Cullen hurt everywhere. Everything, every part of his body ached. Every limb, every patch of skin, every nerve-ending begged him to just give in, to just let it be over. To just say the words the demons wanted him to say and have it done. That it had to be better than this, it couldn't be worse, it simply couldn't be.

How long? How many hours had he been in this room? How long had it been since Uldred had locked him inside this prison and left him to the mercy of the demons? It was days, weeks, years, and yet none of them at the same time. An eternity of torment that lasted no time at all. Time didn't exist here, it had lost all meaning. There had been no rest, no respite from the demons torture. He thought he would be able to stand it, thought he would be able to fight it, if they'd just let him rest. But there was no rest to be had.

He somehow forced himself from his curled ball and onto all fours, his arms felt weak, they shook a little under his weight. His head was heavy, his neck ached with the effort, but he lifted his head enough to see through the conjured purple haze of his cage. He was aiming for a threatening glare when he narrowed his eyes, though he doubted he'd managed much more than a grimace. There was no one in view to witness either expression. All that was before him was the rough stone walls of the small, circular tower room. The blood mages and abominations were in the chamber above, the demons they'd left to guard him had vanished for the moment.

Cullen allowed the hard look to slide from his face and took a few deep breaths.

The air tasted of death.

His armoured gloves clanked against the stone flags of the floor, the sound — small as it was — sent needles of pain through his eyes to pierce deep in his skull. His heavy plate armour was back in place, he noticed, though it was barely more than a dull afterthought: the latest torture the demons had dreamed up for him was over.

His fingers and toes had been on the verge of turning blue when he'd curled in upon himself on the floor. Frigid mountain winds conjured from nothing had whistled around the tower to race across his bare skin, freezing the perspiration that sat stark on his face and turning it to ice. His breath had hung in clouds, coming in increasingly sharper gasps until it became so cold he could barely breathe at all. He'd almost been convulsing when he collapsed. Naked and shivering he'd closed his eyes, his lashes coated in frost, and waited for death to claim him.

The demons knew enough to call a halt to his torture before his heart gave out completely, but Cullen thought this time had been the closest he'd come to death.

He moved his fingers in the steel casing of his gauntlets, they responded to his commands as they always had done, warm blood filled each digit.

This was, perhaps, one of the worst parts of this torture; that it wasn't real.

There had never been piles of snow gusted into drifts against the walls, he'd never been naked on the floor of the tower, slowly freezing to death without the protection of his armour. In just the same way that — Minutes ago? Hours? Days? Weeks? He didn't know — his hair had never really crisped and burned on his head. He knew that fire hadn't really burst through the flags beneath his feet. This knowledge, however, did nothing to stop the sharp smell of his own singed hair from invading his nose. His flesh was unmarked, but he knew how it had felt to have his skin crack and blister with the extreme heat. How his mouth felt as all the moisture within dried and his tongue curled. Andraste preserve him, he knew how a human body would smell as it began to cook.

He still felt the sting of a whip across his back, though he'd bear no scars.

It wasn't real.

All the cause of his pain was false, but the pain itself — every lash, every shock of lightening — his body had felt it all. It had been forced into his mind by demons and blood mages. The pain was all too real, even now his body ached with it, his mind forced to react to pain stimulated by their fingers twisting into him, snaking into his thoughts, pulling his senses apart and turning them upon themselves. His mind, his inner most thoughts, laid bare. Flayed apart for them to peruse for their own means, their own entertainment. Every forbidden desire that Cullen ever had, that which he'd hidden in the darkest recesses of his mind, was open to them. They'd paraded them with sickening joy before his eyes.

He forced himself to turn his head, to look upon the bodies of his former brothers. To see his slain brethren piled unceremoniously where they'd fallen.

That was real.

In the moments where the torture had been at its worst he'd almost envied them. They were at The Makers side now, for them this was over. They'd died in agony. They'd died screaming — Maker, their screams Cullen didn't think he'd ever rid himself of their screams — but they were dead. Gone where the demons couldn't hurt them further. It was only his will that kept him from joining them. His indomitable will and mental focus that kept the demons from conquering him.

He would not falter, he would not let them win.

Muttering the Chant under his breath he climbed unsteadily to his feet. He clenched his jaw and prepared himself. The blood mages and their summoned minions could do their worst: he would not break.

The sound of long, claw-like fingernails being dragged across the wall pulled Cullen from his meditative state. Before he'd even opened his eyes he knew what to expect. His lip curled of its own accord, baring his teeth, his hands closed into fists at his sides.

Desire.

He watched as the demon made its way across the room. It paused to look down at the fallen Templars, a twisted parody of a smile graced its face, it looked almost fondly upon them. Cullen's empty stomach gave a sickly lurch,

"Leave them be, demon." He ground between his clenched teeth, "You've taken all you can from them, let the dead rest." His voice was rough and sore, the back of his throat felt torn and tasted of copper, he swallowed past it.

Desire skirted the mound of bodies, turning to look at Cullen through the magic barrier that separated them. It sashayed toward him with an overt, sensual roll of its hips, it's bare feet soundless on the stone floor. The dull purple hue of its skin was almost grey in the dim light, the pink flame that passed as the creature's hair lit its face from above, shrouding most of its face in shadow. Its attempts at seducing him had been fruitless, but that hadn't stopped it from trying.

More's the pity, Cullen thought.

It came to a stop on the other side of his cage, watching him in silence for a moment, the small smile still played around its mouth. It could make a thoughtful, almost peaceful, face but Cullen wasn't taken in. He knew the twists and turns the creatures mind took behind those black and grey eyes. Its long pointed tail passed through the prison, coming up to caress his face, he batted it away with the back of one hand, detesting the dry scaly feel on his skin, like being touched by dead, half rotten leaves,

"Give up, demon." He told it, "You'll get nothing you want from me."

"So hasty, handsome Templar, we've barely even started." The demon pouted, its voice seemed to come from everywhere at once; from the demon itself, to seep from the walls, and — Maker help me — from inside his own head. It stepped past the barrier to his prison easily to walk around him, examining him from all angles, "Everyone has something they want, something they desire." It purred, leaning in closer to whisper the final word into his ear, its putrid breath on his face. Cullen shuddered, revulsion turning his stomach and raising new goosebumps on his arms,

"There is nothing I want from you."

"I'm starting to think you may be right," It stepped in front of him, its hands brushing up its own body. Cullen looked away in disgust when one of its hands cupped its own breast, the golden chains and tassels that hung around its neck to string to each nipple clinked delicately against its long nails, "Perhaps there really is nothing I can offer you."

"Then free me from this damned cage or kill me, creature." He spat. The demon waited in silence until Cullen turned his gaze upon it again. It smiled, slow and silky, and Cullen felt his heart skip; it had some new form of torture planned for him. He just knew it,

"I said that perhaps there was nothing I could offer you, handsome Templar. I said nothing of her."

The demon turned to the side and Cullen felt the air leave his lungs. In this tower of steel and silk, The Inquisitor looked so out of place in her soft leathers and crown of silver braids. She hadn't seen him yet, her fingers were tapping out their usual agitated rhythm on her leg. Though a mage, one glance at her face made it clear she'd never stepped foot inside a circle, the elegant vallaslin — the mark of her people — swept across each high cheekbone and up to her brow, it bisected her bottom lip to trail down her throat in a line that Cullen had traced with fingers, mouth and tongue more times than he could count.

"Ellana, what are you doing here?" He asked, the demon momentarily forgotten as he brushed past it to stand just before the barrier. The purple haze gave Ellana's face a deathly pallor, making her skin look waxy and thin. Relief flooded her face when she turned wide, fearful eyes upon him,

"Cullen, I've been searching for you. I couldn't find you." She tried to reach for him through the barrier, pulling her hand back with a yelp when her fingers touched it,

"You shouldn't have come here. The blood mages, they'll -"

"It's going to be alright," She soothed, "I'm here, you're safe now."

"I'm the one that's supposed to protect you, remember?" He said, a fond smile pulling at his lips. That same old stubborn lock of silver hair that never knew how to behave itself fell in front of her face, he felt his fingers twitch inside their glove with the urge to push it behind one delicate pointed ear. A gesture as familiar to his hands as the act of rubbing the back of his own neck,

"Ah, a daring task indeed, if lacking a little in the self-preservation department." She smiled, "It's time for us to leave."

"Can you remove this barrier?"

"No, but you can."

"I can't, I tried, but -"

"Just say what they want you to say, and they'll let us go. Both of us. We can leave together."

"But I -" He wanted to explain that he'd tried, he'd pulled every scrap of will that remained to him to try to dispel the barrier, but it had remained as impenetrable as ever. If he could have rid himself of his cage then there wouldn't be a pile of Templar bodies lying just feet from them. Ellana didn't seem to have noticed the corpses, or the smell of death that hung in the air, she only seemed to have eyes for him.

"It's alright," She said, her voice soft and calming, "I know you're tired, but I'm here, you can rest now." She took another small step toward the barrier, so close to him that, if it weren't for the cage, he could have rested his forehead down upon hers.

"I can't, I have to... I have to..." Her eyes drew him in, he wanted to believe her, he wanted to rest,

"You can rest, it can be over." Her soft voice cajoled, he felt his eyes slide closed, "Just give in, give up this fight. It's right."

Cullen's eyes flew open as he jerked his head back. Dread pooled in his stomach, his heart pounded thickly in his ears.

Never, never, would Ellana, his Ellana, tell him that giving up was right.

There's always a way, she would tell him, We are The Inquisition: we never give up, we stand together, we fight together. And when we don't know how, we make it up; we save the world through the power of bullshit.

Cullen took a step away from the barrier,

"You're not her. What are you?" His voice was barely over a horrified whisper, Ellana didn't answer him,

"It could be her." Desire whispered in his ear, he hadn't noticed its arm draped across his shoulders, "Your eyes believe it's her, your body believes it's her. Do you forget I can see into your mind, handsome Templar? Even now your body responds to her."

Desire was right, he knew what this conjured image was; just another tool of the demons to torture him. That knowledge did little to stop his traitorous hands from itching to touch her, or the curl of warmth that heated his blood,

"No." He said, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice,

"I can see her desire reflected in you." The demon murmured, "Would you prefer I raised one of the other Templars to see her desires sated, if you are not up to the task? I could raise several if you like?" Desire waved an arm at the mass of corpses, Cullen imagined he could see the mound shift as though already coming to life, "Would you care to watch your love be ravished by your fallen brothers?"

His brothers.

The demon would use his love for her, and that for his fallen brothers, against him?

It was as though Desire had doused him in freezing cold water, everything inside him turned to solid ice. Hard and unyielding. Cullen turned his head so his face was barely an inch from Desire's, rather than back away he stared into the black depths of the demon's soulless eyes. He found some pit of steel from somewhere within him and forced it into his spine,

"It is not her." He said, pleased that his voice sounded stronger, "Stop this."

"That is what you desire? Very well." Desire sighed, removing its arm from him.

Ellana cried out as chains and shackles snaked up from the ground to wrap around her legs, pinning her in place. She reached down to tug at them, terror etched into her face,

"Wait," Cullen barked, rounding on the demon, "What are you doing?"

"You wanted me to make it stop," Desire smirked, "I'm making it stop."

The demon snapped its fingers and the stone slabs beneath Ellana's feet split open, the air between them instantly started to waver with the heat, clouds of red smoke billowed out, hiding her legs from the knees down,

"This wasn't what I meant, don't -" The sound of Ellana's screams drowned him out as small flames began to lick at her boots. He forgot that it wasn't really her, he forgot that she was a conjured image created to torture him. It didn't matter. All he could hear was her screaming,

"Please, Cullen!" She pleaded, tears began to roll down her face, drying on her skin before they reached her chin, "Please, help me, make it stop!"

"Ellana, I -" Heedless of the pain, Cullen threw himself at the walls of his prison, he pulled together the last scraps of his will and focus and threw them at the barrier; it didn't even flicker, "Yes!" He cried at the demon, "I'll say anything, whatever you want! Just let her go!"

"It is too late for that." Desire sneered, "If this is the way to break your will, then so be it."

Another snap of the creatures fingers and waist-high flames burst through the stone. Ellana's screams turned to howls as her leather trousers caught fire,

"Take what you want from me!" He begged, heedless of the tears that now ran down his own face, "You can take it all if it will spare her life!"

Ellana's hands, already blistered and starting to turn black, tried desperately to beat at the flames making their way up her tunic. She looked at him through the smoke and haze of his prison, her eyes, full of agony, seemed to accuse him, to blame him for bringing this fate upon her. Cullen tried to look away,

"No, handsome Templar." Desire gripped his hair from behind him, its long nails scraped across his scalp, and forcefully turned his head, "You will look, you will watch. And you will see what you have destroyed."

Ellana fell onto all fours. Desire released its hold on his hair and Cullen dropped beside her, mindlessly calling her name and begging her forgiveness,

"Watch your love crash and burn, while you are powerless to stop it. This is what you allowed to happen. This is what you believe you deserve."

A few seconds later and Ellana's screams stopped, the smoke hid her from his view, but Cullen knew she was dead. He couldn't lift himself from the ground, all his strength had died with her. Desire laid a hand on his armoured shoulder and -

Cullen jerked into a sitting position with a grunted curse. A thin layer of sweat coated his entire body. His breath came in whooping gasps, almost sobs, as his heart hammered in his chest. His hands beat at the soft surface he was sitting on, trying to smother flames he couldn't see.

The slim, cool hand of a despair demon slid across the back of his bare shoulders. With a roar Cullen twisted from where he sat, the bedsheets tangled in his legs, and he pinned the demons thin wrists beneath his hands. He snarled down at it, pushing it into the soft quilting of the mattress.

The mattress?! That wasn't right — that wasn't -

Cullen shook his head, blinking hard,

Not the stone flags of the tower, but a mattress. Not a demon, but -

The fog of his nightmare lifted and a pair large, startled eyes swam into focus. They were a blue so deep they were violet. He knew those eyes.

Cullen reeled away from her with a quiet cry of horror, "I — I am so sorry — I -"

Ellana caught his arms before he could throw himself from their bed. The fear he saw shifted, afraid for him, he realised, not of him.

"Hush, ma vhenan." She said softly. There was too much insight, too much understanding in her eyes; a slight sheen of unshed tears she blinked away so quickly he barely saw, and he knew she'd heard him, that he must have called for her in the grips of his nightmare. Her hand came up to brush along his jaw, and she drew him gently back down to her, "It's not your fault, you never need to apologise for what they did to you."