surviving. It was the smarter decision. I was still unhappy about her being out of reach.

With all of our preparation and our fears, nothing… happened, except the Breach closing. I’m not certain what to make of it. I – we – had expected more.

Haven is celebrating. The soldiers’ camp is noisy with riotous laughter and songs. The townspeople are dancing in the street.

There is reason to celebrate, but I’m feeling thoughtful.

Will Solona leave Haven, now that our most imminent threat is banished? The thought had crossed my mind.

I should make my rounds through the village. Everyone is out, and I’m inside my cabin, writing in this journal. I’m missing it all. This is not becoming of the Inquisition’s leadership. And it is Eleanor Amell’s birthday. Perhaps Solona is out and about. I'm not breaking my rules if we just happen to run into each other.

Yes. I’ll do that. Don the armor again and make my rounds through Haven.

Chapter Text

17th Firstfall, 9:41

I left my cabin to find Haven very much alive and joyous.

Now, it is a ruin.

Only hours later, we are waiting for the sun to rise, huddled in the side of the mountain, at risk of freezing to death. I write in this journal because my thoughts are too much, I need to focus them on something, and I can’t talk with Leliana – we’re arguing-

There has been so much loss.

My chest. Maker. I don’t – I can’t even write it.

The Herald is gone.

But I have to -

Solona is gone.

She never should have – it was a mistake. My mistake. She couldn’t find Eleanor, and Solona was not going to wait in the Chantry while her daughter was out somewhere as a great winged beast leveled the village. She would never sit by if imminent death threatened her daughter. I should have realized this.

I -

I tried to get her to stay. I seized her wrist as she slipped past me.

“Wait,” I implored her, my voice strained, “I’ll go. Where is she?”

We were on the threshold of the Chantry as the dragon roared from the sky. Her green eyes were wild, frantic, and she tried to rip her arm from me. I was panicked for her, though, and I held on. In the moment, I wasn’t thinking about all the people who could see us in the Chantry.

“She could be anywhere!” Solona tried to wrench her arm from my grip. “Maker help me, Cullen, let me go or I’ll-”

I did. She didn’t spare me another glance as she ran off into the night.

That was the last time I saw her.

I couldn’t have gone. It was a ridiculous promise. I had already lost soldiers by that point, and to think that I would leave my post – leave everyone else hidden in the Chantry – to look for a child who was not even technically part of the Inquisition, it was madness.

But to think that an innocent child would be alone out there with this threat, even one as fierce as Eleanor, irritates me.

I felt frantic and wild standing there at the door to the Chantry. Useless, even. Helpless, certainly. I argued with others about when to close the door – I wanted to leave it open until she returned with Eleanor, even with this army of Red Templars bearing down upon us. My voice was hoarse with how fiercely I argued my points and commanded my men to guard the door.

And then I heard barking.

I drew my sword instinctively and turned towards Haven. In the vast darkness, things were burning, and the army was beating down our gates.

A black mabari was running – limping – towards me and barking.

“Shadow.” I said, stepping out from the Chantry.

“Cullen.” I heard Leliana’s voice beside me, filled with hope.

Shadow stopped and barked at me again. I glanced at Leliana, who only nodded. She knew exactly what I was going to do, and she wasn’t going to try to stop me. I was thankful for her loyalty – not to me, but to her friend.

I hurried forward to the mabari, keeping my sword held out at my side. “Where is she? Where's Eleanor?”

Mabaris are known to be intelligent, fiercely loyal, and determined. I was so grateful for the dog as I chased after him, even though I realized he had sustained some injuries; his limp, some singed fur, and blood matting his fur.

He led me to a cabin that is used for storage, and was engulfed in flames.

I sheathed my sword and swallowed my fear. If the mabari brought me here, she was in there. I was as certain of that as I could be of anything.

I checked the sides of the cabin first, but the easiest entry point would be the door, which was burning. The heat was blazing, and I was sweating. I kicked the door, and kicked it again before it shattered, weakened by the flames. I gulped in a deep breath, ducked, and plunged inside as the smoke billowed out towards me.

The cabin was small, but the smoke was thick, and I could hardly open my eyes without fear of melting them from their sockets.

“Eleanor!” I screamed, aware that I was going to lose my breath. “Eleanor!”

I bent to gasp the air as low as I could, the air searing my lungs as I moved as far away from the heat as I could. If she were conscious, she would have done that. If she wasn’t, then-

I felt something hard, a table, and I felt on top of it first, and then I crouched down and tried to look beneath, but could see nothing. I reached into the space below it, and I felt a body.

I dragged her to me roughly, and within seconds, I was outside.

There was a deafening roar overhead as I gulped down the air and clutched Eleanor to my chest. She felt limp, but she wasn’t burning – could she be alive? I was panicked. I ran across the street with the mabari at my heels and set the girl down against the wall of the building there.

Her eyes were shut, but I checked her pulse at her throat, and she was alive. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Eleanor,” I called hoarsely, gently tapping her cheek to try to wake her. The mabari stepped up beside her and licked her face, and her head lolled. I was crouched over her, my heart thundering in my chest, my lungs feeling like they were filled with glass.

Another roar, and the low, billowing sound of wings.

I had to get her out of here, or we would be killed.

But Solona, where was she?

“Can you find her mother?” I asked the mabari.

The mabari looked at me and licked Eleanor again.

“Go get Solona and bring her to the Chantry,” I commanded it, hoping it would listen. The dogs are so loyal, I wasn’t sure it would leave Eleanor. “I’ll bring this one to safety.”

Shadow licked her again, and Eleanor stirred, her eyes fluttering open. The girl began coughing, and I stepped back to give her space.

“Shadow, go,” I repeated, feeling more desperate as another roar told me the creature was getting closer.

The mabari limped away, and I didn’t wait for Eleanor to stop coughing as I scooped her up beneath her back and her knees.

“You’re alright,” I told her, and started for the Chantry, as she kept coughing into my chest. She started to cry, slapping her hands to her face and shuddering as I carried her.

“What happened?” She asked between sobs.

“You’re alright, Eleanor, you were just caught in a fire. It’s alright. You didn’t get hurt, I think.”

“I caused it!” She shrieked into my chest.

“No, you didn’t. A dragon did.”

“No!” She pulled her hands away and looked at them, tears streaming through the ash on her face. “I did! I’m a mage!”

I almost stumbled, and the Chantry was in view. I saw Leliana in the entryway there. Thank the Maker – a familiar face for Eleanor, if Solona hadn’t returned yet.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I – I saw the dragon, and I hid – I hid in that – that cabin! And I – I started t-the fire in that cabin, and I couldn’t get out!” She trembled, and I frowned, jaw tight.

“This was the first time you used magic?”

“Y-yes!”

I inwardly cursed. If she didn’t feel calm, if she didn’t start to feel safe, she could succumb to a demon, and I couldn’t-

I couldn’t strike this girl down, could I?

The dragon roared, too close for comfort, and she screamed as much as her raw lungs would allow. I was almost at the Chantry, and winced.

“You’re safe- see Leliana? She’s right there.”

My legs pumped as I ran with her, jostling her as she cried and clutched at my fur mantle. It was horrible, what I felt in that moment.

“With me,” I barked at Leliana and hurried to the wall of the Chantry. I set her down on her feet and crouched before her, taking her tiny hands on mine and staring into her face.

“Eleanor,” I said sternly, “Eleanor. You’re safe. You’re not hurt. We have you.” I glanced up at Leliana beside me, standing at my shoulder, her face impassive. “You have your Dinner Knife,” I noticed, and squeezed her hands.

“Where’s my mother?” She asked, drawing in a panicked breath. Her eyes flitted from me to Leliana, and I swallowed tightly.

“She’ll be along soon,” Leliana answered for me.

“Can you stay with her?” I asked Leliana. “I’ll go.”

I’ll go look for her, I meant.

“You won’t.” She frowned, and then the Herald ran inside.

I was distracted then by our planning, but Leliana kept a hold on Eleanor’s shoulder as if afraid the girl would run off in search of her mother.

I presumed us all dead, even with our planning to cause the avalanche.

The thought of condemning Solona to that fate…. Maker. I can’t. I did it, though.

I-

It’s my fault, isn’t it? I’m the last one she saw. I had her wrist in mine. If I had only held her for a minute longer….

I – I will finish, I suppose. I cannot face what I have done, yet. I cannot process that on these pages with everyone around.

I must see this girl to safety, as I am the cause of her mother’s demise. She is sitting too far from the fire to feel its warmth, a hollow look in her eyes, shivering. I set my fur mantle over her tiny shoulders, but I don’t think she is shivering from the cold.

We have seen so much loss this evening.

Those of us ‘lucky’ enough to be in the Chantry at the time of the avalanche escaped through the summer passage, carved deep into the mountain. We emerged on the other side into a white waste of snow, battered by the wind, and began heading north, for we knew there would be nothing south of us.

We made camp here, and I asked Solas to check on Eleanor. I told him that she manifested her magic tonight, and how.

“Can you do something for her?” I had asked him, huddled by him at the edge of our camp. I felt raw, ripped open.

“Are you referring to anything specific?” He asked, arching a brow at me. I was aware I was using my size and posture to intimidate him a little, but he didn’t seem affected by it, and I didn’t feel bad.

“Help her sleep, help her lungs, I don’t know. Check the Fade around her? She’s terrified.”

He glanced at Eleanor and then studied me. “I will check the Fade, but I don’t think that is something that must be shared with you. What would you want with that knowledge?”

I stilled, a cold anger running through me. “I’m not- I – she’s….”

He had made his point, insinuating that I wanted to know if demons were lurking close to her in the Fade. I did want to know that, but intentions were not ill, as I’m sure he suspected.

Solas brushed past me with ease and a nonchalant step that infuriated me in that moment.

Former Templar.

Could I stand by if an abomination presented itself before me? What if it was Solona’s child who turned?

I watched from the shadows as Solas sat down beside Eleanor. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, and then he started talking to her.

She finally tore her gaze away from the fire, glanced at him, and looked at me as if to ask if Solas was safe. I gave a faint nod, and then she turned her attention half towards him.

She is asleep now, and I am nearby, like a sentinel while Solas meditates nearby. Like I am doing penance for what I’ve done to Solona.

The snow. There was so much of it above Haven. What is that death like? What is it like to be buried by it? My heart skitters just thinking of the snow pressing in, choking me, blocking out all the light and forcing my limbs into stillness, unable to climb, to dig, to crawl out. It is a nightmare.

All she would have cared about is Eleanor getting out. I know this. I wonder if she died with that fear. I wish I could have given her that assurance.

Solas left Eleanor’s side after a few minutes of Eleanor being asleep, and did not give me any type of report on the matter. Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe I shouldn’t know if demons are stalking the girl.

Maybe I should tell Rylen he will have to cut her down if -

Maker. I -

My last entry ended abruptly, cut off by the sound of a barking dog. I stuffed my journal into my crimson coat and lunged to my feet, quite certain I was only hearing things.

And then I saw a faint green glow flickering in the darkness, faraway. I gasped something hoarsely out to the others – I have no idea what I said - and I threw myself through the snow.

I had the sense that Cassandra and Varric were with me as I plowed uphill through the drifts. The green glow guttered, and the barking grew louder.

Shadow? The Herald?

My heart couldn’t take it. It was so dark on this side of the mountain, I could only make out a dark mass against the pale snow. Shadow moving towards me, barking madly.

The Herald started to collapse, and I caught her before she hit the snow. The mass she had made up split in two, and for a moment, I couldn’t register what had happened as I gathered her into my arms.

Solona.

I made a sound I cannot describe as our gazes met over the Herald, Solona’s shoulders slumped and shaking.

She had been carrying the Herald as I do with my injured men, the Herald’s arm strewn over her shoulders. In the darkness, I hadn’t been able to see that there were two of them. I heard voices around me, but Solona only looked at me, eyes haunted.

“Is Eleanor -?” Her voice cracked. “The dog made me think-”

I only stared at her, too stunned to answer her at first.

She turned and began back up the way she had come, as if going back to Haven.

“No!” I reached for her as I clutched the Herald to me in my other arm. “She’s safe! Eleanor – she’s with us!”

Solona paused and looked at me in disbelief, but the mabari was already bounding down the hill towards the camp, plowing through the snow. Her gaze flickered to the mabari and then to me. It was just the two of us in all the world, then, the voices around us not mattering at all.

“Eleanor?”

I’ve never seen her composure falter, but her expression in that minute will haunt me. To see the look on her face as she thought she had lost everything… I do not wish that on anyone, certainly not her.

“Y-yes, we have her,” I promised, my hand suspended midair towards her. “She’s alright.”

Solona looked past me at the camp down the slope, and left me there with the Herald’s weight, Cassandra, and Varric, hurtling downhill towards camp. I could not blame her as I scooped up the Herald into my arms and made my way after her.

She’s alive. Both of them, and the Herald.

My men – I had lost eighteen of them – and that doesn’t include the ones in the mountain passes, which I have no count of. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for the failings of tonight.

How did an army sneak up on us? How is Samson a part of it? How did we have no plan to defend Haven? How did I lose eighteen men tonight? They followed me, trusted me, died anyway. I have gambled with their lives, and lost. I cannot stomach it-

But them. They are here. They are alive, safe, healthy.

I am giving them space. It would not be appropriate for me to approach her, anyway.

Dawn will be upon us soon. Much of our camp is still awake, including Solona.

She is curled up next to Eleanor near one of the fires. Eleanor is wrapped in my fur mantle, and Solona is using it as a pillow, periodically twirling one of Eleanor’s curls in her fingers. The mabari is sprawled on the other side of them.

I need to tell her so many things. That I thought I lost her. Eleanor is a mage. What happened, how I found her. What I asked Solas to do. But I can’t bring myself to approach her.

We sealed the Breach, but lost Haven.

Chapter Text

19th of Firstfall, 9:41

The sun rose to a new day, as it tends to do, even after the worst horrors.

I do not agree with the things people say when they say ‘We are lucky to be alive.’ I do not feel grateful to be alive, or lucky, or glad, or thankful. How can I be any of those things, when I have played a part our demise?

Orlen Bruce, Kenneth Grant, Colin Ross, Gavin Stewart, Torcall Kendrick, Rory Kyle, Ramsay Kyle (his brother), Ivor Lusk, Willem Rankin, Ben Gordon, Cillian Foster, Fraser Moore, Ashton Gardner, Sonny Russel, Connall Culloch, Ethan Baird, Alexi Dunlop, Travis Irvine

Each is a mark upon my soul and proof of my inadequacy, my incompetence.

I can feel myself looking for the fissures in my preparation, looking for the ways in which this was allowed to happen. The weaknesses not only of this Inquisition but in myself. I imagine my blind spots are reflected in the Inquisition as a whole, in my army. If there is something I lack so deeply, then will it not lack for my men as well, and in the structure as a whole?

What are the patterns?

In my life, I have focused on certain things, ignoring others. As a child, I focused on becoming a Templar so intensely that I cared for nothing else. In Kirkwall, I was so focused on rooting out mage threats that I ignored the abuses of my fellow Templars.

I have focused so intensely on the Breach, that I suppose I have ignored our defenses of Haven. I just didn’t expect – 

I was just interrupted as I was writing that.

Our group of evacuees is taking a break from walking northwards. We are somewhere deep in the Frostbacks, trying not to freeze, with the pale sun shining down on us on this deceptively harsh but beautiful day.

We have no food, so our breaks are just… resting and trying to shelter from the wind, or melting snow to drink.

I lifted my head from my writing to the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow, and shut my journal promptly. I am quite ashamed of this thing that I write in. I don’t want anyone to notice it, or take any interest in it. I could imagine Varric, in particular, noticing my engagement with it and devising a way to get his grubby hands on it.

Approaching me was Eleanor Amell with Shadow at her side, and Solona immediately behind her.

I rose from where I had been sitting. Solona had returned my fur mantle this morning when the sun rose with a quiet thank-you, and that’s the only thing we had said to each other.

I tucked the journal and pen into my coat and nodded at both of them. Solona was back to her cool, calm demeanor that had drawn me to her in the first place. No one looking at her would ever have known she nearly lost her daughter the night before.

“Ladies,” I said by way of greeting. “How are you doing?”

Eleanor looked a little worse for wear. The girl still had her sword at her hip, but her face showed evidence of tears streaked through dried ash, and she had an almost battle-shocked look to her. It was a look I was too familiar with.

“Thank you for saving me,” Eleanor said, her bottom lip trembling a little. The girl that bullied Rylen and I was gone, I realized. I glanced at Solona. Something flickered across her face, and I knew that she knew it, too.

I dropped to a knee to be closer to eye-level with her. “You have nothing to thank me for. You’re one of us, and we try to save everyone.”

She nodded, lip trembling as if to keep herself from crying. The mabari stepped forward and pressed his snout into my hand as if to thank me as well. I pet him on the side of his face.

“Will you tell us what happened?” Solona asked softly from behind her. “We heard a little from Leliana, but you know more.”

I swallowed, looking at her. “I… yes.” I kept scratching the mabari as I turned my attention to Eleanor again. “Your mother had gone to look for you, but Shadow found me.” I forced myself to smirk at the dog. “He was beat up pretty badly, but I followed him to a cabin that we used for storage in Haven. There was only one way into the cabin – a door – and it was on fire. I kicked the door in, and I found you under a table. You were asleep. I brought you outside and woke you up, and carried you back to the Chantry. You remember the rest, I think.”

Eleanor nodded, looking at me. I lifted my gaze to Solona, who was studying me carefully, her expression a careful mask.

“Did you tell your mother what you told me when I carried you to the Chantry?” I prodded, not taking my eyes off Solona. I saw her mouth twitch. She knew.

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“I don’t want to be a mage,” she told me, and I frowned, feeling myself flush.

Out of the corner of my eye, Solona looked over her shoulder.

“I-”

“I wouldn’t have burned the cabin if I weren’t a mage.”

Solona intervened, also taking a knee in the snow. “Eleanor.” She took her daughter’s hands in hers. “It was only because you were scared, and you manifested the magic at that moment. You will learn to control it, just like I did. That will not happen again-”

Eleanor pulled away from her and looked at me.

“Thank you,” she said to me, and left, taking off through the snow back to the ‘camp.’ I was stunned, looking at Solona who had not moved, her mouth slack for a moment before she gained her composure and we both got to our feet.

“I…” she started, and shook her head. “I don’t understand. But… thank you. Thank you for saving her. I don’t know what I would have done. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Of course.” I set my hands on the pommel of my sword. The silence stretched, and I confessed, “I thought I lost you, too.”

Casual, ‘just sex’ be damned. She had to know it, and I had to say it. There is nothing to put things in perspective better than loss. If I never get the chance to say it again, I will regret my silence.

Her gaze flickered across my face, and for the briefest moment, I thought she was going to return my confession with one of her own. Her eyes softened, and then she thought better of it.

“I’m alive,” she said indifferently instead.

I felt my eyes narrow, my guard rising. “You survive everything. I should not be surprised. I’m glad.”

She slid her gaze to the camp. “You did more than you had to with her. Why?”

I didn’t have an answer for her right away, and she didn’t look at me as I considered her question. “I, uh. I don’t know. She’s just a child.”

Solona swallowed and nodded. “It was her birthday yesterday. I was not there for her – not to save her, not to spend the day with her as we assaulted the Breach.” She looked at me and gave me a faint smile. “Thank you.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” I asked gently. In hindsight, I suppose I missed something here, as if she had tried to share with me something more intimate. “In Haven, how did you get out? You and the Herald? What did you do?”

She ran a hand through her hair and started to braid it, her nervous habit. “It is my duty to kill that thing. Corypheus. But all I could think about was getting away, getting to her. I am not supposed to run. I am supposed to kill, or be killed, by darkspawn.”

I wanted to reach for her, to embrace her, bury my face in her neck and her hair. My fur mantle smells like her, and I don’t want to lose that scent, but in front of everyone, I could do nothing but stand there.

“You’re more than a Warden, now,” I murmured.

She nodded, steeling herself. “And I don’t regret it. Yesterday, I failed as a mother and a Warden. I’m fai - your Herald… she is good for this role.” She looked at me again. “She mentioned that she has made passes at you. You haven’t accepted her advances….”

I stiffened, studying her. She met my posture as if in challenge, squaring her shoulders, tilting her chin at me. I wasn’t certain what to make of it.

Casual, I reminded myself. ‘Just sex,’ as she had put it. That’s all she wanted.

“Must I pursue every woman who takes any interest in me?” My throat was dry, and I felt my temper sharpening in response to my fear that she would confirm I was not good enough for her, nothing more to her than a way to seek her pleasure.

Solona seemed to steel herself, lacing her fingers. “I don’t want to hold you back from other opportunities. She could give you more than I can.”

I wanted to spit on that suggestion, or say something to defend myself, but what? What could I have said?

She took a breath as if to steady herself and said, “You deserve better than what I can give you. Better than what I’m giving you.”

“Have I complained?” I asked. Maker, I sounded… tired. Not at all how I felt inside.

She challenged me with her look.

“No, but… the way you look at me… sometimes I worry you want more than what I can give.”

“You worry that?”

She pressed her lips together grimly. I would call it regret at her word choice, but she did not confirm it.

It took all of my restraint to stand there and take that, though whether the alternative was to crush her in an embrace or beat my fists against something, I don’t know. I tensed my jaw and clenched the pommel of my sword, trying to redirect some of my energy.

If we were alone, in my cabin, I think I would have touched her if she’d let me. I’d be upon her, within her, overwhelming her, if she’d allow it. I’d thread my fingers through her hair, kiss her, show her that I’m alright with our situation. I'd try to convince her that it is enough for me. But here, I am restricted to our lines in the sand. In the snow.

A horn blew. Our signal to move.

I did not have the time to argue, nor did I think it wise. She is skittish. Too much attention, or affection, from me will send her running. I cannot afford to lose her, even if this is all I have.

There must be something I have that acts as a tell to her that it is not enough. That I want something deeper, that I want more from her. Maker preserve me, but I don’t know how to convince her otherwise, other than by acting exactly how I don’t want to act with her. I don’t know how to convince her other than by pretending.

If I want to reach for her, I must draw back. If I want to comfort her, I must turn away. If I want to seek her out, I must shut my door. If I want to linger with her in my arms, spent, then I must help her dress and guide her into the night.

I will not complain. I have not complained. But why?

What is wrong with me that I cannot just accept this for what it is?

What is wrong with me that she cannot accept me?

Chapter Text

26th Firstfall, 9:41

I have not written in days.

I have a number of excuses, any of which would be suitable by themselves to explain my lack of engagement on these pages. Safety is a priority, and we have found a stronghold, a fortress, and taken up residence, claiming it.

My response when I am shamed is to be perfect, to work harder than ever. So I studied the walls of this place we call Skyhold. I imagined scenarios of sieges and any number of attacks, and I have found few faults with it. I do not know how we can prevent a dragon from flying into its courtyards and baileys, but short of that, nothing can touch us here.

I have busied myself since our arrival with this, setting up our defenses and seeking out our weaknesses to a point that could be considered obsessive.

That is one excuse as to why I haven’t written.

The others-

The eighteen men I lost weigh on my mind. When I allow space beyond immediate survival, beyond the next few moments, my mind shifts to regrets and my shame. My men that I have lost.

And Solona. She is there, the undercurrent of the stream.

I cannot let myself think about her without growing frustrated, so I work, and work, and work myself from dawn to dusk, and beyond. I have found a place for myself in a tower of this fortress, and once the loft and ladder inside are repaired, I will make my sleeping quarters above, separate. It suits me, I think. The position of my tower with its vantage points and escape routes provides a sense of security.

I have not seen Solona’s daughter since we arrived here, but I will have them make her a dummy, anyway. It’s certainly low priority, so she may be waiting a few weeks for it, but it is one of the many things on my mind.

I have been thinking about my last conversation with Solona, notably the part about the Herald. I ruminate over the words she spoke to me. In some ways, the journal does me a disservice because I am feeding into this part of me that cannot let go of things. Wryly, I think that a small amount of memory loss would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Instead, I transcribe every detail as soon as I’m able. I write about these interactions afterwards, and then I can read them back to myself without having to rely on the degradation of my memory as time wears on. The scaffolding, as I’ve referred to.

‘You deserve better than what I can give you.’

Why does she see herself as incapable of more than what we are doing? Is it because of me, or is it truly because she cannot do more than that?

What is holding her back? Why can we not try a deeper relationship? Even if we try and fail, I’d rather try. I don’t understand.

What even prompted this conversation? It had come from nowhere, it seemed. I look back and cannot figure it out.

Maker, I literally just wrote that I cannot think about Solona, and now I’m writing about her. Ruminating, obsessing.

At least my withdrawals are not so horrible, right now. I fear another crash is coming very soon.

Chapter Text

30th of Firstfall, 9:41

She attends our War Meetings, often standing with Josephine between her and I. It is often the only time I see her these days. She has been avoiding me, I think, and I her.

I had three days of withdrawals that nearly confined me to my tower. At the very least, they made me miserable, sharpened my temper to the point that even Bull and Dorian – an unlikely friend, I suppose - avoided me.

In our War Meetings, I endeavor to give no indication that she and I are were have been anything other than strictly acquaintances. I drag my gaze away from her when I notice that I’m staring, and I try not to respond too eagerly to her suggestions. Still, I am surrounded by women who are likely able to notice subtle things; the way I turn towards the door to our War Room when it opens, and Solona has been running behind, or the way that I hardly ever argue against her.

Today, we finished our meeting and began to disperse. I usually allow the women to leave the room first, trailing behind them so that I don’t get caught up in an unwanted conversation, but Solona was lingering at the table even as Josephine, Cassandra, Leliana, and the Inquisitor – no longer the Herald – moved to the door. I caught the Inquisitor glance at us before she left and shut the door behind her.

Solona and I were at opposite ends of the massive table with the light pouring in through the stained glass windows. Alone, my chest tightened as I gazed at her and clasped the pommel of my sword, shifting my weight to face her.

“How are you?” She asked, taking a few steps towards me carefully and leaning her hip against the table.

I did not know if I should answer that honestly, but I was never much of a liar. “Busy. However… I’ve noticed your absence. Are we…?” I couldn’t say the word. Finished? Done?

Her green eyes flitted over my face; to my scar, my mouth, my eyes, my throat. “I… I miss you – what we were doing, I mean.”

I could have sworn she had two separate thoughts there. It was enough to make me want to call her on it. I took a step towards her and squeezed the pommel of my sword reflexively.

“Then where are you?”

She took a breath and stepped up to meet me, her body touching mine, the softness of her chest touching my breastplate. She reached up and threaded her fingers through my fur mantle, and my hands slid to her hips, guiding her gently against me.

“I want you to be happy,” she murmured, looking up at me. “But I… keep wanting to come back.”

“I can be happy with you,” I said, feeling my ears and my throat flush, “I can be happy with our… arrangement.”

She chewed her lip, looking at me skeptically. “Can you?”

“How do I prove it?” I asked, and tightened my arms around her, splaying my fingers across the small of her back and pulling her flush against me.

She shook her head.

“Can you?” I wondered. “Why do you want this? Why do you want 'casual'?”

She ran her fingers through my mantle towards my gorget, and I felt her nails trail delicately up the column of my throat and along my jaw.

“I… I can’t tell you that.” She pushed up onto her toes and kissed my chin, my jaw. “It’s not you, Cullen. I swear it. It’s not because you aren’t… worthy, or something.”

I guided her backwards, pinning her to the War Table, a heat building within me. I took her chin in my hand, firm enough to hold but not hurt at all, and our eyes met. “You don’t have to explain.” I kissed her before I released her.

I didn’t want to say that. I wanted to tell her I didn’t believe her when she said that it wasn't me. I wanted to get her reassurance. I wanted to dig deeper, but I knew that it was too much, and I would risk her running off, so I kissed her, and she kissed me in return. Her hands pulled at the back of my neck, fingers threading through the curls at the nape of my neck.

Solona eased herself onto the table, and I had the thought that we would – that I would take her right there – and then the door to the room opened.

I leaped away from her and saw Cassandra and Leliana in the doorway. Solona jumped down from the edge of the table and discreetly wiped her mouth before turning towards the door.

“Oh! Sorry to interrupt!” Leliana said sweetly, too sweetly. “We just wanted to ask Solona something, if you’re done testing the sturdiness of the table we do our work on, Commander.”

I could not look at either of them, or Solona, as I raced out of there wordlessly, my face on fire.

I could hear Josephine giggling as I passed her outside the room.

She came to me hours later, after Skyhold fell quiet and my hearth was burning bright and hot. My loft is not yet fixed, so I am sleeping on a cot in the main area near a desk that I have yet to start working on.

I locked the doors and drew her cloak away from her face. This is our ritual, it seems. She lets me do this, like it is a small token of affection she allows me to express to her. Maybe it is the only one she allows me to do for her. The rest is just… carnal.

The cot would not take our weight – or rather, the energy, I’m sure. And the desk – I did not want to keep our intimacy confined to the desk forever. I already find my mind wandering when I work at it – or at least I had begun to do this in Haven.

So instead, I threw a sheepskin on the floor before the hearthfire and stood by it, watching her, even though she had her back to me and was looking over something on my desk.

“What is this?” She asked.

I didn’t know what she meant, so I crossed the room to her and followed her gaze.

“It’s a list of the soldiers I lost in Haven,” I said, my voice ragged as I spoke. I didn’t want this to bleed into our time together, to sully it. She studied the list.

I remembered Eleanor’s father and my theories on him. I wondered if any of these men on the list might be him. Eleven of them had been former Templars.

She turned to me and put her palm on the center of my breastplate. “Why?”

“They were my responsibility, and I’ve failed them. Haven never should have happened. I never should have allowed it – it is a miracle we – so many of us – made it out.”

She looked at the list again. “Cullen….”

“I am sorry,” I said, “for what happened in Haven. For you and Eleanor to be in danger.”

Her face shuttered with emotion so quickly I almost didn’t catch it. She drew in a breath and set the list down on my desk.

“No one blames you for that. Do you understand that?”

My jaw flexed, and I was not ready to accept such words from her, or anyone else. The Inquisitor had already told me something similar.

“Cullen,” she continued, “this is an intelligent darkspawn that has… for some reason taken a vested interest in the Inquisitor. There was no reason to think this was going to happen. We all thought we had finished the job by closing the Breach. All of us.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling unhappy. “I failed you,” I said quietly.

She scoffed and flattened a palm against my cheek. “You failed me, Cullen? Without you, Eleanor would be gone. You left the others for her – or me. I could never repay you because you have given me the only thing that matters.”

My chest tightened at her words. I hadn’t really stopped to think about Eleanor’s rescue much, and what it might mean to Solona. Its effect on her hadn’t mattered in the moment when I had chased after Shadow or broken into that cabin.

“I knew that if I followed Shadow, he’d lead me to her,” I said, by way of dismissing the heroism she was trying to appoint me. She searched my face.

“You broke into a burning building. Do not say you failed me. I failed her. That’s the truth of it.” She rocked up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to my jaw.

I speared my hands through her hair. I wanted to stop talking. I wanted to stop talking about guilt, death, and loss. There was enough of it, and she was alive and warm and soft in my calloused hands. Her words meant everything to me, but the more we talked, the more I feared that I would spew something that would push her over the edge, and she would leave me there.

If she left me abruptly – coldly – tonight, I don’t think I could take it after that.

She backed against my desk, but I took her hips in my hands. “The sheepskin,” I breathed into her ear. “Lay down.”

I was bowing over her, and I think she could see what I had done by laying out the sheepskin on the floor by glancing over my shoulder as I kissed her collarbone and began working at the laces at her back. I wanted her naked, tonight, and splayed out on the floor.

“Turning romantic, Commander?” Her voice had a sharp influx as I nipped at her.

I considered my answer, walking the knife-edge. “Is it wrong to want to savor you?”

This development in our relationship – these meetings – had loosened whatever part of me that used to be paralyzed by her whenever she was around. Even just weeks ago, I could never have imagined stringing together a sentence like that with her, but now I am at least somewhat capable. I have a looser tongue in some respects, and certainly not in others. My feelings are still closely guarded – or need to be.

“Have you not been savoring me?” She asked, and I felt my face heat even though she pushed off the desk, pressing flush against me, and trailed her fingers through my hair.

“As much as I can,” I said into her throat, and then I pulled away so we could walk to the sheepskin near the hearth. I followed her, staring at the sway of her hips, and it took all of my restraint not to tackle her to the skin and take her without abandon. No – I meant to make tonight last, to draw out my time with her as much as I could. I added, “We’ve been… urgent most of the time.”

Solona turned to face me and took hold of my belt, guiding me down as she lowered herself onto the sheepskin. I followed eagerly.

“I like vigorous,” she murmured.

I thought I would like it more, too – like many things – if I had more from her.

I ignored her comment, though, and laid her down on the sheepskin, working the laces of her dress as she bared me. The sheepskin gave my knees a reprieve over the desk, as I kissed her throat, her chest.

Minutes later, I knelt over her and kissed the flesh of her breast, running my palms up the curves of her waist.

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” I muttered against her, smoothing my thumb over a scar on her rib I noticed last time.

“Even fucked up from all the fighting I’ve done?” She wondered softly, her arms behind her head, pillowing her, as she let me explore her. I was enjoying it, certainly.

“Perfect,” I clarified, and flattened my palm over her belly.

“You have interesting taste,” she said with a smirk. I kissed beneath her breast and slid my hand from her belly to her other breast, palming it. She arched.

“Exquisite, I think.”

She breathed a sound that almost made me dizzy, and I shifted my weight, bringing my other hand to ghost over her center of heat. The lightest touch told me she was ready, but I wanted to stretch this out, make tonight last.

I suppose I thought I could make her want more, too. What a foolish thing to think.

In minutes, I was dragging myself in and out of her in long, lazy strokes. I had her hands pinned above her head – something she had done, more than I, by lacing our fingers together with both hands and setting them up above her one by one. Eventually, I took both of her hands in one of mine to free the other so that I could touch her, and touch her I did. Every inch of her was divine: the delicate curve of her neck, the way it muscled when she gasped, the way the skin stretched over her chest when she breathed and moaned, the way her spine arched when I dipped my hand between us and ran my fingers around her sensitive parts.

With her hands locked in mine and my other hand working her as I thrust in and out, she breathed things to me that had me grunting questioning sounds into her ear.

“Cullen, you’re the only….”

“Mhm?” I’d hum, pressing into her, onto her, thrusting, my senses overloaded but clinging to that thread. The only what? I had to know, though my thoughts were hardly thoughts at all. “Solona.” Half a plea, half a question.

“I want you,” she’d sigh against me. “Don’t stop, please.”

I growled affirmatively, a reassurance of sorts.

“Tell me…” a thrust, “what you,” another thrust and a gasp from her, “want from,” another, “me.”

She was arching as my hand worked her, and my other hand tightened around her wrists involuntarily. She was so beautiful, flushed and pliant in my hands, perfect.

But she didn’t tell me. I kept going, thrusting and touching and holding her, and she was soon pushed over the edge, her legs clamped around me and trembling. I gentled my touch until she was shaking from the slightest friction, and then I released her, dipping to kiss her swollen lips again.

She trailed her hands up my chest and along the planes of my back as I chased my own release with almost lazy, slow thrusts. It did not take long once she had finished, and although I met my release in my smalls I left immediately beside us, I didn’t get up as soon as we were done. I wanted to see how long it would take her to leave; to see if she would stay.

I shifted my weight to lie alongside her, with her between me and the hearth so that I could see her in the firelight. I trailed a calloused finger up her midline, past her navel, and onto her sternum.

She looked at me, studying my face. “We were caught today. Has anyone said anything to you?”

I remembered the War Table. “No. I’m sure I will hear something of it. Does it matter?”

“No, it doesn’t.” She glanced at my scar. “Leliana has known, anyway.”

“Of course she has. What does she think?”

Solona frowned. “Does it matter?”

I frowned, now. “I suppose not.”

Solona sat up, and I despaired. So quickly. So quickly is she getting up to leave me. I seized her wrist, and she paused, staring at me.

“Stay just a few minutes?” I asked. It was a risk, certainly.

She drew in a breath and cradled my face with her free hand, kissing my temple. “I can’t.”

I didn’t let go, but she could have broken away. I wasn’t gripping her; my fingers were only loosely holding.

“Does staying mean something to you?” I ventured, sticking my neck out for the executioner’s axe. Her mouth, a lethal and cold weapon – the executioner’s blade – pressed into a hard line.

“Cullen….”

I released her wrist and let it fall onto the sheepskin between us; an empty space that I felt beyond measure.

“Cullen, I have to go.” She leaned in to press a kiss to me again, and I lifted the hand I had held her wrist with. I didn’t lift it high – just a few inches – to dismiss her. She noticed.

Her gaze flickered to it, and I could have sworn that I saw hurt reflected in her expression, there. The hurt that perhaps I felt, too. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was drowning inside.

Solona rose, her naked body lit up by the hearthfire. I watched her as she slipped into her dress, and I grabbed my trousers from beside me and tossed them over my groin just to cover myself, not truly getting dressed.

She started to work on her laces, and I felt a twinge of guilt, then, and rose, pulling on my own trousers.

“Eleanor is having a hard time,” she said suddenly. “She’s afraid of fire. She’s afraid of her magic. She’s having nightmares.”

I laced my trousers and looked at her. She was yanking on her laces, trying to tighten her dress, and looking irritated.

“I don’t know how to help her,” Solona said.

She grabbed her two boots and socks and walked to my desk, leaning back against it. I crossed over to her and set my hands on her hips, interrupting her just before she was about to pull her socks on. Our eyes met, and I didn’t see coldness in them, but fear.

Her quiet, confident composure was gone.

“Is this why you won’t stay?” I dared myself to ask. I stared at her as if in challenge and took her socks from her limp hand.

“Stop, Cullen.”

I’m lucky she didn’t slap me and storm off, I suppose. That was an unruly thing to say after what she said about Eleanor – I was bringing it back to me and my need for her. I was hurting, I suppose, and wasn’t sure if she was deflecting. I was concerned for Eleanor, of course, but my own hurt felt reflexive.

This thing we are doing – it is not good for me. It is going to turn me into someone I’m not. I know this, I see it coming. And yet, can I end it? Can I draw a line in the sand with her? Or will I let her use me like this until I am bitter, mad, half-crazed? I’m already most of the way there, and we’ve only been doing this for a few weeks.

I dropped to a knee and picked up the skirt of her dress, and pushed it into her empty hands. She was staring at me, as if stunned, as I lifted an ankle and pulled one of her socks on.

“I’m sorry about Eleanor,” I said, forcing myself to be more reasonable. To focus on what really matters to her, because it certainly isn’t me. “What can I do?”

I took her other ankle and pulled her sock on. I don’t know why I wanted to do this for her. I have heard some men like feet to the point of finding them arousing – I don’t. I just wanted to do something for her more than she lets me, usually. Despite the storm raging inside me.

With both of her socks on, I ran my palms up the backs of her calves and lifted my gaze to her.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she said dismissively, and I felt my jaw clench again, but I turned away and grabbed a boot and began to pull it onto her slender leg. I could think of nothing to say that would not come out without making me sound like a wounded animal, so I kept my mouth shut as I pulled her boots on and laced them.

“Cullen, I’m sorry. I am.”

I pulled her skirts down and rose to my feet. I forced calm into my body, into my movements. I reached for her tentatively and cradled her face, and was glad to see that she did not shirk away from me and did not flinch.

I am convinced she is not afraid of me, like I had previously been led to believe.

“Have a good night,” I said, and pressed a chaste, brief kiss to her lips, before turning away and gathering up my shirt from the floor.

“You as well, Cullen. Am I welcome to return?”

I had my back to her as I loosened the ball of material that my shirt had become. “Anytime, Amell.”

And I told myself that next time I would not make the same mistakes that I made tonight, that I’ve made before. Mistakes that I keep making.

Chapter Text

12th of Haring, 9:41

I am so busy. The Inquisition is growing at a rate that it is becoming a feat to keep up with, at least on my part. I am spending my days thrown headlong into work. If I am not responding to reports and directives, overseeing the training of my men, or sparring with Rylen, then I’m in War Meetings, strategizing the defense of Skyhold, and organizing retinues of men to accomplish our goals in Orlais and Ferelden.

Work has always been a way to distract myself from the horrors that exist in my mind. The harder I work, the more exhausted I become, the easier and deeper I may fall asleep so that I don’t have to see Uldred’s horrors, Kirkwall’s dead, the Desire Demon, or Meredith’s red eyes. And now, Haven’s lost souls.

I work and work and work, and then at night, I see Solona, and then I despair.

She visits me frequently. It is not quite nightly, but enough that I have made it a habit to be in my tower at a certain time, and more often than not, she finds me. I devour her in any way that I can. I learn the planes of her body. I touch her everywhere, kiss her everywhere. Her preferences do not seem perfectly aligned with mine – I sometimes want to cherish, to relish her, take things gently and with adoration. If I start to do this, she urges me on, as if she prefers me to be rougher, firmer with her. I enjoy this, too, but just once, I’d like to slow it down.

She still has not come to my bed, now suspended above in the loft. I’d like to call what we do ‘make love’, but that seems to be a stretch considering she borrows me for the carnal task and then hurries off into the night. Regardless, the things we do, we do against the wall, on my desk, on the floor (on a blanket).

Tonight I had her over the desk, from behind and also facing her. In the moment, I had no qualms about any of it – I never do. I had my face buried in her hair, wondering why my concerns are ever concerns at all. It’s always afterwards that I grow irritated.

But now she is gone, and I feel worse than before she came here. This is how it is every time. I never would have imagined this is how this would have been. A year ago, I’d have given my salary for this and thought I’d be happier for it.

I do not want to lose her, as little of her as I have. I have not complained since the first night she came to me in Skyhold, when we first laid on the sheepskin by the fire. I have not complained, nor asked her to stay. I have not pressed her on why she acts this way, on why she won’t stay with me, on why she dresses immediately and leaves me there to my thoughts.

I can only surmise that there is something about me that is not good enough for her. That I need her more than she needs me. That she sees a weakness in me, a failing. I am not good enough for her, simply put. I somehow think that I could satisfy her for the next year, and it will not be enough. Whatever standard she has – whatever bar that would be for me – is something else entirely. Whatever her issue is with me, I think it is separate from our carnal desires.

I must get out of here and do something. If I stay in this tower tonight, I’m going to tear it apart. There are two hours until dawn. I won’t be sleeping tonight.

I hate to say it, but I have a glimmer of hope. It is foolish, stupid. Like me.

I went to the training yard. There is a modest one within Skyhold, and a much larger one without. I had my throwing knives with me, though I wasn’t sure if it would be enough to let off my steam. The stars were glittering overhead, and the moon was full, coating Skyhold in a pale silver ribbon of light.

For me, throwing daggers is a thoughtless activity. A meditative one, rather. It puts me into a flow, physically and mentally. I cock my arm, throw the dagger, and it sticks. With every throw, my mind slips farther away somewhere quiet and empty.

I picked up this habit hobby in the early months after Uldred, when my sleepless nights and frantic behavior left me crawling out of my skin. The other Templars complained about my beating on the dummies, and I was only allowed to take so many watch shifts in a row. Throwing knives is a more acceptable activity to do in the middle of the night when others are sleeping nearby, and so I resorted to it when I had to siphon off my aggression in a more appropriate way.

I suppose I have not come as far as I like to think, sometimes.

Tonight, I was not surprised that my aim had not failed me from lack of practice. I can hit my target square in the center at ten yards. I was throwing knives for some time when I heard the faintest footsteps approaching.

It was so late in the night, and I was tired. My thoughts had been out of control before I came to the training yard, and hearing the footsteps, I was quickly there again. My heart fluttered in my chest. My knife was poised above my shoulder, about to throw, when I turned towards the person, and I came so close to killing them with my knife.

“Eleanor!”

My grip on my knife tightened, and my arm dropped to my side, horrified. Why had I thought I was going to be attacked or assassinated?

She looked – unlike herself. Almost wraith-like. The moon cast her hair in an almost silver glow, and her skin seemed pale, ashen. I looked behind her and could not see Solona anywhere. Indeed, I didn’t see anyone except a few guards posted on the battlements.

I almost didn’t notice Shadow a few steps behind her, midnight black and blending into the darkness. He sat back on his haunches and watched me, black eyes glinting in the pale light.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, my heart thundering in my chest. My hands were trembling, and she hugged her arms around her. I realized she was wearing a robe, like she had just walked out of here from her bed.

“I – I can’t sleep,” she said.

“Does your mother know you’re out here?”

She frowned at me. “No. She’s sleeping.”

I cleared my throat. “I’ll walk you back – you shouldn’t be out here -”

“Are we going to get attacked again?”

I froze, my breath coming in sharply. A moment passed, and I realized what I had missed. “Is that why you can’t sleep, Eleanor?”

She nodded, her arms still hugging her torso.

I sighed, not out of frustration, but rather understanding that has come too late, I suppose. The anger I had been feeling seemed to spill from me like from a dam as I sheathed my throwing knife and began to gesture at Skyhold around us.

“Skyhold is far safer than Haven,” I began. “There is only one way into the fortress: a bridge that will funnel any army down to only a few men across. They will have to move in such a narrow formation that our archers will pick them off with tremendous ease. Before they even get to the bridge, we will see them coming from the mountain pass for leagues away. We are building a watchtower, which will give us even more advanced notice. You shouldn’t worry – we can defend Skyhold from the greatest military with modest numbers. Skyhold is a true fortress. It is as safe as the palace in Denerim, maybe even safer.”

She still had a faraway look, and she nodded, tilting her head. “And what would we do about a dragon?”

I smirked faintly. Smart girl. The dragon also plagued my thoughts. “We have trebuchets, catapults. But in fact… your mother used something even better against the Archdemon during the Blight. We are trying to build something just like it here.”

Eleanor’s brows lifted, looking at me.

“And Skyhold will not burn like Haven,” I added carefully. “It is made of stone, not wood.”

She seemed to consider this for a moment. “I’m not afraid.”

“I never said you were,” I said, forcing my tone to be nonchalant as I stepped to the dummy and plucked my knives from it. “It’s alright to be afraid, sometimes. I’m afraid of things.”

Her chin jutted at me, and for a moment, she was a shadow of the stubborn child I met with Rylen.

“But you’re the bravest person I know.”

I’m not sure why she thinks I could hold that title, but I shrugged anyway and sheathed the remaining knives. I’d walk her back to her chambers in a moment, as soon as I could. “That doesn’t mean I’m never afraid. You have to be afraid in order to be brave.”

She thought about this, and her shoulders sagged a little. “What are you afraid of?”

I snorted softly and considered whether I should really answer or not. “If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?”

I expected her to bark at me that she wasn’t afraid of anything, but instead, she smiled a little and kicked at the dirt in front of her. She chewed on her bottom lip.

I vaguely wondered what someone would think if they saw us standing there in the training yard. What would Solona think? I wanted to bring the girl back, but I remembered her mother’s words about how Eleanor had been unwell since Haven, and thought this might be good for her. Perhaps I could help somehow.

“I’ll tell you,” she promised. “So what are you afraid of?”

I have many things, of course, but I picked one that seemed more child-appropriate. “I… I’m afraid of small spaces. Particularly, I suppose, being trapped in them. When we took that tunnel out of Haven, I was… scared, I suppose. Not just because of what was happening in Haven, but because of how small that tunnel was.”

She frowned, thinking as she looked up at the sky. I braced myself for whatever was going to come out of her mouth.

“But you went into the tunnel?”

“I did. I still do things even if they are scary.” Eleanor tilted her head, and I read the question in her eyes. “Most of the time, we’re afraid of things we don’t need to be afraid of. The tunnel wasn’t really dangerous, was it?”

Eleanor shook her head.

I sighed. “So, you promised you would tell me what you’re afraid of.”

She adjusted her arms and suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, and I contemplated suggesting that I escort her back to her chambers, but then she spoke.

“I’m afraid of fire,” she began, “and of being trapped, too, but not in small spaces. I’m afraid of my magic, too.”

Silence passed between us for a long moment as I considered that Haven was Eleanor’s Uldred, and I struggled for the words to make it better. For some reason, I wanted to make it better. Not for or because of Solona, but for Eleanor. No one should feel what I have felt.

I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I have felt what you’re feeling, before,” I said. “I… I’m sorry about what happened in Haven. But you’re safe, now. You’re safer, now. And now that you’re a mage, you have the potential to be… even safer.”

She cocked her head at me, and I flattened a hand out mid-air, trying to figure out how to word that in a way that would make sense to her.

“Do you feel safe with your mother? Do you think she is capable of keeping you safe? Or do you think she is weak, or could be hurt at any moment?”

Eleanor blinked at me. “My mother is not weak. She killed an archdemon.”

“Precisely,” I said. “She is safe from her magic. You will be, too. You will have no better teacher.”

She was silent for a long moment, as if thinking of a retort, or potentially whether I was trustworthy enough to listen to. I waited, watching her.

In the Circle, young children like her were not as exposed to the Templars – thankfully – as the adults. The Harrowed mages and more senior enchanters, particularly, were allowed to monitor and mentor the younger children in the Circle somewhat separate from the general population. It was better that way, especially in Kirkwall.

“What are you doing down here?” She asked, our conversation apparently finished for now. I decided to allow it to drop, as well.

“Just throwing knives. I can’t sleep sometimes, either, so I come and practice.”

She glanced at the dummy and at the sheath of my throwing knives, strapped to my left vambrace. “Can I try?”

I stilled, considering the repercussions if I acquiesced to her. I imagined some horrific injury that I’d have to explain to Solona later on, but I also thought about her with her own Uldred. So I said, “Just for a few minutes, and then I’ll bring you back to your mother. Understand?”

“Yes, Ser.”

She approached me before I could change my mind, and I gestured for us to move closer to the target.

“Have you ever thrown daggers before?”

“No.”

“Really? All that training you had in the Palace, and they never showed you this?”

She eyed the daggers in their sheath at my vambrace. “No.”

“Alright. Well, here. Stand here. Relax your body and stand straight. Which hand do you use?”

“My right.”

“Put your right foot forward. Now, hold this as you would hold a hammer. Have you ever held a hammer?”

Eleanor took the offered knife by the handle as I moved around to her left side, just in case.

“Blade up. Yes, like that. See how I do it? Watch my arm.” I modeled the throw with one of the knives slowly before finally throwing. “Be mindful of your head. Go ahead.”

Eleanor threw the first blade. As expected, it didn’t even hit the dummy, but I was only glad she didn’t slice her ear off. I handed her another. “Try again. It will take a few times to get used to the weight. Keep going.”

We stayed there for longer than I had intended initially. Maybe a half-hour? By the end of it, she was hitting the dummy with the daggers at least one-third of the time. Some of them even have some power behind them, but I could hardly let her stay out here.

“Alright, we’ve been out here too long. Time to go.”

She looked at me pointedly. “This was really fun. Will I have my own dummy again, Ser Cullen? Like in Haven?”

I plucked the remaining daggers from the dummy and sheathed them, gesturing for us to leave the training area. “It’s on my list already. You’ll have it soon.”

We made our way from the training yard and towards Solona’s chambers. I had made it a point not to go there, yet. I still follow my rules for her. I only seek her out through a runner or letter. I find this to be a suitable exception – I am not seeking Solona out, but rather returning her daughter to her.

I don’t know if it helps me or hurts me, that Solona is the one who has to pursue me for the things that we do. Does it keep me hanging on to fruitless hope longer than if it weren’t so? I can’t say.

“Is she here?” Eleanor asked as she ran ahead of me in a corridor.

“Are these your chambers?” I asked, though I knew already. I could see from where I was that the door was cracked open as if in invitation. Eleanor threw the door open as she entered the chambers and ran to the middle.

“Yes,” she answered as I leaned against the doorframe, glancing around. The chambers were small and in need of repair, but there was a single, large bed with no one in it. The blankets were thrown back, and Eleanor stood at the foot of it, looking around. “She’s gone.”

“Your mother?” I asked. A stupid question.

“Yes, where is she? She was sleeping.”

I felt my ears flush, as if I was about to be in trouble. I had the immediate sense that she would find it inappropriate that I had just spent some time with Eleanor outside in the training yard in the middle of the night. I hadn’t even considered it until then.

Beyond that, I knew she’d be panicking. “She’s probably looking for you. Stay here, Eleanor. I’ll look for her. Stay here. Do you understand?”

Eleanor looked at me pointedly. “Yes, Ser Cullen.”

I frowned. “Promise?”

She climbed into the bed and sat there, pulling the blanket over her legs. “I promise.”

“Alright,” I said, and shut the door. I started off in search of Solona, wanting to allay her fears as soon as I could. I half-jogged out into the darkness of the courtyard to find Skyhold still wholly asleep with only a few soldiers posted at the gates and the battlements.

I ran to the garden area and, finding nothing, headed to the library. Empty, silent. I suppressed a curse and headed back outside, moving directly towards the training area again. Something told me she would look there.

She was.

I saw her in a white shift, a cloak billowing behind her as she turned to leave the empty training yard. I swallowed audibly and jogged towards her in response. The moon was so bright, it illuminated her enough to see that her shift was just a thin slip, as if she had lunged out of bed without a thought to get dressed. I could see her shape beneath it.

She saw me, hair splayed out behind her, and ran to me.

“Cullen! I can’t find Eleanor -” she sounded as panicked as I suspected she would. I held my hands out as if to calm her, and captured her elbows in my hands. I could see the fear in her eyes, and I couldn’t get my words out fast enough to soothe her.

“I know, I know-”

“She’s gone, I can’t-” I had never seen her like this, not even at Haven. “We have to find her. You have to help me-”

“Solona, she’s-”

“Please, Cullen! I need-”

I ducked my head, trying to meet her frantic gaze. She was like a lynx caught in a trap, spasming. “Solona! She’s fine, she’s safe!”

She opened her mouth to say more, but a beat passed, and she paused, as if finally hearing me. Her eyes found me, and it was like she saw me then, truly saw me. “What?”

“She’s safe,” I repeated, running my thumbs over her arms because I still had not released her elbows. “I just brought her back to your chambers.”

Maker, I could see everything through her shift. Which is fine – but if anyone else was out here….

“What?”

I explained how she found me throwing daggers and what we had talked about. I told her everything I could remember about my conversation with Eleanor, and what happened. “She’s fine. She’s waiting for you in your chambers, now,” I said, by way of finishing.

Solona searched my face in the moonlight.

I told myself that I had overstepped my bounds. I told myself that I could forget about our casual arrangement; I was reaching into areas of her life where she didn’t want me. She stared at me, and I braced myself for the rejection that would break me. 

And then she stepped forward and bowed her head against my chest. Her hands came to rest on my plate as I shifted my arms around her shoulders. Though fully armored, I could feel the warmth of her under my arms, against my legs. I rested my chin against her hair even as she turned to press her cheek against my chest.

“You’re such a good man,” she said to me, and I felt my throat tighten.

If that’s true, why won’t you let me in? I almost asked. Almost.

I only didn’t because she kept speaking.

“I don’t know how to help her. She sees you as safe. You were the one who saved her, not me.”

I tightened my grip on her shoulders, encasing her against me. It felt so good to hold someone like this, and not just anyone. I breathed deep her hair, and relished this. To hold her without even having sex. To hold her, to be something more to her just for this moment. This is what gave me hope that I alluded to earlier. Stupid.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, my eyes closed. I never wanted to let her go. It was hard to imagine ever being angry about our situation, holding her. I certainly felt none of it, then.

I felt that she tried to shake her head, but the way we were embraced, her movement was too restricted. “You seem to know. But it’s not your burden, Cullen. You have too much to do.”

“I’m hardly a paragon of recovery of traumatic experiences,” I said with a wry snort. “I am still haunted by the Tower.”

In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t said this, but Solona didn’t seem to judge me for it. Not outright, anyway. I felt her hands trail up and around my body, though I wished I hadn’t worn my armor so I could feel her.

“I think you are a paragon of recovery,” she said softly, and pulled away, looking up at me and thinking to pull her cloak around her, now. “Whatever you’ve done to get here… it is remarkable.” She lifted a hand and cupped my cheek. I leaned into the touch.

I was starved for her. I had her in the most carnal way, even just hours before, but that was not satiating enough. I wanted this. I needed this.

I covered her hand with my own, holding it to my cheek to make the moment last just a little longer. My pride and dignity be damned.

“You have to go,” I said. “I don’t trust her not to leave the room looking for you, now. And then we will be in this endless cycle of trying to find each other.”

She laughed, her fingers splaying against the stubble of my cheek. She rocked onto her toes and kissed me.

“Thank you, Cullen. You have no idea.”

When she hurried away this time, it didn't hurt. For once.

Chapter Text

20th of Haring, 9:41

My temper is fraying.

I hardly sleep, despite my efforts to exhaust myself. I run myself ragged physically, mentally, and emotionally – and yet, sleep evades me until I finally collapse, until something inside of me finally gives up and gives in. I am usually half-delirious by then.

I am snapping at the soldiers. I say things in the War Meetings when I should be biting my tongue, even at Josephine. They are planning something in Orlais – I am expected to attend. It is a ball or gala, and I’m quite dreading it, but still, it was unprofessional of me to act as I did. I am growing angry, again.

Solona is coming to me almost nightly. I don't know if that is helping my irritability or making it worse. I am eager to see her, to take her into my arms and into my tower. We - I hesitate to call it 'make love' since my idea of that would be slower, more sensual, taking our time, and in my bed - we engage, meet our mutual releases, sometimes frantically, and then she leaves me. I've stopped asking more of her for now, though it almost leaps out of my throat sometimes. But keeping it inside of me is not seeming to help.

Case in point:

We were in a War Meeting today, and Josephine asked if Solona would come to the Winter Palace with us.

“To have such an esteemed guest under our protection, you could be influential with certain nobility,” Josephine had said. I stiffened, my fist tightening on the pommel of my sword. “There are certain men that would respond well to a dance or two with you, Solona. With your connections to Ferelden and the King, I think we could further our cause beyond even just keeping the Empress safe.”

Solona didn’t bat an eye, but I bristled. “Whatever you need of me, Lady Josephine. As long as there will be some protection for my daughter while we are there, I will help.”

I glared at her, which was out of line for me.

“Cullen?”

I snapped to my name from the Inquisitor’s voice, and I was still scowling, if her furrowed brow was anything to guess by.

“Can you spare a few men to protect Eleanor the night of the ball?”

“Certainly,” I said, and I’d assign my best men for the job. That wasn’t my issue. My issue was, “Do we really need to dangle Miss Amell like bait to those… people? We’re going to keep the Empress safe, not solicit suitors or – whatever – for her.”

I sounded raving, jealous. Solona looked squarely at Josephine, unwilling to meet my heated stare.

“This is normal, Cullen,” Josephine said, sounding a little amused. “This is The Game. We would do ourselves a disservice to have the Hero of Ferelden in our envoy and not allow her to charm them. Flirtation, dancing, kissing –” I choked. If Josephine was suggesting Solona kiss one of them, I was going to put my foot down! “Alliances have been built on them since the dawn of time.”

I saw Solona’s eyes flicker to me, and there was a heat in her cheeks. Was I embarrassing her?

I was furious, anyway, and that did not stop me. “Our strength should speak for itself. It is unnecessary to have her do this. It is below us.”

Josephine continued. “Some nobility respond better to familiarity, a story of heroism, or… flirtation.” Josephine smiled at Solona. Smiled!

“What?” I squawked, and I should have silenced myself, but I didn’t. “No. This is absurd. This is a mission, and Solona is not yours to throw to the first salivating nobleman that looks her way!”

The room was silent for a beat, and then Solona’s voice pierced it softly. “Cullen, it’s fine-”

My answering glare cut her off, and Leliana made a knowing sound, like a scoff. My temper stunned me. I think it stunned everyone in the room.

“We’ll discuss this separately.” Solona’s voice was stern, serious. She brooked no argument, and I was not apt to make more a fool of myself. I felt my jaw tense and nodded my reluctant agreement.

I remained silent unless prodded for the rest of the meeting. I don’t want to think I was pouting, but rather trying to keep myself in check. My temper is fraying, as I mentioned. It has been some years since I’ve been so… irritable.

Is it lyrium withdrawals? I’d like to blame it on them, but I think I know better.

Cassandra confronted me after the War Meeting, once the other women had left. I had made no rush to escape after them, instead trying to get myself calm before heading back to my tower.

“You’re not yourself, Cullen,” Cassandra said, tugging on her gloves once the door closed behind Leliana.

“I’m fine,” I muttered reflexively, my arms braced against the War Table.

“You are troubled.” I could feel her eyes on me, as Seeker, expert interrogator.

“It’s withdrawals,” I said, shutting my eyes. “I’ll just get some elfroo-”

“This is about Solona Amell. I remember her involvement in your past.” She is never subtle, and I stiffened at her words and reminded myself that Cassandra may be my closest friend aside from Rylen in the Inquisition; my temper had no place with her. “And now, everyone mutters that you are in some kind of relationship with her.”

“No, we’re not.”

“You insult me with a lie. Would you have argued your point so adamantly if we asked the Inquisitor to humor the nobility, instead?”

Of course not. A moment’s silence passed between us, and I shoved off the War Table, looking at her. I felt miserable in that moment, and probably looked it.

“It’s… under control,” I assured her, though my tone did not convey confidence.

Cassandra studied me in the way that she did when she interrogated me in Kirkwall. “You’ve been spotted in the training yard in the middle of the night every night this week. You look half-delirious. The kitchen says you’ve skipped meals, and this is not the first time of late you have lost your composure.”

I held her gaze, jaw ticking at her accusations. It was all true.

She paused for a breath, and added, “It is not the lyrium withdrawals I’m worried about, but you’re losing your grip, anyway. What is she doing to you?”

I opened my mouth to speak. Could I tell her? She knew everything else. Cassandra, the closest thing I had to a mentor in Skyhold. The woman who helped me walk away from the Order. Without her, I’d still be in Kirkwall, probably, beating my head against the wall. Miserable.

No words came out of my mouth, anyway.

Cassandra said, “If you need to end things with her, you need to end it.”

I swallowed. “I don’t want to. It’s… I want more.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her head cocked a little as she tugged a glove again. “Is she using you?”

That stung, because I had not thought about our arrangement in such a way, yet. Could that be the case? “I’m… not sure.” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. The next words I spoke were like glass in my throat as I stared at the map on the table before me. “I… she wants distance, boundaries. I want… everything. But I agreed to something casual.”

I could feel the weight of Cassandra’s gaze as I confessed this and told myself it would be good to get another woman’s perspective.

“You agreed to it, but it’s not working for you?”

I shook my head in silence.

“You’re not going to love her any less by continuing on this path.”

I ache just writing this, in my chest. I ached standing there, and I knew Cassandra was right. I was running down this path headlong that was tearing me apart, eating me alive. I would not care for Solona any less if I continued to spend parts of my nights with her, if I continued to long for her, if she continued to hold me at a distance.

“So you’re saying I should end it?” I asked, hoarse. I couldn’t do it. I’d have her like this and hurt myself in the process before I’d end it.

Cassandra shifted on her feet. “Not necessarily. But something must change, and soon. Talk to her, Cullen. If she is keeping you at a distance, there must be a reason. But you saved her daughter, and she clearly trusts you enough to do this… with you. There is a piece missing that you’re not seeing.”

I looked at her. “What do you mean?”

Cassandra looked at the stained glass windows, contemplating. “A woman wouldn’t just invite someone into her bed with whom she has such a… history. There is a risk – she has too much to lose. Whatever reason she has for keeping you at arm’s length, it is probably good.” Her gaze shifted to mine and held it. “Have a conversation with her. Perhaps it will help you to feel better about this.”

I was doubtful that there would be any reason to keep things casual other than the reason I had devised, which was I’m not good enough for her, but I was not going to jump into that argument with Cassandra. That’s an argument I’ve already had with Cassandra, funny enough. I’ve already argued the point that I’m not good enough to the Seeker: not for my position as Commander, not to hold my position, not to stay on as Knight Commander in Kirkwall.

No one believed in me like Cassandra, so I did not want to bother arguing with her about this point that seemed so obvious to me.

Solona Amell would do nothing more than sleep with me because she simply did not think I was good enough for her. That is the only reasonable explanation I can seem to come up with.

Talking to Solona would not change that, but perhaps it would be worth asking.

“Cullen?” Cassandra prompted when I had not said anything. “Will you do that?”

I swallowed and straightened my posture, gripping the pommel of my sword. “I’ll try.”

She nodded and left the War Room while I stayed, gathering my thoughts, my courage.

I am not sure how much longer I can do all of this. Something will shatter, sooner or later.

Cassandra’s advice is to talk to Solona. I’m not certain that is good advice.

I will probably remain quiet because I cannot afford any more cracks or fissures in anything. I cannot afford them in my position as Commander, and I cannot afford them in the way I handle Solona. If I make the same mistakes with her, then she will end things, and I am not done.

I am not happy, but I’m not done with her.

How long can I go on? I don’t know. But I’m not ready yet to give her up.

I cannot afford any more cracks or fissures, so I will throw myself deeper into my work. I will be the Commander we need above all else. I will be Solona’s lover if that is what she wants. I will be in service to whatever use I can be, and I will do this as long as I can stand it.

I hardly have time to write in this stupid journal anymore. It only serves to irritate me, now.

Chapter Text

21st of of Haring, 9:41

It was only months before Knight Commander Meredith called for the Rite of Annulment when I was sitting in her office, weighing the risks of speaking out against her. She was writing something feverishly with her quill and punctuating her sentence with an intensity I found a little odd for so late in the evening when all else was quiet. I was finding her more unnerving in those days, though I would never have suspected what was truly happening.

There was so much happening directly beneath my nose, I realize, for so many years. I did not see it until I was in her shoes, and even now, I’m realizing things that I did not before.

She shoved her quill into the inkwell and looked up at me, eyes almost frantic. “There’s a mage in the cells that needs to be made Tranquil. She was studying blood magic and was found with some contraband in her dormitory.”

“Very well.” I hadn’t come here for this, so I gave her a nod. “I’ll see to it at once. I wanted to give you a report on the apostates in Darktown. We recovered two of them, but a third was killed. And Knight Terras was injured – he’s in the infirmary as we speak.”

“Good. Choose one to make Tranquil, while you’re at it.”

I paused. These types of commands had become more frequent. Tranquility was one of our greatest weapons, but one that required restraint and was heavily regulated by the Chantry. It was illegal to use on Harrowed mages, and already that year, we had made seven mages Tranquil.

Each mage made Tranquil obliterated the morale of the remaining mages, sometimes worse than killing them.

I should have understood them better. I, too, fear some fates worse than death.

Still, Meredith pinned me with her manic gaze, and I did not push back.

She gave me the name and location of the mage she mentioned, a mage named Arsella Ines, located in the Skyward Wing. I wasn’t familiar with the woman, but I made it a point – still, at that point in my career – not to know the mages by name if I could help it.

The Skyward Wing was the name for the wing in the Gallows where the most senior Harrowed enchanters and the children lived. The purpose of keeping the young children separate from the general population was twofold, as I think I briefly mentioned before. Young children are susceptible to fear, and therefore, demons. They benefit from a strong sense of safety and security, and the more senior enchanters do well to keep them feeling safe and generally happy, providing guidance and mentorship.

The second reason is that, given the choice of having to put down an adult or a child, most Templars would prefer to kill an adult. I am no exception. Like most Templars, I’d prefer the children to be separated from the general population so that I do not have their deaths on my hands, on my conscience.

An abomination is an abomination, but it is hard to forget that the abomination may have been a child just minutes before I’d have to spear my sword through their chest.

Arsella Ines was only twelve years old when Meredith ordered her Tranquility.

I’m not sure why I’m thinking about this. I had forgotten about it until now.

I suppose it must have something to do with Solona’s daughter.

Perhaps it is my mind trying to tie together some reasons for why Solona keeps me at arm’s length. Because what would our trajectory be if she didn’t? Solona is a package deal with her daughter, and Eleanor is a mage, too. If we were to be together completely, unrestrained, I would fill some kind of role for that child… albeit whatever Solona allows. Does Solona think she must protect Eleanor from me? Does that hold her back? But Solona was holding me at arm’s length before Eleanor manifested her magic, so I’m hesitant to place the blame here, though I remember Eleanor said something like… ‘everyone thinks I’m going to be a mage.’

Perhaps her reason is because of Eleanor’s father. It is something I hadn’t considered until now. I just mentioned that, if Solona were to allow me in totally, that I would inevitably have to fill some role for Eleanor just as a consequence of being with her mother and being the male figurehead in their… family. What if this were the reason for Solona keeping me at arm’s length? Perhaps Eleanor’s father is still in their lives, though Eleanor cannot name him. Perhaps Solona feels that she cannot allow another man to take on that role without stepping on toes, without causing issues.

I – this is not good for me, this thing that I’m doing. This is like a compulsion, the way that I obsess and pore over things. This is why I should take Cassandra’s advice and talk to Solona, because if I don’t, I am going to fill in the blanks with my own thoughts which may be untrue and far-fetched.

She has not come to me since before the War Meeting where she agreed to kiss flirt -

I must stop. I’m being unreasonable.

I agreed to this.

My afternoon descended into pain as withdrawals did not creep in, but rather slammed into me like a rogue wave.

I am lying in bed, writing this with the light of the oil lamp.

Solona came to my bed tonight, but it was… different.

I am sated, for now.

I cannot help but feel like I had been drowning, slipping underwater with my last breath out of me, and she had pulled me up for air again. I wonder if she will let me slip underwater again and decide not to save me this time.

I was in bed before she came to me, aching and miserable. Every muscle felt like I had shards of glass embedded in it. My head had a sharp pain any time I looked towards any of the candles, the hearth, or the oil lamp. My thirst was unquenchable, so I hardly bothered to even sate it. My hunger for the lyrium was ravenous, but I was holding firm to my resolve.

I heard her enter after her knock, and her voice call out.

“I can’t, tonight,” I called down to her, after deciding not to ignore her outright. I probably could have hidden from her, but my posted guard likely told her I was inside. My guard knew to allow her in, even if no one else was permitted. This is a rule I had forgotten to adjust for tonight – it would have been so simple to have my guard forbid her entry if I had remembered.

I suppose I’m glad I forgot.

She was silent for a moment. “Cullen?”

I didn’t answer, just dragged a hand over my face and held it there.

I heard her climb the ladder and felt equal parts glad and despairing. I didn’t want her to see me like this, and I was in no state to engage in our activities tonight, but I had a little bit of hope, still.

I struggled to get out of my bed and slammed my knee into the floor, my body protesting with the movement. I winced and gripped the mattress in a vice-grip, then sat back on the bed.

“Cullen?” I could hear her voice behind me, for I had my back turned to the ladder. I dragged a hand over my face and did not look over at her.

“I’m fine,” I said dismissively, waving lazily. “I just need to rest. Can we do this another night?”

I couldn’t believe it myself that I was turning her away, but I was in no state for our… activities.

“I… are you unwell?”

“I’m fine, Solona. I’m just resting.”

I heard her climb the last few rungs, and then I heard her footsteps and the shifting of the bed. Leave it to her not to listen. Why would she? She’s the Hero of Ferelden.

I leaned forward and dropped my face into my hands, my elbows propped on my knees as shame bloomed within me; caught in my weakness. I felt her hand touch my shoulder, feather-light. Skin-to-skin, for I was shirtless.

“Is it withdrawals?” She asked softly, her voice so close as she smoothed her hand over my skin. I felt her weight shift on the bed behind me.

Maker, I realized she was finally in my bed, and I would not be able to perform.

“Solona, please, I can’t-”

“Can I just spend time with you?”

I stilled, and my chest tightened. “What? Why?”

She edged closer to me, and suddenly I could feel her body pressed against my back, though she was clothed. I could vaguely sense that she was resting her face against my spine, running one hand along my back while the other slipped around my front and splayed against my abs.

“I worry about you. I care about you.”

I shut my eyes and felt myself free-falling. How can she say that and hurry out of this tower almost every night in the way that she does? How can she say that and keep me at the distance she does?

“I’d like to believe that,” I muttered miserably.

I don’t know why I insist on pushing this boundary even though I commit to respecting it nearly every single time. Why must I insist on sabotaging what we have?

Her hand – trailing along my back – stilled. For a moment, I expected her to leave me like that, to crawl off the bed and climb down the ladder, and be gone. She owes me nothing, needs me for nothing.

In fact, I need her more than she needs me.

There is nothing for her in here. Anything I do for her, she can get somewhere else. Perhaps even at the Winter Palace, I thought.

“Cullen,” she whispered, half a question, half admonition. “You don’t believe me?”

She adjusted herself, coming to kneel behind me so that her knees were on either side of my hips. Her hands rested on the slope between my neck and shoulders, and she began to squeeze. I felt her lean forward and kiss my spine.

I straightened, pushing off my knees. Whatever she was doing to me felt… divine.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I’m just… sore. Irritable.”

She squeezed my muscles, and I nearly moaned.

“Do you want to talk? About the War Meeting? Or… any of it?” She asked.

I considered her offer. Was she going to give me a boon of an explanation? I could only hope for such a thing. But that did not change the fact that I was in no state, mentally, emotionally, or physically, to withstand any further rejection or to argue if she was not willing to offer up her position. I didn’t have it in me tonight.

My behavior at the War Meeting yesterday had embarrassed me, and Solona, I’m certain. I do not intend to make the same mistakes again.

I keep telling myself things like that, don’t I?

My head rolled as she pushed into my muscles. “No. I don’t want to talk.”

She was silent for another moment, pressing just below my shoulder blades.

“Lay down, Cullen. On your chest.”

I twisted to look at her, still stunned that she was… what? Staying? For what?

She must have read the confusion on my face, because I could see the guilt flicker across there before she gave me a solemn, faint smile. “Let me do something for you. Just lie down.”

Any irritation I felt was gone the moment I looked at her. It slipped away. Sloughed off me in sheets. I only felt my own guilt welling up, my own confusion that I can’t be happy with what she gives me.

“Solona, you don’t need -”

She cupped my face, thumb running along my scar. “Cullen. If you really want me to go, I will.” I was holding my breath while she spoke.

No. I didn’t want her to leave.

But instead of saying that, I just looked into her green eyes and complied.

She climbed onto me and began to press into the muscles of my back, massaging my aches. I groaned out loud, flushed with embarrassment, and then proceeded to slowly melt into the mattress. She worked at the muscles of my back, my shoulders, my neck until I was no longer focused on the pain of my body but nearly fell asleep with the divine pleasure of it.

I’ve never had anyone willing to do this for me – or that I was willing to allow such a thing. Never mind that she is a mage, and my back was turned, and I was totally with my guard down. I lay there and let her massage me, working away the tension, as I slowly eased myself into nothingness.

It was some time later when she leaned forward, kissed my temple, and climbed off of me. I was drifting off, nearly asleep at that point, and her stirring awakened me.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side to watch her.

Solona was pulling on her boots and sitting on the edge of the bed. I’m not sure when she took them off.

“I… of course, Cullen.” Solona laced her boots without looking at me. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” I said reflexively.

She shifted to look at me, and, keeping her feet on the floor, leaned towards me. She rested her palm on my arm. “I – I know you said you don’t want to talk.”

I studied her face, her beauty, the solemn restraint in her eyes.

“I don’t.”

Her mouth opened, closed. She nodded once and leaned forward enough to kiss my temple again, rising from the bed. I watched her leave, descending the ladder, and pretended that I hadn’t made a mistake letting her leave like that.

As I mentioned earlier, I am satisfied. For now. Solona’s visit felt like a hand rescuing me from drowning, because if our relationship is built on carnal couplings, then why did she stay tonight to comfort me? If this is casual, then what was the point of this? If this is ‘just sex’, then why did she implore me to stay even when I told her I was in no state for that?

I cannot help but hope that there is more, a flicker of something deeper. That it exists not just for me, but for her, too. That Solona wants more from me, just as I do. I am afraid to convince myself of this, because if I am wrong, the results will be devastating for me.

But for now, I am sated.

I needed that. I needed her. I needed that presence, touch, comfort without our usual… activities. I needed her to stay, just for a little while. I can’t say that she is or will ever be in the same position to need me in such a manner, but if she were, I would be there, too.

It is enough to keep me going, for now.

Chapter Text

23rd of Haring, 9:41

Bull launched stuffed nugs off the battlements today with our trebuchets.

I sent Solona a letter ahead of time saying that Eleanor might like to see the spectacle, and soon, I was on the battlements with the child and a handful of soldiers, Sera, Solona, and the Bull’s Chargers, watching the stuffed nugs fly. It was a welcome reprieve from my duties, which have been growing, compounding so rapidly that I must delegate or fall behind.

Solona and I were lingering a little behind the raucous crowd on the battlements, watching over what could have easily been mistaken for some kind of drinking game for all the noise and laughter it was causing. Eleanor was up ahead of us with Shadow, and Bull was lifting her to set the stuffed nug into the bucket.

“He’s alright?” Solona asked.

“Bull’s safe,” I said, and I believed that. Shadow certainly didn’t seem concerned, and could hamstring the Qunari if he wanted.

No one had been behind us at my last reckoning, but then a voice materialized immediately behind us and between us.

“Your thoughts have been too loud,” Cole’s flat voice said, and I jumped, hand darting to my sword pommel.

“Cole!” Solona gasped.

At least she had already been introduced to him at some point, so I was spared that dreaded task.

Cole looked at me as I relaxed the grip on my sword and tried to steady my breathing. I tried to cut him off before he would speak, but he didn’t heed me.

“The only thing you ever wanted, but you never thought it would hurt so much. You try not to want anymore, but you want anyway.”

“Cole, stop-” 

Cole turned his gaze to Solona, an almost haunted look in his eyes. I fought the urge to pull her behind me, protect her from whatever he was about to lay bare before us. I did reach for her, and my hand wrapped around her wrist.

The moment he began speaking, I went still, listening intently with every fiber of my being. Though my feelings about Cole are as they are, he has insight into us, insight into Solona that I do not. I meant to capture every word.

“It hurts you to walk away, but you know why. You think the truth will break him. You didn’t mean for it to happen. You don’t mean to hurt him, now.”

Cole looked at me, then, in his… way. “She wants to protect you, but she wants you, too. She thinks she can’t do both.”

And then he was gone.

I looked at her, still with her wrist in my hand, and stared at her. She was focused on the stones of the battlements, unable to meet my gaze.

You think the truth will break him.

She wants to protect you, but she wants you, too.

“What is he talking about?” I croaked, my grip on her softening. Smoothed my thumb over her skin over the inside of her wrist, feeling for her pulse, which was quickening. She had gone pale.

“He has no right-” she began, sliding her gaze to me for only the briefest moment.

“Solona,” I whispered, inaudible over the sounds behind us of raucous joy as the trebuchet launched. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her for all the gold in the world as I watched her.

I can only call what she was doing ‘panic’, though at a distance, she would appear controlled and restrained. But I could see it; her eyes were wide, her pulse was fast and strong beneath my thumb pad. She was dragging in breath.

And then I watched her school herself, force her walls up in a way that is so practiced and methodical that I was almost horrified by the precision of it.

“Solona,” I breathed, edging closer to her, my chest blocking her view of the stones she had been staring at. She lifted her gaze to me, and she was cool, steady, ready to meet me.

She was not going to give an inch. I have met enough opponents to know when they will surrender. I do not think Solona Amell will ever yield. Not to me, not to anyone.

“What is he talking about?” I asked, my tone careful, like I was trying to soothe rather than pry.

She squared her shoulders, the final piece to her armor in place. I felt her tug at her wrist, and I released her, for I was no jailer, and she was not mine, as much as I felt devoted to her.

Solona took her wrist from me and looked at me, stunned. “He had no right to say that.”

I frowned. “Solona, please-”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

I backed off. I couldn’t force her, and the risk of pressing her to the point of losing her was too great a risk to take.

I turned back to the riotous crowd behind us. My head – my chest – I felt like I was collapsing, imploding. What did it mean? What did any of it mean?

Could I find Cole later and ask? Could I threaten him to tell me more clearly?

Solona took a long moment before turning back, and then she was gone, leaving me up on the battlements. Leaving me up there with everyone else, including Eleanor and Shadow.

Another stuffed nug soared through the air, arcing over the frozen river far below us. I stared at Eleanor, studying her.

If Solona was not going to stay, I suppose I felt responsible for her. In hindsight, that’s a little presumptive of me.

Eleanor came to me, though, laughing. She had her own stuffed nug tucked under an arm. I was forced to step out of my raging thoughts to acknowledge her.

“Did you see how far it went, Ser Cullen?” She asked.

I smiled back. “Pretty far, I’d say.”

She showed me the nug. “Do you think I can have this?”

“Why not?”

She smirked. Perhaps she was feeling better after Haven.

“Thank you.”

“Why? I didn’t knit it.” She snorted, presumably at the thought of me knitting a stuffed nug.

“Where’d my mother go?” Eleanor’s expression fell the moment she noticed her mother’s absence.

“She just left. Do you want to go practice on the dummies?”

She had her Dinner Knife on her, after all. And I needed to beat the crap out of something. A dummy, to clarify - not a child.

Eleanor tucked the nug tighter under her arm and looked hesitant to agree for a moment. Then, with a dip of her chin, she said, “Only if I get to try your shield, too.”

I obliged her.

She couldn’t even lift the thing.

Chapter Text

24th of Haring, 9:41

I almost continued this under the last entry, and realized, it’s past midnight. Technically, it’s the next day. I’ve done this a lot throughout this entire journal. My sleeplessness makes it difficult for me to differentiate between the days, I suppose.

Does it truly matter? I guess not.

I am losing my control, now with Solona. She is the last person I want to lose control with, and yet, I am doing it, anyway.

The War Table and this Winter Palace business, and then this issue with Cole – I am a hair’s breadth away from snapping. I am so close that I should forbid her from visiting me.

My mind has a constant river of thought running through it of her and what I can do to get her to keep me, get her to give me more of her than I have. It does not matter if I’m running drills, strategizing assault plans, delegating tasks, or discussing supply lines. She is smeared across the inside of my skull, behind my eyelids, the imprint of her flesh against my palms and fingers, the echoes of her scent in my nose.

I can’t go on like this forever.

“Come to my bed,” I huffed into her ear tonight. She was perched on the edge of my desk, legs spread, with me between them. We were fully clothed, still, and my hands were on her neck, tilting her jaw upwards as I hovered, pressed against her with my lips against her ear and in her hair.

“Is that an order, Commander?” She asked huskily, her hands working at the clasps anchoring my pauldrons to my cuirass.

“If it has to be.” I ground myself against her and felt a familiar pull of arousal flare brighter, hotter, consuming me. Maker, if we didn’t move soon, the desk would suit me just fine.

The bed was symbolic to me, more than anything. I was determined to acquire it, for the mere fact that she had inadvertently avoided it so much in the cabin in Haven without saying as much.

“Yes, Ser,” she sighed, and I chuckled as a pauldron crashed to the ground.

“Go.” My voice was almost gravel as I drew away from her and unbuckled my other pauldron, watching her launch off my desk and sweep towards the ladder. My heart was in my throat as she gathered up her dress in one hand and started to climb, somehow managing it.

I followed after her after setting my cuirass down beside my desk and found her sprawled on my bed, lying seductively on her stomach with her back arched. I groaned softly at the sight of her curves.

“Maker, you’re a sight,” I sighed, pulling off my boots before crawling onto the bed over her. I drew her hair away from her face as she arched, her backside pressing against me, and began to pull at the laces of her dress along her spine.

Thoughts of Cole’s insights were running rampant through my mind, but I was determined not to let them affect our time together. So I eased her out of her dress, and she rolled beneath me to face me, her hands pulling off my gambeson, then my shirt, pushing my pants down.

Her hands roamed over me with an urgency as I kissed her throat, palming her breast. She sighed as I pressed my mouth to the hollow of her throat, then she giggled when I nipped at the flesh above her breast. She arched as my calloused, rough fingers ran over her smooth curves, tightening at her waist, supporting the arch. Maker, I loved to see how she moved for me.

I descended onto the heat between her thighs, swiping my mouth along her folds and running my thumb in circles around her pearl. She nearly lifted off the bed, but I held her firm with a palm on her belly and another gripping one of her thighs as my mouth explored her ravenously.

She mewled and sighed, hands fisting in my hair, twisting and writhing. Most importantly, it was my name she cried out as she neared her end, which she met shuddering and trembling, gasping. I loved that I could elicit this reaction from her, but I had so many doubts running rampant in my mind.

Are there others?

Is this all she is going to give me?

What is the ‘truth’ Cole alluded to?

I pressed into her, my head bowing into the crook of her neck. She moaned and dug her fingers into my back, shuddering.

I tried to stay focused. I tried to keep my thoughts on the feeling of her walls around me, on her hands on me, the sounds she made, the feeling of her body beneath mine. I tried to focus on the fact that in this moment, it was me that she was choosing, me that was inside of her.

I moved in her, setting a pace that I knew she liked. She cried out in kind, arching higher, her fingers pressing into my shoulders.

Is this all I will get from her?

What if I lose her at the Winter Palace?

I desperately tried to hold on to the moment. I growled and looked down at her as I thrust, trying to hone in on the glorious sensations I was so privileged to have. I tried, I really did.

I lose her a little more every time she walks away.

I was softening, though, inside her, and I could only keep this up a few more moments.

White hot anger flared up in me as Solona’s expression flickered. I saw it as clear as day; one moment, she was in ecstasy, and in the next, tentative confusion. The anger made my jaw tick as I stopped and met her eyes, frowning.

“I – I need to stop,” I said, irritated. Irritated with myself that I couldn’t keep this up. Irritated that my own thoughts running wild in my mind were going to move this loss along and make me lose her even faster. If all I had with Solona was sex, and I couldn’t even perform, then I would surely lose her entirely.

“What’s wrong?” Concern laced her voice as one of her hands came to my face.

“I’m just thinking too much. You should go,” I grumbled irritably. She frowned, green eyes searching my face.

“Cullen.” Her other hand came to my face, a thumb touching my bottom lip.

“I’m not myself,” I said. I needed to lay blame somehow, but I couldn’t be confrontational enough to be clear with her. “What Cole said today-” she stiffened, and I had the awareness that I was a large man hovering over her, literally caging her in with my arms, and she had not agreed to this conversation. So I withdrew from her and lay down beside her, and though I was so angry and upset, lying down felt like the last thing I wanted to do. “What Cole said today… I need to hear something from you. I need something.”

I reached for her to put my hand on her waist as she rolled to face me, but then I dropped my hand between us. This felt forceful on my part – pushing this conversation on her – and I was going to regret it later. I needed to give her space.

Solona watched me. “You need what from me?”

“Something, Solona. Anything.” Can’t you see, I’m unraveling? I’m tearing apart at the seams.

She drew in a small, sharp breath. “I can’t.”

“You already said that.” My voice was hoarse, quiet when I spoke. “I need more than that.”

She hesitated, studying me. I waited for her to climb from the bed and leave me there without answers, to turn her back on me the way she does every time. I don’t know how much more I can take.

Then, instead of climbing out of bed, she crawled over me, pushing me onto my back and straddling my hips, lying over my chest, kissing my throat. It was a distraction, and I let her do it anyway. I felt her warm, wet center on top of me, the softness of her pressed to my chest, and I started to feel the heat within me stirring to life again.

“Solona, please.” I guided my hands up her legs and backside. Her name was a prayer on my lips.

She pulled away enough to look at me. I saw her guilt and regret laid bare across her face.

Don’t look at me like that, I wanted to say. Don’t look at me like a mistake.

But then she spoke.

“What did Cole say that upsets you the most?” She asked.

“He said something about a truth breaking me.” I studied her for her reaction: the tightening at the corners of her eyes, the slightest downturn of her lips. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I can’t.” At my doubtful expression, she doubled down. “I can’t, Cullen! Something else. Ask me something else, and I’ll… I’ll try.”

I wanted to pound my fists at my side, but I kept my palms flattened gently against her thighs. I was raging, burning, thrashing inside. My breath came in almost raggedly as my words tried to leap out of my throat.

Is this really all you want from me?

Why am I not good enough for you?

Will you really let those men in Orlais touch you? How could you betray me like that?

Could you ever want more with me?

I can take whatever you’re keeping from me.

I can take it, but I can’t take this – I will rip myself apart trying, though.

My eyes met hers, and I saw pain on her face, and I couldn’t bear to ask her anything or demand anything of her.

If I were causing that pain, I should stop. I would stop.

So I did.

I smoothed my hands up her thighs with a gentleness that surprised even myself and sighed, forcing my shoulders to relax.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed, and Maker, I sounded so broken, so pathetic. “I’m… just anxious about Orlais. Diplomacy is… not my strong suit.”

She was very still, straddling me, and I’m certain she saw right through me, though it was not a blatant lie. It was only the smallest of my concerns. I was nervous about Orlais, but not for the reason I voiced.

She knew it, of course.

Solona pressed a kiss to the center of my sternum, never taking her eyes off me. “I’m not running away with any Orlesians, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

I forced a chuckle that was wholly without humor and skimmed my palms up her waist, higher and through her hair to cradle her face.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, hating that I ruined the night. “You should go to Eleanor.”

A frown curved her mouth as she reached and wiped her thumb down my jaw. “You’re unhappy with me.”

I didn’t have it in me to finish what I started, and she wasn’t going to stay for any other reason, but I couldn’t give voice to this shame.

“What can I do?” She asked. “Will you let me stay a few more minutes?” She withdrew from me and lay against my side, trailing a hand down my chest, looking at me as she propped herself on an elbow.

“You never stay.” I managed to sound more tired than hurt, but she noticed this, anyway, and she bowed her head a little.

A long moment of silence passed, and I grew uncomfortable with it, inwardly angry with myself as she traced a circle on the hard plane of my sternum.

“I’m terrified,” she whispered, gaze flickering to me for a moment. “If I tell you, everything will change. Everything between us will change.”

I clung to every word like a lifeline, staring at her, searching for the slightest shift in her features.

“How will things change?” I asked because I knew asking about this secret would be a fruitless question. I could feel the tension ripple through her at my question by the stiffening in her shoulders. I had my arm around her, resting on her waist, sweeping my fingers in feather-light touches along her ribs.

“In every way. That’s why I act like this,” she said, glancing at me again. “I don’t want to lose you completely.”

I reached for her face with my other hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I had suddenly lost the fight in me to wrest these answers out of her, and I wanted to put it behind us for tonight. 

“You don’t have to say anything more,” I told her gently, brokenly. “I shouldn’t… push you. Forgive me.”

She blinked away what I think might have been tears forming, and shook her head, looking away and at the hole in my roof. “I should be asking your forgiveness.”

My heart felt so heavy in my chest, and I didn’t know what else to do or say, or how we could finish this tonight. I doubted I’d be able to stir my loins again.

She set her head on my chest and lay tucked in against me, listening to my heartbeat, as she trailed nonsensical symbols and designs over my chest and stomach with her fingers. I swept my fingers gently up and down the curve of her waist, my other hand tucked under my neck, and watched her breathing.

It is the first time she stayed for any measure of time afterwards, though it didn’t last long. It wasn’t long enough. Still, those precious minutes she stayed… it was as though my wounds were finally allowed a brief respite, a moment to start healing, if you will. That they could start stitching back together, a whisper of hope that I could put myself back together again.

And then, she rose from my bed and dressed. I got into my trousers and sat on the edge of my bed, running a hand through my hair, filled with shame.

I felt her next to me with her fingers trailing on my shoulder. I looked up, saw her standing directly beside me. I welcomed her to stand between my legs, letting my hands come to rest at the backs of her knees as she set her hands on my shoulders.

Her green eyes searched me solemnly and with compassion, but her words hit me like a mailed fist, though I knew she tried to soften them. “Please tell me if you need me to leave you alone. To end this.”

I bowed my head forward, my brow resting against her stomach, and shook my head. “I don’t want that. Do you?”

I had to look at her for her answer. I had to see it on her face.

Regret flickered there, warring with other things that I was not adept enough to catch. One of my many inadequacies, I suppose.

She stroked my jaw and shook her head. “I don’t.”

If she was just humoring me, I can’t say for sure, but I had to accept her answer. I had no other choice, and I wanted nothing else. So I rose from where I sat and kissed her, and she kissed me back, no less intimately.

“Tomorrow?” She asked.

I pressed another kiss to her temple and nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

29th of Haring, 9:41

We have left for the Winter Palace.

I can’t say I am happy about it.

There are forty of my soldiers with us, and I’ve already chosen eight of them to guard Eleanor the night of the ball while Solona is occupied. Bah. The men are some of my best – accomplished men, not all Templars, some with training as bodyguards. I can’t let something happen to the girl after all of this, not after Haven.

Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine are here, of course. The Inquisitor has also taken Vivienne De Fer, Varric, and Warden Blackwall. I suppose they are safer choices than some of the others we have at Skyhold. If I were trying to impress people, I certainly wouldn’t bring Sera anywhere. I probably wouldn’t bring myself, if I were being honest.

I can’t help but notice Solona talking to Blackwall more than I’d… like.

I’m inexperienced with jealousy. I’ve never felt it with a woman. Logically, I know – or I think – that Solona is probably not going to jump into Blackwall’s bed. But there is a little nagging thought that maybe I’m wrong.

I don’t know if it’s because she won’t commit to me, or if it’s the withdrawals….

Paranoia, weepiness, and obsessive thinking – all three of these things could give me the predisposition of jealousy. But I’ve never been jealous by nature.

If anything, I’m more apt to think this feeling is because she will not choose me fully. If I felt more secure with her, if she chose me… then I would worry about it less. I hope that is the case, because I do not enjoy this feeling, and I am unfamiliar with it, and do not know what to do with it. It roils around inside me and itches to get out.

So I sit here in our camp, in the northern Frostbacks, and keep an eye on her talking to Blackwall.

They are both Wardens who have been relatively immune to whatever is happening to the rest of the Wardens. It makes sense that they would talk. It’s just… he must see what I see when I look at her, doesn’t he? And what’s to stop her from having something ‘casual’ with him, too?

I keep thinking about what Cole said, that she is trying to protect me by withholding some truth from me. What is this truth?

She has already denied being with the King. Could she have lied to me, even as adamantly as she did? Why? No. I must dismiss this – I don’t take her to be dishonest, and I have no choice but to take her word for it, anyway.

So what are the other possibilities?

She knows I am aware of the shorter lives of Wardens, so I doubt it is that. I think I have made it clear that I would accept her despite this.

Does she regularly do blood magic? I have not seen consistent scars on her body that would tell me such a thing.

Is she possessed by a spirit, like that Anders? This possibility, honestly, terrifies me. I pray this is not the case because I am not certain I’d be able to move past it.

Is it Eleanor’s father? I keep coming back to this. I could see her wanting to keep it from me if it were someone I knew, but I don’t think it would ‘change everything.’ Even if it were Greagoir, for Maker’s sake, I could move past it. It would be fine! It is not my business who fathered Eleanor!

Sometimes I think writing in this journal helps me to lay out my thoughts, to organize them. Sometimes I think it only serves to drive my madness a little further.

Chapter Text

31st of Haring, 9:41

Solona’s power is truly terrifying. Awe-inspiring, I suppose, to someone who has not been nearly killed by magic as many times as I. I can feel my hands tremble just thinking about the well of raw power she has at her disposal.

I suppose if I were not half in love enamored with her, then I’d try to have her watched. And to think of the precarious positions I’ve been in with her. How vulnerable I’ve been and the ways in which I’ve probably set myself up for an earned fireball or two, like the time I suggested she made an excuse about Eleanor as to why she wouldn’t stay with me after our engagements.

I doubt I could even smite her if I tried. Maker. I should be more terrified of her, but I have never been a logical man when it comes to her. She is one of my bigger chinks in my armor, a blind spot, if you will.

We had veered off the road briefly to close a Fade rift. After all, the Inquisitor was with us, and we had the manpower to slaughter anything that came out of the rift decisively. It was a sure thing, and every demon and shade that slipped out of the Fade was killed within moments.

It was good to see that the Inquisitor had grown more adept at closing them, as well. She was using the anchor, a bright green ribbon of light pulsing between her and the rift, as an avalanche started above us.

I’m not sure if it was the sounds of the fight that started it, or the screams of the demons. Whatever started it, it was going to crush us, and we did not have the ability or the time to get out of its way. The roar of it was deafening as the snow careened down the mountain.

Solona was the first to act because Vivienne was tending to one of my soldiers, a gravely wounded man. For all of Solona’s power, she is a lacking healer.

I felt the magic in the air pull, the familiar tinge in the air – a heaviness that almost hurt my ears – as she drew upon her magic and sent her power up the mountain. She trembled with the effort of it.

It was like the snow hit an invisible wall. It crashed into nothing, exploding and piling up high up in the valley. Sounds of awe rose up from the men around me. Vivienne lunged into action to help, and so did the Inquisitor as soon as the rift was closed. That did not change the fact that Solona stopped the avalanche herself and held it off of us through sheer force magic.

The three of them held it until the snow settled and silenced, and we moved. They held the wall even as we rode out of the valley altogether, and finally released the wall once we were safely away.

The avalanche started again, but we were safe and clear by then.

Eleanor had been riding near me. The Inquisition loaned her a halla for the journey, which had surprisingly taken to her. I wondered who she bullied for that.

She looked at me as the snow barrelled down into the valley behind us.

“Think a Templar can do that?” I asked her, trying to reference her mother stopping the avalanche.

She snorted.

Chapter Text

1st of Wintermarch, 9:42

Solona hasn’t come to my tent during our journey into Orlais, yet. Perhaps it is because there is no hiding in the camp; everyone would hear us, everyone could see her slip inside, and it would confirm our engagement. It bothers me that I must be hidden, I suppose. By the very act of hiding, it confirms that we are casual only, a relationship built on flesh and pleasure, with no legs to stand on. I cannot help but think that I’m just someone borrowed in the night to her.

How can she hold me at such a distance, but I…?

I am just pleasure to her, but every time I see her, it is like I rip my heart from my chest and offer it to her, only to stuff it back inside, blackened, aching.

Again, I wonder how can she hold me at such a distance?

It is for the best, really. Soon, I will not be able to take it any longer. I will have to ask her to walk away if she can’t give me more. It will kill me to do it, but this is killing me, too. She will have to be the one to do it, because she is stronger than I am.

If it’s because of the lyrium, then I’m losing the battle horrifically. I’m drowning in it, wave after wave pulling me under, and I can only hope that the death is sweet and kind.

I -

I should speak with Cassandra again.

Perhaps I’ll wait until we are finished at the Winter Palace. We will arrive tomorrow, and then the ball is the next night. I should wait – Maker knows Cassandra has enough to worry about. A day or two will not matter when it comes to my demise.

I gave in to Eleanor’s requests demands to train with me. I think the girl is used to getting her way.

My excuse is that we are in Orlais, and I have little to do here at our nightly camp except brood, talk and train with my men, wait fruitlessly for Solona to come to my tent, and wait for the next day for us to take to the road again. I am not receiving many reports here, as Rylen is stepping in for me while I’m away in Skyhold, and everything feels like it’s on hold while we’re here.

Eleanor came to me with her Dinner Knife strapped to her hip. I noticed no one had gotten her a staff, but I had seen Solona tutoring her – or trying to. The girl didn’t take direction well, and would balk at her mother, telling her she’d rather train swords, daggers, and now, throwing knives. That, I’m sure, is my fault, though I wasn’t eager to step forward and claim responsibility for it.

I had been writing in my journal, and I put it away in my coat, as she approached me with her little, marching steps.

“What are you doing?” She asked. Or rather, demanded.

“Writing about the day. What do you need?”

One of her wild flaxen curls was sticking out of her braid as she assessed me. “Is there anyone who can train me? There are no dummies here.”

Except me, I almost joked, and then I cleared my throat.

I had nothing better to do, so I glanced around the camp. Solona was sitting by Leliana, talking to the Inquisitor and Josephine.

“Ask your mother,” I said. I wasn’t keen on walking up to the three of them myself, for I’d surely bungle the whole thing and have Josephine giggling, and Leliana smirking knowingly.

“Why do I need to ask her?” Eleanor ground her fists into her hips, and I sighed.

“Soldiers ask for their Commander’s leave to do things. Think of it like that. Your mother is your Commander.”

Eleanor scrunched her nose at me as if she didn’t like that idea very much, but she turned on her heel and asked her mother anyway. I watched the exchange and felt all three women turn to look at me. But I only held Solona’s gaze as she saw me. I shrugged; an offering. She nodded, smirking.

I was soon standing beside Eleanor, both of us with our swords out, showing her arcing movements, feet placement, what to do with her elbows, and how to hold her center of gravity. Her ability to mirror my movements was better than some of the recruits I’ve seen, but she is still a child, so it took a lot of patience on my part, which is not something I usually extend to my men. And I was certainly not going to put my hands on her to guide her.

Still, the girl put every effort into it. Tenacious is a good word to describe her. She reminds me so much of myself that it makes me sad. I don’t really know why, nor have I stopped to think about that. Maybe I assume life will crush her as it did to me. It does that to those who have too much spirit.

Anyway, she was growing restless with my training and couldn’t conceal it anymore when she dropped her arm at her side and huffed a long-suffering breath at me.

“I thought we were going to spar,” she drawled, kicking her foot into the dirt. I cocked a brow at her.

“Bored already? You’re still gripping your sword like it’s a snake about to bite you.”

She waved it at me, and I used my blade to ease it down towards the ground. I didn’t want her poking one of us with it, after all, as she argued, “I am not! Well -” she adjusted her grip, apparently not offended that I hadn’t wanted her pointing it at me, “I could practice it better if we were fighting.”

“That’s not how it works,” I explained. “Have you ever seen a house being built?”

She frowned at me, and I chuckled.

“Of course you haven’t, you were raised in a castle.” Her face soured as I went on, and I had the impression she wasn’t actually angry. “Houses are built from the ground up. If you make the first few stones unsteady, the whole thing will tumble down. You have to get the basics, and then we can spar.”

Her face lit up, smiling broadly. “We can?”

Oh, Maker, had I just promised something? I spared a glance towards Solona and found the women watching us, and my face heated.

“Well, we’d have to make sure it’s alright,” I backtracked. “Your grip – good. Keep that up, you can do it. It’s probably only because your shoulders need to get stronger.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “What do my shoulders have to do with it?”

I don’t spend a lot of time around children, but I found her questions amusing and telling of her mind. “Think of it like a house, too. Or… a tree – even better. Your strength really comes from your back and here.” I made a fist and pressed it to my center, at the bottom of my ribs. “If your shoulders are weak, then you don’t have the strength to carry the sword, so your hand compensates, or… overworks, to make up the difference.”

“Trees and houses, got it.”

I snorted, and she giggled, for some reason finding that funny, and we continued.

Eleanor didn’t want to stop. It was only when Solona interrupted us that the so-called ‘training’ session ended. I had allowed her to take a few swings at me with the sword towards the end, which she quite enjoyed.

“Time to get some rest, Eleanor. Say goodnight to Ser Cullen.”

I parried a swing from Dinner Knife, and then Eleanor sheathed her sword.

“Thank you, Ser Cullen.”

I nodded, sheathing mine. “You’re a good soldier.”

She beamed at me and turned to leave. I caught Solona’s gaze as Eleanor crossed to her, Shadow standing beside her mother.

“Go wash up, I’ll say goodnight in a moment,” Solona said. “You can tell me all about it.”

Eleanor took off with Shadow, and Solona approached me. My heart began to sputter in my chest, and my legs started to feel wobbly.

“You spoil her,” Solona murmured as she came to a stop so close, painfully close. It takes everything I have these days not to touch her when she’s like this, whether we’re in view of others or we aren’t. But every time I reach for her, I do myself no favors.

“She’s a force to be reckoned with,” I replied. “Like you.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“If I overstep,” I added, “I will-”

“No.” She waved dismissively about her. “You… have been helpful with her. She is getting her spirit back. I just… don’t understand why you’re….”

I shifted on my feet uncertainly, unprepared wholly to be questioned about this. Did she suspect some ulterior motive from me? Did she think I was using Eleanor as a pawn to get closer to her, almost to manipulate Solona into being in a deeper relationship with me?

That’s not what I’m doing. I know that for a fact.

But the words jammed in my throat, and I didn’t know how to explain myself. It felt like I was risking another rejection, or that the final thread between us would snap entirely if I said the wrong thing.

“I, uh… she’s just… around,” I said, and rubbed the back of my neck. Solona studied my movements like I was something she wasn’t certain was friend or foe. “Tonight, I had nothing better to do, and she asked. She’s likable.”

“Cullen, I’m not… you haven’t done anything wrong,” she breathed, reaching out to touch the hand at my sword’s pommel. Her fingers brushed the back of my hand, gloved as it was. “I’m trying to see what you think of her.”

The fissure in my chest was ripping down my front as I stood there. I have overstepped somehow, ruined something. I’ve taken it too far by accommodating the girl, with the dummy, the stuffed nug, training her, and now letting us cross blades. Where does it end?

The girl will become attached to me, won’t she?

I almost forgot that I saved her life – with the help of her mabari. That will count for something.

If Solona and I are to remain casual, and if I am going to rip myself in half to remain so, then Eleanor will continue to be in my life, and I in hers. Until eventually, I can take it no more.

“What do I think of her?” My mind was running wild as I stood there, realizing I was accelerating myself towards my fears. Solona would likely end things, wouldn’t she? She would end things because otherwise, she could risk further heartbreak on Eleanor’s behalf if we continue.

I’ve cut my foot off, effectively.

Solona nodded.

“Um.” I swallowed nervously. “She’s tenacious. She’s very likable. Why?”

Why did I use that word again? Besides, I’m not sure if everyone would agree that she’s likable, especially Rylen, but I wasn’t about to say that to Solona.

“She’s taken with you,” Solona said, almost solemnly, and then I watched as she worked her jaw for a moment. “I….” Something shifted in her expression, and whatever was there a moment ago was gone. “I miss you.”

Maker, the restraint it took not to touch her, not to cradle her face and tuck her hair behind her ears.

“I miss you,” I whispered truthfully.

“May I see you before the ball?”

Before you betray me? I wanted to say, though I know it is not really betrayal. I know that, logically, but it still hurts. How am I going to watch her dance with other men? How will I watch them touch her?

“Of course.”

Her mouth curved faintly towards a smile, and she reached out, squeezed my hand at the pommel of my sword. “Goodnight, Cullen.”

I was certain I was going to lose her over that Eleanor discussion – that somehow I’ve gotten too close with Eleanor? I don’t know. I don’t presume to know the mind of a mother.

Have I been playing too much the part of a father?

I suppose that would be insulting to Solona, considering Eleanor’s father is out there somewhere, alive or dead. And here I am, a broken man, hardly able to keep myself together, deep in the throes of lyrium withdrawals, building some kind of relationship with Eleanor.

I cannot fill his shoes, whoever he is. Whether it is Carroll – who, Maker save me, does not deserve the honor – or someone else, I must know my boundaries. I must ensure that I am doing only what is absolutely necessary when it comes to the girl.

Too much of a relationship with her might be construed as a manipulation by Solona that I need more from her, that we need to be a family. And I am trying hard – so hard – not to push her in this way.

Too little of a relationship– or to reject Eleanor totally – would be unnecessarily cruel, against my nature, and only serve to push Solona away entirely, as well.

So what do I do?

Chapter Text

2nd of Wintermarch, 9:42

The Winter Palace is like a different cage.

I am in my chambers, which by all accounts are large and airy, and I’ve been pacing like an animal. I have the balcony doors thrown open for some air since I can’t tolerate windows being shut ever since Uldred, ever since that cage, and I feel like I’m about to disintegrate into nothingness or rip apart from all sides.

Upon our arrival, we had dinner in a dining room in this wing of the Palace. Some of the nobles have arrived ahead of the ball tomorrow, and some of them joined us for dinner. I was grinding my teeth throughout dinner, irritated by the sycophantic banter happening around me.

Eleanor had asked to sit beside me, and I was fine with that. In my eyes, she is far more preferable to any member of the nobility who was joining us.

Solona was a few seats down and across from us, getting pestered by a duke.

I could overhear a few things, but not much, considering how many conversations were occurring all around me, including my own with Eleanor about dragons, swords, battles, being a Knight, horses. Again, it was preferable to the alternative.

“You simply must visit my estate on Lake Celestine,” said the duke to Solona as Eleanor stuffed her face with a raspberry tart. Her curls had become unruly even though she had started the dinner with them in a braid, somehow. “I throw a grand party for Summerday. It would be so lovely to host you on my arm.”

I nearly crushed my wineglass in my hand when I heard that.

“Are you involved with anyone, my lady?” He asked her a few minutes later, and I did not hear her answer, though she did provide one that appeared to be more complex than one simple word either way.

I could have flipped the table; I was so furious.

Why must I be forced to witness this and pretend that she is nothing to me? Why must I suffer through this when her daughter sits beside me, or when Solona comes to me at night?

I’m at my breaking point, I think.

I really, truly am.

I thought I could do this forever when we first started. That first night, I figured I could do this if it meant not having anything else. But now I know better. I must have nothing from her if she cannot give me all of her.

I cannot love in half-measures.

I cannot give only part of myself.

I cannot devote only a piece of me to her.

Tonight. Tonight will be the last time I accept her in my chambers if she cannot accept any more of me.

I am pacing like a wild animal. I’m nearly tearing out my hair. What did she tell that duke? It’s going to take everything I have not to demand her answer.

Stop.

I tell myself to remember the time she came to massage me. I tell myself to remember the time she stayed for just a few minutes after.

She’s knocking at the door -

She must have sensed my anger when she entered, because she cut me off with a desperate kiss, her hands flying to my neck to help steady her as she leaned up on her toes.

“Cullen,” she breathed against me, and my hands went to her waist despite my own logic. “You’re still in full armor. I’ve my work cut out for me.”

She was working already on the fastenings of my pauldrons as she kissed me. I was filled with the scent of her, the feeling of her pliant body beneath my fingers, molding the curve of her back to me.

My anger was dripping away. I was not angry with her, even, was I? Or was it with myself, since I had decided I was not good enough for her? I could not really even tell.

We stumbled to my bed, one of my pauldrons clattering to the floor with a crash.

“I thought about you all dinner,” she murmured into my hair as I kissed her throat and she worked at my other pauldron. I guided her against the bed, but I didn’t trust myself to talk for fear of spouting off something jealous or needy.

“No one knows me like this,” she purred as my hands went to the laces of her dress. “No man knows me as you do.”

I groaned, almost unwilling to accept that. Unbelieving. How could such a thing be true if I only had a sliver of her magnificence?

And why was she saying this, anyway? Was it just to convince me to hang on a little longer, like she suspected my conviction that I was done with it all? That I couldn’t take this arrangement anymore?

Words like that… they would keep me on, string me along a little longer. I couldn’t fight them.

But I said nothing. I knew I’d be able to say nothing that would be helpful tonight.

My other pauldron fell to the mattress, and I lifted off of her, getting out of my cuirass with methodical precision as she crawled higher onto my bed, watching me. Maker, she was so beautiful, I could feel the fight leave me the longer I looked at her, the more I touched her.

I took off my vambraces and boots, and descended upon her, trailing kisses from the low neckline of her dress to her throat, then her lips with bruising strength. I wanted to mark her for tomorrow, claim her as mine – but I would never do this. I am not so barbaric, and though the thought is tempting, it will remain as a thought only. A fantasy. The Desire Demon would love that. Ugh.

I freed her from her dress and knelt at the bend of her knees, pressing a kiss to one of them, gazing at her as I tried to keep my doubts at bay.

This was going to be it, and she didn’t know it, yet. Was I wrong for that? Did I owe it to her to warn her, or would that be like a threat or an ultimatum? I said nothing, still, finding no words preferable to the wrong ones.

I eased her legs open and curved over her, running a palm along her waist as I ran my teeth along the slope of her shoulder and up to her ear. I gripped her waist, supporting her arch as she pressed against me, sighing. She was shoving my trousers down past my hips, arms trapped between us, and I pressed into her with a shattered groan.

Solona’s hands swept over me, threading through my hair, trailing across my chest, curling into my back. She hooked a leg over me and sighed, moaned. I was soon lost in the sounds, the feeling of her. If this were to be our last time, I intended to remember everything.

I slipped a hand through her hair, angling her head towards me as I thrust, nipping roughly at her lips. “You said no one knows you like this?”

She groaned and shook her head. “Only you. Cullen.”

I was delirious with need, could feel my control slipping in all manners, not the least being my tongue. “Do you want this?” My pace was quickening closer to the pace that I know she prefers.

“I do,” she gasped as I canted my hips into her in long, arcing thrusts, deep within her. “Please. I need you, Cullen.”

I half-huffed, half-growled against her chest as she trembled beneath me. I need you, too, I almost replied, though my words would have been a plea.

I felt her coil tighter, her legs shaking as my pace quickened.

“Tell me you need me,” I rumbled in her ear as I leaned onto my side, still holding her head in place as I reached down between us with my other hand and touched her. Maker, I had never been so – abrasive? Direct?

She cried out at my touch, and her legs clamped me tighter. “I need you! I need you. I need you, please.” She trembled as my control slipped away entirely, my desire running white-hot in my veins, nearly blinding me as I ran my fingers against her pearl, giving her the friction she sought as my thrusts grew staggered, my own release galloping towards me.

We both shattered together, ragged pleas mumbled in a string from our mouths as I barely kept myself from crushing her to the bed. A flush crept up my neck and flooded my face as I pushed off of her and lay down beside her. I suppose I was ashamed of my behavior in bed together. Perhaps the explanation for my behavior is my anger? Or my sense that this is the last time? I can’t say for certain.

Solona looked at me, flushed, swollen lips, skin somewhat reddened from the places where I had kissed her or touched her vigorously. She was a vision. Remarkable. Beautiful.

I felt badly about it, too.

“You have some pent-up energy.” She turned onto her side and tentatively kissed my shoulder, eyeing me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “That was too -”

“It wasn’t.” She touched my chin. “If it was, I’d tell you, Cullen.”

I looked at her. I suppose she would, or hit me with a fireball.

Solona stretched out on the bed next to me and then slowly rose.

If I had any hopes of her staying (I didn’t), they were dashed as she got up and stepped into her dress. I pulled my trousers back over my hips and rose from the bed as well.

This is the last time, I told myself.

She slipped her arms through the dress’s sleeves, and I came up behind her to start tightening the laces, pausing first to press my nose against her hair at the side of her head. I looked over her shoulder at the mirror we were both standing in front of.

She was watching me as I laced her up.

I looked miserable. She looked… stoic.

I averted my gaze from her in the reflection to her back as she gathered up her hair, and I continued to work her laces. As I tied them, she turned back around to kiss me. I kissed her back, telling myself this might be for the last time.

Chapter Text

3rd of Wintermarch, 9:42

I have suffered enough of this, and I cannot do it any longer. I will write what has transpired at the ball, and then I will go to Solona – breaking one of my rules, I suppose – and then that will be it. She will either have to tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ My sanity hangs in the balance.

I simply cannot do this anymore. I cannot pretend that I do not adore her completely and utterly, and that I would not lay down everything to be at her side. Whatever this secret is, I can accept it. She must tell me, or lose me.

Either she has faith in me, or she does not.

Either I will forgive and accept her, or I will not.

Either I am good enough for her, or I am not.

The ball – I….

For my part, the Orlesian nobles were all over me, touching me, groping me, asking for dates and also asking to – Maker forgive me – sneak away! As if to have a rendezvous in my chambers and return to the ball. As if I would want that with any of them. My night became a game of evasion. I would twist out of one of their grips only to step into another.

They were all around me, pressing in, suffocating. I was sweating, panicking at times, barking at them like the Ferelden dog they think I am.

It was horrible.

And in my mind all the time, I thought – if I am going through this, Solona is, too. I should have been at her side.

It drove me insane.

She was a vision, though, since she wasn’t wearing our garish Inquisition attire. Solona wore a gown of sage green, matching her eyes, with a slit up one of her legs. A slit! Inexperienced with jealousy as I am, I found myself glaring daggers at every man within fifty paces of her.

None of what she said to me last night – in my bed – mattered, not to my mind.

None of it mattered as I watched her dance, moving from nobleman to nobleman, their hands on her. They pulled her close, they held her hands, they dipped in close to whisper in her ear, they splayed their hands out along the small of her back.

She moved with grace, poise, and dignity, hardly sparing me a glance. The few times I did seem to catch her gaze, she swiftly looked away, her face serene.

Did she ever look at me the way she looks at these men?

It was killing me to stay and watch, but I couldn’t leave early. What if something happened to her while I was gone? I couldn’t leave and risk missing something, either?

So I suffered.

And now I am here. The ball is over. I checked on Eleanor’s guards – everything has been fine on that front. Nothing suspicious there.

I have been pacing.

Now I am just trying to get calm enough to confront her, because I cannot do this anymore. I cannot do this halfway.

I returned to Solona’s chambers, where several guards – an excessive number, I admit – were posted. I had not given them leave to finish their shift, yet. They moved aside wordlessly to allow me to knock on the door.

I was thrashing inside, still. Calm was not going to happen, but I could not wait any longer. I had found the limits of my patience earlier in the night, and I would find no more of it.

I thought about asking the guards if anyone came back with her – a duke, a Marquis, and then I thought better of it. If one did, I’d kick his teeth in.

I knocked.

Solona answered the door, still in her gown, and when she saw me, her eyes flared a little. “Commander Cullen,” she breathed, surprised. She looked over her shoulder.

A flare of jealousy shot white hot through me.

Someone’s in there, I thought. I heard footsteps behind her; soft, quiet.

Then Leliana appeared, and I flushed immediately.

“I was hoping to talk,” I said to Solona, trying to keep my voice low. “About… strategy.”

Leliana made a small, knowing sound. “I’ll leave you both to it,” she said, and slipped away as Solona and I left her some space to leave.

I entered her chambers and glanced around. There were a few doors, one of which I assumed went to a room where Eleanor was sleeping.

“Are you alright, Cullen?” She asked gently, shutting the door and locking it behind her, locking me in with her.

I must have looked like a madman, I realize now. I was dragging in my breath like I had run some miles in full gear, and my hands were trembling at my sides. I caught the briefest glance in a mirror across the room, and my hair was mussed; I had been running my hands through it for the better part of an hour, and my cheeks were high with color.

“Yes. No. I’m. No, I’m not.”

She crossed most of the short distance to me, reaching out but not touching me. “What is it?”

I tried to speak, but the words were catching. She reached further, and that did it. I stopped her.

“Don’t touch me,” I breathed. “I won’t be able to get this out if you do. I need to tell you….”

She drew back as if I had struck her, studying me. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

I fought to steady myself, shutting my eyes for a moment to ground myself. Maker, I was going to tear myself in two for this, lay myself totally bare.

I already knew where she stood, but I had to confirm it. I had to know without a doubt. I had to tell her that I would accept anything – but it had to be everything, or nothing. And she would have to decide, and decide now.

Andraste guide me through this, I thought. I pinched the bridge of my nose and finally spoke again.

“I can’t pretend this works for me,” I ground out. My voice – Maker, I hadn’t sounded like this since I was on my knees in that cage in Kinloch Hold. I hadn’t sounded so broken since then. “I agreed to this,” I waved helplessly between us, “because I thought I could be happy with that. I thought I could bear to have some of it as long as it meant I didn’t lose you entirely. But I can’t.

“I can’t watch you walk away every night. I can’t watch you choose others over me.”

She frowned, guilt and sorrow flickering across her features as her hands wrung out before her. “I’m not choosing anyone else.”

I shook my head. “But you aren’t choosing me. And I can’t do this halfway. I can’t love you halfway.”

Maker save me.

She recoiled, paling at my words. I made a fist at my side and tried to steady myself again, regain my bearings. “I need you to choose, because it’s… killing me.” My voice was breaking. I could see that she wanted to comfort me, but she was respecting my request to stay put, pain etched in her face. “I need you to tell me whatever it is that is holding you back, or walk away.”

A silence snapped into place as I waited, and Solona’s expression shifted. Grief-stricken, I would say. She flattened her palms against her sternum as if to hold her together.

“Cullen, I can’t.”

“Is this all there is between us?” I asked, my voice raw, dragged over hot coals. “Tell me you don’t want more.”

Her mouth snapped shut for a long moment. I waited, hopeful that she would reconsider, that she would tell me. That she would tell me what I knew in my heart – that she wanted me, too.

And then my hope died.

“I do, but it’s not the right time,” she said, voice cracking.

I stared at her. I couldn’t do this. When would the right time be? I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

“Then I have to walk away,” I whispered, the fissure in my chest ripping me in half. She stepped up closer to me but didn’t touch me.

“Cullen-”

I did touch her, and this time it would be for the final time.

I brushed the backs of my fingers against her jaw and kissed the top of her head chastely, drawing back and looking into her eyes.

“I can’t,” was all I said, before I left her, every step like walking through mud, dragging anchors behind me. Every step feeling like it was away from destiny, though I don’t believe in those things.

I don’t believe in anything anymore.

Chapter Text

7th of Wintermarch, 9:42

I began second-guessing this decision as soon as we left the Winter Palace.

I walked away. I truly walked away.

It has cost me ‘everything I wanted and could never have.’

I am still Commander. I am still sober of lyrium, for now. I am still me, I suppose, though what does that even mean? And what is that worth?

All of these things I define myself by are temporary, fleeting. Commander – this is only until we are not needed, or I am removed, or I die. Any of these things can happen.

I am sober of lyrium only until I give in to it. I feel weaker to its call than ever. I did not bring any to Orlais, which is saving me right now, or I would have taken some, I think. Just to dull the edge of my despair.

I can move on from this, right? By all rights, she is a woman whom I care for deeply. I may even love her, I suppose. People have moved on from things like this before.

Is there hope for me to do the same? To be like others?

And yet – it’s been eleven years. I never even kissed her until recently, and I couldn’t forsake her in all this time.

How much time do I have left before the dementia takes me? Is that enough time for someone else to wedge themself into my life? Is that enough time for me to love again?

I suppose I will never find anyone like her, and that would be… well, I’d have to accept that. I cannot force her to give me more, nor do I wish to compel her. I would only want her if she gave herself freely. Truly, wholly unburdened by me and my desires.

But is that not what I am to her in every sense – a burden? A reminder, an echo of a place and institution that would have kept her captured and controlled for the remainder of her life. The same can be said for me, though I don’t attach that symbolism to her at all, frankly.

To me, she has always been… purity – which is ironic, considering our engagement these past two and a half months. But beyond that, she has been goodness, rightness, confidence, power, steadiness – the sense of a compass, I suppose. Though her image was used to torture me, I have never held this against her.

That was my failing, anyway.

I continue to train Eleanor when we make camp. The girl is wild, unruly, dare I say feral in the best way. She is the only one I don’t snap at.

Chapter Text

10th of Wintermarch, 9:42

My second-guessing regarding my decision to walk away from Solona grew to full-fledged regret by the time we returned to Skyhold yesterday. I nearly broke down and told her I would accept ‘casual’ again. If only just to hold her, to talk to her.

But I can’t. I know I can’t, and it isn’t good for me.

My plan – as rudimentary as it is – is to bury myself in work until Solona leaves Skyhold or my longing for her eases. Maker knows there’s enough work to keep me busy, though Rylen managed to keep things floating while I was away suffering in mind, heart, and soul.

Work has always gotten me through, and I pray this continues to be the case, now.

I can feel my withdrawals uncoiling within me like a snake awakening from slumber, as if they waited until I returned here to perceived safety. I’d preferred to be incapacitated here at Skyhold, anyway, than in the Winter Palace, where I have a greater likelihood of getting knifed in the ribs by the person tending my hearth.

My body is rejecting me; it is starting to ache again. I’m going to have to retreat into this tower for the next couple of days and pray that the wave passes quickly. With any luck, the body aches, fatigue, headaches, weepiness, thirst will – this is not helpful to my thoughts to list my symptoms. With each one I write down, I feel myself despairing a little more, feeling more hopeless.

I just took out the lyrium kit from my desk and set it out in front of me.

I’m going to have a standoff with it now, the likes of which I have not done in some time. This is some kind of self-flagellation ritual for me, I suppose, and I am long overdue. I’m going to keep trying to work with it here, waiting for me. Taunting me.

I think I’m going to give in today. I wrote a letter to Cassandra for support, but haven’t sent it. Part of me doesn’t care if I give in.

I opened the lyrium kit and am looking at it now.

What are the reasons I gave it up? I have to remember this in times like this, though I’ve never felt so weak. To gain control over my life, primarily. To not be tethered to the institution that sanctioned so much abuse, abuse that I was a part of. To try to prevent or delay my own eventual dementia – because when I see the old veterans, I am more terrified of that fate than I have been of any demon.

I find myself dismissing my reasons for giving it up today.

I am so close to the brink.

Rylen came to discuss troop movements in Ferelden, and he noticed the lyrium kit.

“Ser? Do you want me to take that away?”

“No,” I growled bitterly.

A moment of knowing silence passed. “You don’t want to do that-”

“Rylen,” I barked, one of my hands curling into a fist. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He still hesitated, setting his reports down for me. He reached for the lyrium kit as if to take it.

I grabbed his wrist, glaring at him. We both froze.

“You’ll thank me later, Ser.” Rylen glared back at me.

My voice was ragged, tired, but I spoke through clenched teeth. “Rylen, get out of here. Right now.”

He stared at me in challenge until I released him, and then finally left me to my misery. I was giving myself another hour. An hour and I would take it, if I still wanted to.

The hour passed, and I felt no better. I was becoming a monster inside. Vicious, angry, hateful towards myself.

The afternoon sun was fading, glowing through my windows. A fire was burning low in my hearth, and my Tower was quiet as I stood at my desk, arms braced against it. I glared at the lyrium kit before me, still engaging in my standoff like I was a madman and it was talking to me.

I was going to take it. I wasn’t going to take it. I was going to take it. I wasn’t going to take it.

Just a mouthful. None at all.

It wasn’t even about my symptoms at that point, I think. It had devolved into a mental game. Was I even really feeling my body aches, my thirst by then? I don’t know. Was I amplifying them in my mind to make the excuse for myself to take the lyrium? All of these things clanged through my mind, confusing me, jarring me.

I heard one of my doors click open just as I lifted the kit and hurled it with all my strength against the wall. It shattered, and the smell of lyrium instantly filled the tower. I was panting, furious.

“Cullen?”

I had not expected her.

I turned reflexively to Solona and scrubbed a hand over my face, shamed.

I cursed out loud – a rare thing for me.

“Cullen, are you alright?”

No. “I’m fine.”

She looked doubtfully at me and remained at the door.

“Why are you here?” I ground out.

Solona hesitated, glancing from the lyrium kit to me. Apparently, my fury meant that this was not a good time for her agenda, and despite it all, despite everything, I was determined to show her that I could do it. “What are you here for?” I asked, forcing my voice to a slightly calmer tone.

“I…” she swallowed, her throat working, and leaned against the door. “I should return when you’re feeling… better. Can I help you? What can I do?”

She hadn’t answered the question. “Unless you are here to resolve our issues, you need to leave.” Maker, I sounded harsh even to my own ears. I tried to fix it. “Whatever it is, Solona, I can take whatever you have to say.”

She drew in a long, slow breath, as if to steady herself as she gazed up at my ceiling. I braced myself against the desk again, anchoring myself in my own way. I waited for her to leave me again.

“I have something to tell you,” she said. “I hope it will resolve our… issues, but I… I worry it won’t. My fear has kept me from telling you.”

I lifted my head. She didn’t look away from the ceiling as she spoke.

“I kept this from you because I was scared that you would… hate me, or yourself. I don’t know. All of these years, I thought you had to know… that you would reach out to me… but now I know it’s because you didn’t know. You don’t remember, do you?”

I hadn’t the faintest clue what she was talking about, and yet I studied each breath she took, every curve of her mouth, each blink of her eyes. She leaned back against the door as if she’d have to run away any moment, her hands behind her back, and stared up at my ceiling.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice rough. I had never seen her like this; this woman who had stared down an archdemon, looking like prey caught in a trap in my tower.

She shut her eyes. Opened her mouth to speak. Couldn’t. Shut it.

“Is this about Eleanor’s father?” I asked suddenly. I don’t know what made me suggest that. My theory about Carroll has bothered me since I first thought it.

Her gaze snapped to me, eyes blown wide, mouth parted. Her reaction told me it was, but I waited for her reply anyway.

“I… yes.”

But that was all she said. I frowned. “I can’t say I haven’t… wondered.”

She tilted her head at me. A few seconds of silence passed. My heart was so loud in my chest. I had forgotten entirely about the lyrium. “Who do you think her father is?” She asked, almost breathlessly.

I flushed. I had spent far too much time thinking about this, but did not want her to know that. My top suspect was Carroll, still.

“I… I know he’s a Templar, because Eleanor said so. And Varric said her birthday… I realized he may have served in Kinloch Hold.” She flinched, still watching me. “I thought maybe Carroll, or someone who died.”

There was a breath of silence and then-

“Carroll?! The Templar working the ferry?” She scoffed, a horrified sound, eyes still wide and on me. “Maker, who do you think I am?”

I looked at her. Was I… wrong?

“Cullen,” she sighed. And then she waited, watching me.

9:31, Guardian.

Me. Greagoir. Carroll. Geoffrey. Terence. Bernard. Heath.

I was scared that you would… hate me, or yourself.

I thought you had to know… that you would reach out to me.

You don’t remember, do you?

“Who?” I asked hoarsely, but my reality was shattering as I made the connections.

You don’t remember, do you?

And Cole’s words, She wants to protect you, but she wants you, too.

Suddenly, the world was pitching, my reality upending. I collapsed into the chair behind me, clutching at my chest. It couldn’t – it couldn’t be.

“That’s not – it’s not possible.” My heart had stopped beating. I couldn’t breathe. My vision was unfocused. “We never… Solona? We never -”

I looked at her again and saw her with her hand on her mouth, watching me with something unreadable in her expression. “We did,” she said softly, remaining against my door so she had an escape, “right after the Circle was made safe again. I went to check on you, and we….”

I pressed myself against the back of the chair because I was a little worried I would pass out. I sifted through the visions, found the one the ‘Demon let me have,’ as I always thought. Was that it? Was that real?

I thought about that vision – considered that it was perhaps a memory, instead. There was only one that did not devolve into depravity and wickedness, but I always assumed it was a vision, another tactic the demon used to torment me.

My mind. My blasted mind could not be trusted, could it? For eleven years, I have been misled by it.

Denial had me shaking my head adamantly, but Solona only watched me, her mouth pressed into a hard line until I began to accept the possibility.

“Did I…?” I couldn’t get the words out, but wanted to ask, hurt you or force you? To think that I could be capable of such things, even in my worst state – I cannot even give voice to them.

“No,” she answered gently as if she could read my thoughts, “I wanted to be there. We both wanted it.”

“Eleanor.” Her name took another meaning, now, when I spoke it. I ran a hand through my hair, tightening it, nearly pulling some out. My voice had an eerie pitch, almost frantic, half-panicked. “I thought I was hallucinating when I saw her. She looked just like… my sister. Maker help me.” I swallowed and looked at Solona. “You should have told me.”

The world was canting beneath me. My reality shattering. My mind – a mess, broken, destroyed.

She dipped her chin. “I’m sorry.”

Denial still coursed through me. Denial that this had happened and I had forgotten it entirely, or confused it with the Desire Demon’s visions.

“Cole said….” I thought back as she stood there. “You thought it would break me. This is the truth he meant?”

She nodded, throat working. “I’m so sorry.”

“This is what you kept from me all this time?” My voice cracked.

She nodded again.

I was silent for a long moment as despair swallowed me whole. The vision – or memory – danced in my mind as I reminded myself of where I was, when I was. 10th of Wintermarch, 9:42. Skyhold. I’m safe. There is no Demon. It is only Solona. I have the truth, now. It’s 9:42. I can move on from this. I can-

“I understand,” I said brokenly, finally. I don’t know how much time had passed by then. “I understand why you couldn’t tell me. I will not bother you again.”

I am good enough for carnal pleasures, but not good enough for her - and not good enough for their family. I am not good enough to take a fixed role in their lives, Solona and Eleanor. That is why she never told me until now. This is the conclusion I came to as I sat there, lifting my gaze towards her miserably.

She tilted her head, assessing me with a frown drawn of… concern? “Cullen. I’m not telling you to… dismiss you. Unless that’s what you want. I’m telling you….” She drew in a breath, and her eyes refocused on me. “I’m telling you so that – no. I’m inviting you to be with us. Completely. If that’s what you want, instead.”

We both heard my sharp intake of breath. It was a gift she was offering me, the greatest one of all.

“But I’m not whole,” I said, voice hoarse. “I don’t know how to be a… father.” I nearly choked on the word.

She crossed the room to me and dropped to her knees, resting one hand on my thigh and the other cupping my jaw. “You are whole. No one expects anything more of you. She doesn’t even know it’s you. We don’t have to tell her if you don’t want to. You can just be… with me. In the open. Whatever you want.”

“No,” I said reflexively, and I felt her hand go still, but I placed my hand over hers and held it there. “I mean, I do want her to know. I want to do this right. Everything. I’m just… overwhelmed. I should have… I should have known. I should have been there for you. I’ve been so stupid.”

“You haven’t.” Solona’s thumb ran along my jaw. “You haven’t. There’s no way you would have known.”

I felt the fissure in my chest cracking open. I thought it had already ripped me in half, but I had been wrong. There had been more to go. I could break even further, apparently, just as Solona had expected. But it was not her breaking me – it was myself, my guilt for the things I had missed, the things I had not been there for.

She had been protecting me.

But this was not something I was equipped to survive on my own.

I shuddered, and Solona lifted from the floor and eased herself into my lap. I let her and snaked my arms around her waist as she draped hers around my shoulders, the lyrium completely forgotten. Maker, it felt good to hold her again, all the while Eleanor rang in my mind. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe any of it. But it was so… glaringly obvious, now. ‘Younger Mia’ I had thought when I first saw her. How had I not put the pieces together?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I practically begged you.” The confession laid me bare, but what did either of us have to lose now? She had already told me the most dangerous thing.

She twisted in my lap and threaded her fingers through my hair. “You’re the Commander of the Inquisition. I didn’t want to burden you with this-”

“Burden,” I repeated, a whisper, disagreeing with the choice of word, but she continued.

“I didn’t want to… ruin your life.”

“This could never ruin my life,” I murmured, smoothing my hand over her hip.

Her eyes were silver-rimmed. Was she going to cry?

“I wanted this fantasy with you,” she began, still running her nails along my scalp, gently. “When I came to Haven, it stirred up everything. I wanted us to be together, and I thought you knew. I thought you knew, even though Leliana assured me you didn’t. So I came to your cabin, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. At least I could pretend that we had it all, without suffering the consequences. Without losing you to the truth.”

I listened to every word, hanging onto it like a lifeline. My heart was slowing, my mind accommodating the new information slowly, with resistance. I paused.

“Leliana knows?”

Solona smirked at me. “She was in the Blight with me, of course, she knows.”

I snorted, embarrassed. “Who else?”

“Here? No one. But the King knows. The others I traveled with in the Blight know.”

I sighed. “I’ve been wrong about so many things.”

She nodded. “I kept you at a distance because I was… getting in too deep. I knew what I was doing to you, and I knew it wasn’t right, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want you to want me as much as you did. I thought we could be casual so that I could protect you from this.”

I didn’t care anymore.

“You were wrong about me,” I whispered, my gaze flitting around her face. I released her hip just long enough to run my thumbpad under her eye, wiping at a tear.

“I know.” She kissed my temple. “I’m sorry.”

I drew her closer to me, against me. As close as I could manage, actually. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, and I didn’t figure it out sooner. I… does the invitation still stand?”

“Yes. However you want to be in our lives.”

I felt all at once fuller and lighter than I’ve ever felt in all my life.

I spoke without hesitation. “Fully. Completely. In the open, as you said.”

She took a deep, steadying breath and pulled away just enough to look at me. “Then welcome to our family, Cullen. What’s next?”

Chapter Text

11th of Wintermarch, 9:42

Dawn is breaking over Skyhold.

I am standing on the precipice of something beautiful and terrifying, all at once.

Solona left only an hour ago. I was allowed to- for the first time – to love her in the way I wanted to all of this time. To honor her, cherish her, reverently. To be slow, steady, careful, and attentive in my bed. Our bed?

If we move in together, I suppose I will be the one moving because of Eleanor. There would be nowhere for her to sleep in my tower.

After her confession – the Truth – Solona left and returned after nightfall. I was too distracted to work, and the lyrium had been cleaned up. I locked my doors, and we retired to the loft.

I could not keep my hands off of her, and neither could she. To think that I will no longer be a part of her life that she keeps hidden, borrowed in the night – it makes my heart soar.

In one conversation, we have gone from frantic, furious trysts to true lovemaking. Where we lacked before, I no longer feel that emptiness, though part of me is braced for impact as if there will be a withdrawal incoming. My heart tells me that we’re over that, and I have to trust that we are.

Between our… activities… I was bursting with questions. I wanted to know everything that I had missed. I wanted to know how Solona managed it all. I wanted to know how she finished the Blight. When did she learn she was with child? What was it like raising Eleanor? What was Eleanor like when she was younger?

Solona was splayed across my chest, tracing the outline of a scar on my shoulder. It was deep into the night, just a few hours before dawn, and I was… living in a dream. That’s how it felt.

“She was always like she is now,” Solona answered with a soft laugh. “Even as a toddler. I’ve never heard the word ‘no’ spoken so adamantly. If you think the King was sitting on the throne, he wasn’t. It was her, essentially, from age three until now.”

I huffed a laugh, and she bounced on my chest. I had learned that King Alistair played more of an ‘Uncle’ role in Eleanor’s life, and was more like a friend to Solona than anything. I had been wrong about a few things – that being one of them.

“What does she know about her father?” I asked. “Other than him being a Templar?”

Solona’s mouth curved downwards. “I always told her I would tell her anything she wanted to know when she turned sixteen.” Her eyes flitted to me, studying me. “But she knows little. She knows that you’re a – that you were a – Ferelden Templar, and that I care for you… deeply.”

My chest ached thinking about both of them and the years that I had not been there. I was trying not to feed the guilt that was snaking its way up inside me, and indeed, I had been too busy since Solona’s confession to really give it space to overwhelm me. But I knew it would rear its head. It might pull me down into the darkness.

“Do you want her to know?” Solona asked, studying me. I could feel her finger brushing my chin tenderly.

“Yes.” My answer was instant, though my voice was ragged, hoarse. “I’m terrified, though.”

Solona smiled faintly. “How do you want her to find out?”

I had already thought about it, somewhere in the spaces between.

Later, I lingered by a stone pillar in Skyhold’s gardens, close to the chess table. I was half-hidden in shadow, and meant to stay that way. I was sweating inside my gloves, and my heart was stuttering so violently that I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep my feet beneath me.

Solona and Eleanor were walking into the gardens with Shadow trailing behind, and I shifted so they wouldn’t see me. This was part of the plan that I had suggested to Solona. The trick was for Eleanor not to notice.

I saw her as if for the first time.

‘Younger Mia.’

My daughter.

It was like my mind had been trying to tell me from the moment I first saw her, and yet, I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t really see her for who she is. Her blond curls, sharp nose, her scowl! Maker’s breath. She looks like Mia, because she looks like me!

I scrubbed a hand over my face as I stood there, overwhelmed with emotions too big for my heart to hold. I did not feel deserving of this, to even behold the two of them together. To lay any kind of… blood claim on this girl is just madness. And my hope for her acceptance… it felt like I had the blade of an executioner over my throat. Her judgment could mean everything. Hers and Solona’s approval would be the standard I would judge the rest of my life by.

A horrific thought filled me with fear. If Eleanor would not accept me, what would that mean for Solona and I? She had made it seem like we would be together regardless of what her daughter – our daughter – thinks.

I watched with glassy eyes as Solona gently commanded Eleanor to sit down on a stone bench, facing in such a way that I could see her side profile. The child’s curls were wild today, sticking out of her ponytail in different directions. Perhaps my pomade could be helpful to her, if she wanted.

Solona knelt before Eleanor, lower than eye-level.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Ella.”

Ella.

Leliana had called her that once. Perhaps I would get the privilege too, one day.

I strained to hear, peeking out of the side of the pillar.

“What is it?” Eleanor touched her Dinner Knife’s hilt, adjusting it. Solona rested her palm on Eleanor’s knee and drew in a breath.

“It’s about your father. You know how I told you that when you turned sixteen, I’d tell you who he is?” Solona swallowed, and Eleanor nodded, studying her. “Well, I don’t think we need to wait, because you know him already.”

Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “I know him?”

Solona nodded and ran her thumb along Eleanor’s knee. “You know him. He’s here in Skyhold.”

Eleanor tilted her head, thinking. I had never seen her so pensive. “Who is it?”

I watched Solona draw a deep breath and steel herself, meeting Eleanor’s gaze. “It’s Ser Cullen, Eleanor.”

I felt dizzy as my gaze flew to Eleanor for her reaction. The girl looked at Solona. One moment, her expression was stony, and the next, she was grinning. Childlike, joyful.

“Ser Cullen?!” She was smiling.

I sagged against the pillar, interpreting that as a positive sign.

Solona nodded. “Mhm.”

Eleanor giggled, thinking about this for a moment. And then her expression fell. “But – why hasn’t he told me?”

Solona’s shoulders dropped, and she reached to tuck a wild curl behind Eleanor’s ear, fruitlessly. “He didn’t know until yesterday. Fathers don’t always know unless mothers tell them. That, I will explain when you’re older. But he knows now.”

Eleanor looked conspiratorially at her mother. “Does this mean he’ll train me to be a Knight?”

Solona laughed. An unrestrained laugh. I pressed a hand to my mouth, still overwhelmed by the moment. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Eleanor grinned. “Can I go see him now and ask?”

Solona hesitated for a moment – but we had discussed this, too. I had not considered it to be a likely scenario. For some reason, I expected Eleanor to be dismissive of me. This was… beyond what I had wanted.

“We can go to his tower, certainly. Right now?”

Eleanor stood from the bench and grabbed the hilt of her sword. “Right now!”

They left the gardens with their backs to me, and I was grateful to have a few minutes to recuperate before joining them in my tower. Maker knew I needed it for my first official meeting with her as father and daughter.

I thumbed the coin in my pocket and waited a few minutes, steadying my breathing and feeling humbled. Soon, I walked to my tower and drew in a deep breath as I hesitated outside the door. My heart thundered in my chest, and I was afraid, but I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid for such a good reason.

Inside, Solona was sitting in a chair facing my desk while Eleanor was inspecting my dummy that I use for knife throwing.

Both turned their heads to me, and I looked at Solona first for strength, and then to Eleanor. She was smiling.

I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to be a father. I had rarely ever even thought about being a father, let alone to one who is already ten years old.

“Ser Cullen, mother told me you’re my father.”

Bluntly put! I swallowed, nodding, and took a few uncertain steps into the center of the room before dropping to one knee. Eleanor had the option to approach me or not. If not, I probably would have looked quite the fool, though I’m no stranger to that. And I was willing to look the fool for them.

She did, thankfully.

“She told me that, too,” I said as Eleanor crossed the distance between us, stopping roughly an arm’s length away.

Eleanor’s green eyes – Solona’s eyes – looked at me for a moment. “Are you nervous?”

A sharp breath huffed out of me as I kept my arms folded on my knee. “Very.”

“Why?”

My hand flexed as I fought the urge to rub my neck or do another nervous habit of mine. “It’s important to me that you like me,” I said. Perhaps something else would have been more appropriate? I am not a good liar. “This is important to me.”

She smiled a little, assessing me. “I like you. Do you like me?”

I made a helpless noise in my throat and nodded, overwhelmed. “Of course I do.”

I don’t know why her question upset me so much. I am still focused on it, hours later. She had gone her entire life without a father. Had she thought that she wasn’t loved, or was it just a simple childlike question? And to ask me… as if I would… as if I would be in any position other than to simply adore either of them.

I am committed to both of them, no matter the future. I will protect them – not that either truly needs my protection. Eleanor certainly will not when she is older. Still, I will give it, anyway.

I am going to endeavor to be worthy of them for the rest of my life, if they allow.

Eleanor smiled a little wider, and I turned one of my hands around, palm upward in offering. She noticed and did not take it at first, but then she did.

“This is new for me, Eleanor,” I said, capturing her small hand in both of mine. “I hope I can earn your trust and love.”

“Without spoiling her,” Solona added softly, and I chuckled at Eleanor’s scandalized expression. The girl looked irritably at her mother and then at me.

“Will you train me to be a Knight? I want to spar like we did coming back from Orlais.”

Another half-laugh breathed out of me as I glanced at Solona and found her eyes glassy, an echo of emotion there of what I felt in myself. I still had Eleanor’s hand in both of mine as I answered her.

“I will, if that’s what you want. But you have to train your magic, too.”

Eleanor nodded, beaming.

And then she was hugging me. I released her hand and wrapped my arms around her – so small – and hugged her back. She half-choked me as he hugged, and I shut my eyes, realizing that I had stepped into the precipice, and it was beautiful.

Chapter Text

18th of Wintermarch, 9:42

Something is loosening inside of me. It is not like before, where I felt my edges cracking, breaking, as if ready to fly apart from centrifugal force. Instead, there is something that has been balled up, like a clenched fist in my chest – a tension, I suppose – and it is starting to ease.

I have thrown myself headlong over the precipice, in the way I have done everything else in my life. I will give everything to this.

“I broke the news to Rylen this morning,” I said to Solona last night as we were curled up on a sofa, watching the fire in the hearth burn in the common area of their chambers. Eleanor had gone to sleep an hour before, and we had been lost in conversation.

She was sitting on the sofa next to me with her legs thrown over my lap, and I was running my fingers along the smooth skin of her calf in one hand, my other hand resting on her ankle. Her dress was hiked up only to her knees to let the warmth of the fire bask on her skin. The way she was sitting on the sofa, she had one arm thrown over the back of it, her hand on my shoulder, trailing circles along it and running up into my hair.

We were just sitting and talking and had discussed a number of things ranging in importance; our theories as to how Grand Enchanter Fiona cured her taint, how Eleanor’s magic training was going, my family. Best of all, I didn’t have to fear her leaving me. That thing loosening up inside me – it was like I had been rescued from drowning. Like I was on land, again.

She was smirking at me. “What does he think?” Her fingertips brushed my ear.

I snorted in quiet laughter, running my thumb along her shinbone. “Eleanor was training on her dummy, then. You know she spends the entire morning in the yard with us?” Solona nodded. Of course she knows, I thought, but I continued anyway. “Rylen looked at her, tilted his head like a mabari seeing a Druffalo steak, and then looked back at me. He said to me, ‘did you really need to be told that?’ Apparently, he sees the resemblance, too.”

Solona smiled. Her smile is – pure radiance, even when it isn’t broad. Even when it is restrained. I felt myself blushing a little, just seeing it. Even after all we’ve been through.

“Everyone sees the resemblance, once they know. She’s practically your twin,” she murmured, running her fingers through the curls at the nape of my neck. “I’m surprised Varric hasn’t ribbed you to death, yet.”

“I’ve been avoiding him,” I admitted.

A companionable silence passed between us as I smoothed my calloused fingers over her calf, feeling contemplative.

“I hope I will earn your forgiveness someday.”

I looked at her, briefly uncertain if I had heard her correctly.

“Forgiveness?” I whispered, brow furrowed. “What for?”

Solona pressed her lips in a hard line and studied me solemnly. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and continued stroking the back of my neck, her nails feeling divine.

“For keeping her from you all this time. For the last several months. For not being more open with you.” She leaned forward to kiss my shoulder briefly and sighed, shaking her head. I fought the urge to jump to reassure her and let her continue. “I always deemed you worthy, it’s just…. Some men would not care. They’d deny it, laugh in the woman’s face.” She slid her gaze to me and there was a hint of a curve at the edge of her mouth. “I knew you would do no such thing. I did not want to… disrupt your life. I suspected you’d be wracked with guilt, or worse. I wanted to protect you from that, and not compel you to stay with us out of obligation.”

One of my hands left her leg and took her other hand, lifting it so that I could graze my lips along the backs of her knuckles as I considered this. It is not the first time we’ve had a similar conversation since her confession, but I suppose it’s the first time she’s detailed it so much, and we’ve been so clear-headed. The other times, we’d been half-delirious in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

“I… this is the greatest gift,” I murmured, looking at her. “I am not here out of obligation, and I don’t think you were… obligated to tell me, either.” I steeled myself to make myself vulnerable for her. “The fact is… I was in no state to be there for you, or Eleanor, until… now… even if I had known. I was not…. I hope to earn this place at your side and at her side, too. And for forgiveness….” I dropped her hand into her lap and held it there, feeling the faintest smile on my own mouth. “You have my forgiveness, not that you needed it to begin with.”

She smiled, and my heart – like a bird in my chest – fluttered.

“I-”

A door opened into the common area of the chambers as Solona and I looked towards it. Eleanor slipped into our common area in her robe, looking between us.

“Eleanor, you should be asleep.” Solona’s tone was gentle, patient. I found myself paying attention to her in this way, since her confession, noticing her parenting, her attentiveness. It was something I hadn’t observed too clearly before, but now it was like I was privileged to witness an entirely new layer of her.

Eleanor padded to us – giving the hearth a wide berth, I noticed - and glanced at her mother’s legs on my lap, as if she had never seen such a thing. It wasn’t really that scandalous, but I realize that she’s probably never seen her mother in any kind of partnership with someone.

“I had a nightmare,” she said under her breath. She had her Dinner Knife with her, strapped around her waist. Maker, this girl. I’d probably have done the same, even at that age. Though at ten years old, I was wielding sticks as swords, not a real castle-forged sword.

“About Haven?” Solona asked softly.

Eleanor nodded.

I frowned. As a young, budding mage with this trauma and fear, and so little training under her belt, she is ripe for the picking by a demon. The thought of that awakens something deeply primal and intense inside of me, something protective. But I cannot keep her safe from the Fade, and I – I still feel guilty about Haven, sometimes, despite what everyone has told me.

“Do you want to sit with us?” I asked as Shadow padded out to join us. From what I understood, Solona would bring her to bed after a few minutes. That’s probably the appropriate thing to do, but I worry about sending her back if she feels scared, still. “For a few minutes,” I added, “and then your mother can bring you back to bed?”

“But the fire,” she replied, shoulders tense. My brow furrowed, looking at her. She wasn’t looking at it, but there was a snapping of the logs in the hearth and she had the slightest flinch.

“What about the fire, Eleanor?” I asked quietly.

Eleanor shook her head, not wanting to answer the question. Solona’s fingers still ran through my hair, and perhaps that gave me courage.

“Why don’t you sit with us for a few minutes? Even if something happens with the fire, I can handle it. Or your mother can take care of it. You’ll be safe.”

Eleanor nodded and climbed onto the sofa, on the other side of Solona. I saw her gaze catch on the fire, and her body stiffen, but she drew her legs up under her and looked at us.

We sat out there for a while in quiet. I felt like we were enjoying each other’s company, really, without having to say much. I kept watch over Eleanor from my periphery and noticed that she seemed to loosen up a little as we sat there, seemed to relax. My vigilance wasn’t out of a fear that she would become possessed as we sat there, but rather concern for her. I see an echo of myself and my experiences in her.

So to watch her as we sat there and notice a slight easing of her shoulders, it fills me with a little bit of hope and joy for her. I don’t know if I’m reading too much into it. It would not be the first time.

The fire burned low, and Solona eventually prompted Eleanor back to bed.

“Do you know any magic to put the fire out?” I asked as Eleanor and Solona stood.

Eleanor looked at me uncertainly. “I can do a little frost magic.”

My gaze flitted to Solona, and I could tell she read my intent there, as well. The corners of her mouth pulled marginally.

“Why don’t you try?” I suggested. The fire was down to glowing embers now, and we had a few other candles.

Eleanor bit her lip and looked at the hearth. “I don’t… what if it doesn’t work?”

I shrugged. “We’re fine. All of us.”

She nodded and took a breath, turning towards the hearth, but standing back against the sofa. I caught Solona’s gaze again, and she smiled, touching my shoulder.

Eleanor lifted her hands, aiming them in the direction of the hearth, and started to pull her magic from the Fade. I could feel it in the air, the pressure shifting in the air, unsteady because she is unpracticed.

The temperature dropped in the room as a frozen cloud of mist hissed, billowing from the hearth as it met glowing, hot embers. She threw her magic at it, the ice cracking as it piled inside the hearth and the room began to fill with an icy smoke.

“Nice work,” I said, as Eleanor stopped within just a few seconds. We paused a few moments as the smoke cleared to assess her handiwork.

“Most of the embers are out,” I observed, fascinated. I looked at Eleanor. “You put out the fire, Eleanor.”

She looked terrified for a breath longer, and then -

Then she beamed at me.

Chapter Text

12th of Guardian, 9:42

I don’t really find the time interest to write in here anymore.

This had started as a way to document my lyrium withdrawals. I still feel them, but they do not rule me; they do not destabilize me. I hardly need to even give them the space on a page, much less in my thoughts and in my life. There are grander things that take my attention now, things I want to give my attention to.

I am in a routine that brings me joy in a way I’ve never felt before.

When I do sleep, I awaken beside Solona in her our bed. Our mornings are spent tenderly, often making love the way I think she deserves it. Sometimes, we just lie and talk until the sun rises, and then we go about our days. She helps as a liaison between the rebel mages and my forces, softening my edge and communicating their points in a way that makes sense to me. When she isn’t working with us, she’s working with Eleanor, helping her with her budding magic.

Eleanor and I train daily together, and all of Skyhold knows not to interrupt me for the hour when the soldiers take their lunch. She is a quick learner and gives me a run for my gold.

It is funny how abruptly my perception has changed. I see myself in her in so many ways, now that I know. Now that I know who I’m looking at.

Stubborn as an auroch. Just like me.

Sprinting headfirst to one myopic goal (Knighthood). Just like me.

Too serious about everything. Just like me.

Nightmares. Just like me.

When she has them, we sit in the common area of our chambers together. If I’m not already awake, she will come get me. Me, not Solona. She’ll tap on my shoulder to wake me. I don’t even ask her what it is; I just dismiss her, and then in moments, I’ll meet her outside the room. We’ll play chess by candlelight, and sometimes she’ll tell me about her dreams. I ask her to put out little fires sometimes; in hearths, braziers that are burning low. She does it. I think it is helping her feel empowered. We will see if it translates to fewer nightmares.

I suppose I cannot rush things.

Chapter Text

15th of Drakonis, 9:42

I woke up this morning to a feather-light touch skimming my hairline. Softness pressed against me, warm, inviting.

My hands were caressing her before I even opened my eyes.

“I finally get some sleep, and you’re waking me up?” I grumbled, feeling playful. Not actually complaining. Certainly not. End of the world aside, I have little to complain about these days.

She slid a leg over me, straddling my thighs. I could feel myself hardening almost instantly.

“You’re leaving, so I plan to get my fill,” she murmured, and I drew in a sharp breath. She shifted her weight onto me as my hands skimmed her waist. “You’d better be careful, Cullen.”

I kissed her deeply, and she broke away enough to keep speaking.

“You call the retreat if it’s too dangerous, alright?”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious, Cullen.” She pulled away just enough to look at me. A withering glare, one I’ve never seen before– at least not directed towards me. I stilled for a moment, mouth curling.

“I’m coming back here. To you,” I promised, smoothing my hands down her waist. “Adamant is an old fortress. It will fall.”

“That type of thinking could get you killed. It will have you staying too long because you think the next hit with the battering ram will get through, meanwhile, you’re a moment from being overwhelmed.” She bit her bottom lip. “Should I go with you?”

“No.” We had discussed this at length. Eleanor was too important to us – both of us – for both of us to go. If there was a tragedy, she needed one parent, and it is better if it be Solona.

Though I didn’t intend to die.

Months ago, my life meant nothing beyond what use it was to the Inquisition. I feared the culmination of our work because of what it would mean for me. How would I use my time, how would I find purpose for myself?

Now, everything is different. My life means something to me outside of my work. I want my life for me. I want to be here for them. I want to experience what I’ve missed, and experience the next ten, twenty years – however long we have. If we are lucky enough to have that long, great. If a day is all we have, I will fight for it.

“You’ll stay. And I will return. I’ll retreat if I must.”

She nodded, brow touching mine. For a moment, we held each other like that, she straddling me, before she braced herself against my chest and then kissed me again. I slipped my fingers through her hair, bracketing her face in my hands, and kissed her as if it were our last, though I knew I would return.

Within moments, she was easing onto me, and my arousal flared almost painfully as I began to work against her in almost lazy thrusts. I suppose it wasn’t lazy, but rather that I was attentive to the feeling, not wanting to rush it. My hands helped her set a rythmn by holding her hips as she bowed forward over me.

She sighed against me, hands fisting in the sheets beside my head as I set a slow, steady pace, Maker, I would never get enough of this, especially now that we did not hide, and I did not have to hold back from her.

I slid a hand from her hip towards her center, my thumb running a wide circle around her pearl, and she breathed a half-whisper, half-plea into my ear. I let my thumb slide across – just a ghost of a movement, really – but she shuddered and trembled, anyway.

“Please, Cullen, just touch me.”

“I love hearing my name on your lips,” I murmured into her hair, my thumb trailing against her as I thrust in again in a measured, controlled movement. I could hear my own breath stuttering, my heart like a bird in my chest.

She tried to move her hips towards my thumb, but I retreated the pressure in response, eliciting a helpless whimper from her. Maker, I loved to tease her. My other hand gripped her hip more firmly, guiding her down my length as I let out a ragged breath.

“Please, Cullen, I need it. I need you. Cullen.”

I could never hold out for long.

I buried my face in her hair and rocked my hips, rolling into her and quickening my pace. I could feel her thighs tremble around me as I traced a tighter circle around her pearl, elicit another glorious whimper from her, and then I dug in.

She made a sound between a moan and a cry, and I guided her by her hip as I worked her center, feeling her tighten around me, her breath hot at my neck, the tenderness of her breasts against my chest. I never wanted moments like this to end.

I had become practiced in where and how to touch her in a way that our earlier affair did not allow for. So it was with this methodical precision, with my hips arcing, dragging her down onto me, that I pushed her to her release until she was a trembling, gasping mess on top of me.

My arousal was white hot, burning me from within, and I bucked into her in hammering, stuttering thrusts. The hand that had been on her pearl went to her hair and held her flush against me as I bit out a broken exultation in her ear.

We were not careful, anymore. She had told me she could not conceive as a Grey Warden, nor are we afraid of that impossibility, should it come true, somehow. I will not hold onto it, though.

Collapsed against me, I could feel her regain the control of her breathing and feel a kiss on the shell of my ear before she pulled back just enough, a shiver running through her, to gaze at me.

“You’re coming back to us, Cullen.” A command. She kissed my jaw and looked at me expectantly.

I tucked her hair behind her ear, cradling her neck. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Soon, our forces were gathered outside of Skyhold and preparing to begin the march to Adamant. We had everything ready to go. The Inquisitor waited on the other side.

All I had left to do was say farewell, for now, because I did not intend to lose.

We had considered Solona and Eleanor coming with me for the march, but ultimately decided against it. Not because they would risk being caught in the fight – I felt I could keep them safe, or Solona could keep Eleanor safe, but the dragon was a matter we did not want to underestimate.

The other concern – equal in measure – was that we did not want Eleanor exposed to the brutality of war. I can take it, though it degrades the integrity, the constitution of my mind. But she is too young to see mangled bodies and whatever else that may await us.

I look at her and see goodness, innocence, joy, perfection.

How can I have been a part of something as good as that?

Some days, I am not sure how this all came to be. My darkest moment has created something so beautiful. I could never reject that, or see Eleanor as anything but what she is, a dawn from the darkness.

I think back to Guardian, 9:31 and to the cage, and Uldred, and the death, and the demon – but I know that I would not have them, I would not have Solona and Eleanor now if not for it all.

I felt her hand take mine as we crossed the bridge, and I looked at Eleanor. She looked at me, her Dinner Knife bouncing at her side, with Shadow trailing behind us.

Her curls bounced on top of the black fur mantle that was sewn into her new cloak. She had requested – no, demanded - it from Harritt first, and then from our tailor. I couldn’t help but notice that it matched my coat in almost every way, even down to the fur and the golden thread in the hem. The tailor made hers a little differently, though, the black fur draped in such a way that it also doubled as a hood.

At the end of the bridge, I embraced Solona in front of all to see. Everyone knows now. Rylen, the Inquisitor, Josephine, Orlais- everyone knows who we are. Family.

I kissed her in the broad daylight and smiled, blushing. “I love you,” I whispered to Solona, cradling her face.

“I love you. I’ll see you when you return.”

I nodded, throat tight, filled with emotion too big for me. I turned to Eleanor and dropped to a knee.

“And you,” I said with a lopsided grin, taking her hands in mine. “You’ll keep up your training with your mother?”

Eleanor smirked at me. “I will, Father.”

I stilled. She hadn’t used that term, yet.

I don’t think I deserve this, most of the time. Perhaps I will earn it, though.

“I have something for you,” I said, desperate not to miss a beat. I had told myself that if she did use that word, that I wouldn’t get all caught up in it and make things awkward. I meant to keep to that. I reached into my coat and drew out Branson’s coin, holding it out in my palm for her. She eyed it curiously.

She would probably lose it, since she was only ten, and wild, more feral than the mabari that trailed behind her. But I wasn’t going to hold my breath that she’d keep it safe.

“When I left home to join the Templars, your Uncle Branson gave this to me for good luck. For many years, this was the only thing I owned. I want you to have it. Maybe it will give you good luck, too.”

In hindsight, I probably should have kept it just for the siege at Adamant, and given it to her after. I’m sure Solona, standing at my shoulder, was thinking the same thing. That’s alright. I think the fortress will fall, anyway. With or without Bran’s coin. 

Eleanor took the coin and studied both sides of it. “Does it work?”

I snorted, still overwhelmed as I ran my thumb over the knuckles of her other hand. “Either very well or very badly. I don’t know. You don’t have to take it, if you don’t want it.”

She closed her fist around it quickly, and held it to her chest, smiling. “I do want it. Thank you.” She stepped into me and hugged me, and I hugged her back, holding her tight.

“I love you,” I muttered into her hair, grateful for everything. “Be good for your Mum. I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

I hadn’t expected a response from her, hadn’t wanted to put her in a position where she felt like she had to give one. But Eleanor was clutching my neck so hard and she spoke, anyway.

“I love you,” she said, and I blinked back a tear. When Eleanor and I released each other, I stood and kissed Solona again, and joined my forces to march to Adamant.

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve anything good in my life like this. Kinloch destroyed me, and in Kirkwall I was no better than a monster for years. I don’t know how I will ever answer for this time – will Eleanor ever ask me about it?

I have told Solona more and more of it as the days go on, when my guilt overwhelms me. Sometimes I think the Maker has made some mistake in giving me this gift, and that I need to come clean about my sins to Solona. I tell her about the things I’ve done. She listens, and she accepts me, anyway.

I – I will not squander this.

Chapter Text

28th of Cloudreach, 9:43

Mia,

I find myself out of work – the Inquisition has been disbanded with Corypheus’ demise. I hope that you and the others are experiencing peace and security in the South Reach.

I know my writing has been sporadic at best.

I’d like to come for a visit, if you’d have me. There are two people I’d like you to meet.

Perhaps we can celebrate Summerday together.

With love,

Cullen