Skyhold, Present Day

"No one is coming for you, Cullen."

Cullen ignored the voice resolutely. His sword was out of reach, but he pushed steadily at the piece of fallen masonry that pinned his leg. Every movement drew a burst of agony from the shattered bone of his ankle, and felt like a knife stabbing again into the bleeding wound in his abdomen. Cullen ignored the pain. If he could free himself, he could fight back. He could join his comrades, and they would reclaim Skyhold Keep from the invaders. He had not failed the Inquisitor, not yet, not while he still drew breath.

"No one is coming. Just like no one came last time. How long did they leave you? Weeks? Months? Why did no one come, Cullen? Hm? Why did no one come?"

Cullen didn't look up. All he saw was a blur of purple in his peripheral vision. He focused on the rock, on pushing it off his broken leg, and when that was no longer enough to distract him, he remembered. Not what the demon spoke of, not Kinloch Hold, but later...

Greenfell, 9:30 Dragon

He looked doubtfully at the high stone walls of the chantry at Greenfell, then turned to his traveling companion. "Must I?" Cullen asked.

Brother Cowan shook his head. "You are not a prisoner, Cullen. You've committed no crime."

An unspoken 'yet' hung in the air between them. Cowan knew about those three apprentices, about how close Cullen had come to creating... what his superiors would have dubbed An Incident.

Cullen stared through the gate at the wide expanse of emerald green lawn, his gaze falling upon the placid men and women strolling or sitting on benches. "And if I decide to leave?"

"A full pension, of course. Injured in the line of duty and all that. They'll call you a hero. You'll be able to live comfortably for the rest of your life, and to devote your time to whatever suits you."

"But I won't be a templar anymore?" Cullen asked.

Brother Cowan didn't respond. He didn't need to.

Cullen watched a man tear apart a piece of bread and scatter the pieces over the water of a small ornamental pond, as ducks flocked to claim the tiny prizes. He tried to imagine himself standing by a pond feeding birds for the rest of his life, or strolling lazily in the sunlight every day till he died. No, he couldn't just 'live comfortably.' He was a templar. He needed to be a templar. And if this was what it took...

"They'll help you, Cullen," Brother Cowan said, putting a hand on his arm. "You're not the first templar who ever suffered this sort of ordeal, you know. The chantry is prepared, there are methods..."

But the persuasion was unnecessary. Cullen had already made up his mind.

"Alright. I'll go in. In the morning I'll talk to whoever it is I need to talk to. I'll get cleared for duty, and then I'll go home. Have the horses ready tomorrow, or perhaps the next day."

He stayed for six months...

Skyhold, Present Day

"Why do you think no one came, Cullen?"

The voice was becoming more difficult to ignore as the pain increased. Cullen no longer heard the sounds of battle, even distantly. Was that a good sign? Had they won? Or was he once again the only one left alive?

"It's because no one cares. It doesn't matter to anyone if you live or die. It never has."

Cullen almost answered, but restrained himself. He'd learned that lesson long ago. You'd never win an argument with a demon. Anything you said, no matter how innocuous, was a weapon they would use against you.

"They sealed you off and left you, didn't they, Cullen? They shut up Kinloch Hold like a tomb. To them, you were already dead. Listen, Cullen. What do you hear?"

He tried not to hear anything, but it was impossible. In the distance there was a deep, harsh, grating sound. The sound of moving stone.

"It's happening again. They're going to bury you here. No one cares about you. You're already dead. How long will it be till they've completely forgotten you, do you think?"

Greenfell, 9:37 Dragon

He returned to Greenfell alone and of his own accord. Strange how different it looked, although nothing had changed. The walls were no longer foreboding, but welcoming. It was a quiet place. A place of solace. Here he could speak, and someone would listen, or not speak and be left alone.

"What happened, Cullen?" Brother Marcus asked when the distraught templar was shown to his office. The old monk hadn't changed a bit, just like his chantry hadn't, although the lines on Cullen's own face and the dark circles under his eyes bore mute testimony to every day of the years that had passed. "Or, forgive me, it's Knight-Captain now, isn't it?"

Cullen shook his head. "No. Maybe. I don't know. Just Cullen is fine."

"What brings you back here, Cullen?" The question wasn't unwelcoming, merely curious.

"Kirkwall."

"Just... Kirkwall?"

Cullen nodded. "Isn't that enough?"

There was silence for a moment. Brother Marcus seemed to feel no pressure to fill the void, so it was Cullen who eventually broke it. "It was everything. The chantry. Knight-Commander Meredith. The... the mages..."

"The mages?" The elderly monk rested his elbows on his desk and leaned his chin on his hands. "What mages?"

"Knight-Commander Meredith said they were blood mages."

"And were they?"

"I... I don't know."

Maybe it was Cullen's imagination, but he thought he saw a faint smile curve the monk's lips upward. "What did you do about them?"

"I spoke for them. Asked Knight-Commander Meredith to spare their lives."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Cullen said again, and again there was silence. "Because I wasn't sure. They might have been innocent. They might have been guilty but I couldn't be sure. I couldn't stand back and watch them die if they'd done nothing wrong. The situation at Kinloch Hold was much more dire, and even then some mages could be saved. Surely we could do the same at Kirkwall."

"This is quite different than what you told me all those years ago, Cullen. Do you remember? You said that your Knight-Commander couldn't take that risk..."

"Well. I... was wrong."

This time, Brother Marcus definitely smiled.

Skyhold, Present Day

"Where is the Inquisitor, Cullen? What did she promise you? What did you promise her?"

Beads of sweat stood out on Cullen's forehead. His muscles strained. Blood began to seep afresh from his wounded abdomen. His broken leg was practically screaming with agony. But the rock moved.

"She told you those things because you were useful... at the time. Are you useful now, Cullen? Now that you've lost her Keep for her? You think she'll want you if you lose the leg? If you become a cripple? If you're half a man?"

He risked a glance at the demon, gauging its position. It was staring at his face. It didn't see that he had moved the rock.

"She left you here to die, Cullen. Just like last time, everyone left you here to die."

His fingers inched toward his sword, then his vision began to swim. No. Not a flashback, not now. He paused, forced his breathing to slow, felt the rhythm of his heart. Regained control.

"You've lost her. But there are still options. Stay, Cullen. Stay with me. I'm the only one who wants you anymore. I'm the only one who loves you. Imagine how much better it would have been if you'd stayed with me last time. None of the pain. None of the fear. Just you and me, together, forever..."

Skyhold, One Week Ago

"It's alright, Cullen. It's alright. You're safe."

He blinked rapidly, reached for his blade... but he didn't have it. He didn't need it. She was telling the truth. He was safe. He was in her bed.

Cullen drew a deep breath. "Sorry. Just a nightmare."

"No need to apologize." Her dark hair was falling across her face. He brushed it aside as she leaned in to kiss him. "What do you normally do when you have nightmares?" she asked.

He reddened. "It's silly, it's..."

"It's not silly if it helps you feel better."

"Well, I... sing. Hymns, mostly. Children's songs about Andraste. It... I don't know, it helps."

She leaned back against the pillow. "So why don't you sing for me?"

He did, in a soft, low tenor. "Holy Maker, in your wisdom, look upon us with your favor. Sweet Andraste, by your mercy, may we stand and never waver..."

Skyhold, Present Day

Cullen hummed under his breath as he shoved the rock the last few inches.

Holy Maker, in your wisdom, look upon us with your favor...

"Stay with me, Cullen. Look at me. Love me."

Cullen half-sung, half-whispered, "May we stand and never waver..."

"LOOK AT ME, Cullen!"

He looked up instinctively, then back down. It wasn't her. It wasn't her. It looked like the woman he loved, but it was the demon. A trick. He must not give in, not now, not when he was so close.

"She's not coming. She doesn't want you. You're weak."

Cullen rose in a smooth motion, his sword in his hand instantly. His broken ankle was unable to bear the weight of his body, he'd known that, but his other leg had been motionless too long. As the blood flooded back, he grunted with pain and his knees buckled.

His sword clanged on the stone floor. The demon laughed.

"Give in, Cullen! No one is coming for you. You're trapped... again. It's all going to happen again. Unless you just give in."

Cullen fell forward. His forehead smacked dully on the cold stone. He would give in. He had to give in. He wasn't strong enough to survive it again.

There was a sharp crack, and the stone door crumbled away. Cullen was vaguely aware of running feet, shouting voices. He heard his name. Someone had shouted his name.

An object rolled across the floor toward him. He glanced over woodenly, numbly. It was a head. A purple, horned head.

The Inquisitor lifted Cullen to a kneeling position, met his eyes, cupped his face in her hands. Kissed him. Held him. He could hear her praying softly, blessing the Maker for bringing her love back to her alive.

Cullen reached out a shaky hand to touch her hair, then clutched her to him in a tight embrace.

"You were brave," she told him. "You were strong."

"I lost the fight."

She shook her head. "You survived. You kept your sanity. That sounds like winning the fight to me."

Cullen smiled faintly and closed his eyes. In this moment, she was all he could see, all he could feel. All he wanted.