Hello! Deanoning from the Kink Meme.

Cullen believes he's seen every side of Amell.

After all the years of watching her from the distance, it must be so. He has seen her laugh, cry, smile impishly at her then best friend Jowan behind the patrolling templars' backs, seen her angry, seen her cast spells, seen her unable to stay awake when studying at the library too long and now...

However, what he remembers with most clarity is the first time he truly noticed Amell.

It wasn't really the first time he had seen her. In fact, the pretty young woman with eyes that burned like lyrium and dark, dark hair that looked so very soft to touch had always been hard to miss. It was like his eyes were cursed to follow her every time she walked into a room. He had been sure everyone could see this, even from under his helmet (the apprentices' giggles had made his ears burn), but strangely enough no one had ratted him out to the Knight-Commander.

Later he had learned that it wasn't forbidden to look at the mages. Everyone did. When he had heard of someone else telling of how their eyes wandered on Amell, it had felt like his very core had curled up, and out of jealously started to emit poison into his blood, so that the sickening feeling reached from his ears to his toes. Made more sickening by the fact that he had no claim on her.

Some of the younger templars (they were his age, but they seemed much, much younger) even told of their naughty adventures with some of the apprentices, and it had taken him all him willpower not to tell anyone. After all, it would soil the templars' reputation, and possibly make the mages respect them even less.

He still remembered the incident during which someone tried to melt the locks to the Templars' quarters, most likely to try to steal some embarrassing possessions, only to fail when a sleepless Marcus wandered upon the door on the night of the "heist".

But that had happened what seemed to be ages ago.

Now, as all he could think of was Amell, he just wanted to go back to that day, when he had so foolishly become infatuated with the girl and cut his own head off (not, Amell's, never Amell's), so that he could be spared from himself and all this self loathing. At least then he could go to the Maker's side, as a good templar. Not the ruined one he now was.

But it still is his happiest memory. He'd never tell it to Amell or anyone, but truly, it is.

It started with the tale of The Templar and the Dragon, told by Amell, during what was supposed to be a short, meaningful lecture to the magelings.

"Let's see..."

He could hear Amell voice vividly in his head, filled with so much mirth, that the children must've immediately perked up, knowing what awaited them was not a lecture on how they should behave properly and not try to burn each other's hair, but a fun adventure, like times with Amell usually were. He hadn't seen them yet though. He had been just around he corner, starting his evening patrol around the library, when he had heard them.

"There was once a Templar... Yes, Templar, don't look so disappointed. They're strong knights too. Anyway, there was once a truly valiant Templar, who went by the name of Ser Terrence the Faithful, because that's how he was. Never had he betrayed anyone, and never would he, so he wowed. One day, being the able knight he was, he was sent by the Chantry to investigate a mysterious magical artifact, which was supposed to be located on the highest mountain of Ferelden. The artifact was rumored to be of great importance, so Ser Terrence set off, and soon, he had a arrived at the mountain. However!"

At that the children had gasped. He himself didn't get what was so surprising, until he saw that Amell had jumped on top of the table they had gathered around, and in her hands were a ruler and a book, which he knew were meant to be a sword and a shield. He knew he shouldn't have laughed, but a chuckle escaped his lips nevertheless. They were fitting weapons indeed for a studious mage.

Then she had seen him, just behind the bookshelf, hiding like he was the naughty apprentice here, not her. Her smile had faltered a little, and her eyes met his briefly.

When he had nodded ever so slightly for her to continue (all the while blushing furiously under his helmet), that she hadn't done anything wrong she continued with even more vigor, and grinning wider than he had ever seen her grin.

"Once he climbed to the top, and the treasure was almost in his reach a ginormous Dragon swooped down from the sky, and landed in front of the treasure, and Ser Terrence could see his own reflection from it's greedy eyes. He was not afraid though, for he knew he had the Maker on his side. 'Begone, foul Dragon! That treasure is for the Chantry, and the Chantry alone! You cannot possess it!' bellowed Ser Terrence, and swung his sword at the Dragon."

Amell had glanced at him again, and put the ruler away into her belt clumsily, like she had just sheathed her sword. Now he realized that she had looked at him for a permission, although she probably would've continued, no matter what his response would've been.

"The Dragon was only amused, and fire flared from her nostrils!"

And Amell had sprayed actual fire from two of her fingers, playing the part of the dragon this time, instead of Ser Terrence's. Giggles and gleeful screams had filled the library, and despite the fact that it was most certainly forbidden to use magic like that, he caught himself smiling.

"Clearly the Dragon thought that the Faithful Templar was no match for her, and she hoarded the treasure under her two strong back feet, and beckoned the Templar to come and get it, intimidating and taunting him, spitting fire everywhere."

And hands snake around his bare shoulders, and his eyes snap open. Lyrium eyes meet his.

He had been taken away from his most beautiful memory, back into cruel and harsh reality.

"And Ser Cullen complied, engaging the beast in battle." says the not Amell on his lap, tone more seductive than playful. It straddles his hips, and runs it's fingers down his naked sides, and Cullen pretends that he does not shiver at the pleasantness of the feeling.

He remains unmoving, as if doing so could save him somehow. He tries to remember the Chant of Light, but all he he can think of, all he can breathe is Amell, Amell, Amell...

The not Amell knows this. It smirks at him with Amell's beautiful lips, and rolls her hips against his, making him let out an embarrassing moan, because damn it, after all this he can't truly help himself. He hasn't eaten, slept or had his lyrium in what seem to be days, and he's feeling it as weakness in body and soul.

He tells himself that this is not what he wants, but even with all the willpower he can muster, the vision of Amell is too much. There's an echo in his mind telling him that he should not let this feeling overwhelm him, to remember those who were lost to this temptress' tricks, but it is so hard to focus on reason when moist lips almost touch his throat, making all the words of protest hitch in his throat.

He needs lyrium.

And Amell.

It lets its hands travel south, almost mimicking his blood flow, as it uses Amell's voice to tell the next part of the story.

"At first it seemed like the Dragon was winning, swinging her mighty tail at the poor templar, and trying to catch him with her great wide mouth." It grinds against him to emphasize the tails movements, and places its open wet mouth on his shoulder, and he can't help but remember how Amell had wildly spun around, and then pointed at her open mouth in a silent roar. And to his shame the thought of the real Amell now arouses him even more, and he can't help but groan once more.

"But Ser Cullen was also cunning, and as the Dragon lowered her head once more to eat Ser Cullen whole, he took the opportunity to leap upon the Dragon's head. A great struggle began, as the Dragon tried to shake him off, and he fought hard so that he could stab his sword into her."

And suddenly he is on top of the not Amell, shaking hands gripping her hips, his arousal almost pressed against her sex, but not quite. This was a cruel, cruel game for it, as it rises up on its elbows, and brings it's face close to his, lips almost against his.

It stops spinning it's tale.

And Cullen knows why.

Just as Amell had been about to reach the climax of her story, arms swinging wildly and the children gaping in awe, another Templar (probably Marcus, he did have the habit of walking in of apprentices breaking rules) walked in, this time from the other direction. And he had stopped her from telling the story.

And he had foolishly ran away, afraid that he'd be caught spying on the apprentice breaking the rules and not acting upon it.

There was no ending to the story for him, because even though she had told the children other stories, of the Adventures of the Black Fox, the Dane and the Werewolf, the Axe in the Stone, she never once told the story of the Templar Ser Terrence and the Dragon again.

There were no more words for it to twist, no chance to turn the story into the manifestation of his secret desires, so the demon stays silent. There's nothing of Amell left in anymore, and its skin becomes purple, and lyrium eyes demonic slits.

And Cullen resists the temptation laying right there in front of him, and throws the demon away. It looks at him hurt for a moment, sprawled across the floor, and now, not even Amell's face remains.

Immediately he's back in his armor, as if the dream had never happened, left only with the shameful sensation of his arousal, and the smell of blood and Maker, was there something burning?

This is his moment to collect his thoughts again, before the temptation once again begins. He can feel that the demon is still around, searching him for more of his desires, but he ignores it. After all, there's nothing more he can do, than wait for it to return, and resist it once more.

So he prays, prays until he hears footsteps once more, this time clad in armor, not the soft sound bare feet make against the stone floor he's so used to by now.

"Cullen!"

And it's Amell, of course. Only this time she's dirty and clothed of all things, robes only torn here and there, but not in the manner the demon, ihe/i would like them. She's not alone either, but behind her are men clad in armor, a dwarf and an elf, and two women, one a mage from the Circle, the other someone he cannot recognize.

This illusion is the most cruel so far, he thinks. It's of salvation, and rescue.

Amell almost touches his prison, eyes wide, like she can't believe what she sees.

"Are you all right?"

And he spouts out everything. Everything he's been though in the tower. Everything he's ever felt for her, how he's longed for her, and how he wishes to be with her. He hopes to somehow appease the demon like this, to make it stop. The elf makes snide comments about this, but Amell hushes him, and looks at him, pity in her eyes.

"...Cullen. We're here to help you." she says, and leans closer, but he flinches away. This is the part when the demon twists Amell's form into something appalling, and plays on his desires once more.

But no one disappears. The woman before him remains the same, eyes filled with sorrow, not make believe lust.

And then he realizes that the Amell before him is real. That the people behind her are real.

Despite all that, he can't smile.

The next time Cullen sees Amell is when he awakens the night after all the horror is over, and Uldred lies dead in the Harrowing Chamber. He's in the Apprentice quarters, just like all the other survivors, patched up and still trying to grasp all that has happened.

There are templars and mages alike, all lying on the beds, sleeping no doubt.

But he can't sleep. No with the lyrium coursing through his veins. Not with all the thoughts in his head, making him feel like he's about to explode. Not with the silent rage singing to him, telling him how wrong it was to spare the mages.

The dwarven Warden and his companions left, already, taking a few mages and the First Enchanter with them to deal with another mage related problem, even though they should've remained here, to keep them from harming people, using their blood magic – No. He shouldn't think like that

Brosca was the dwarf's name, and when he left he gave Cullen the most venomous glare. Clearly he had not appreciated how he had insulted the mages, as he seemed to have formed a close bond with Amell and Wynne, the senior enchanter with him at that time.

Wynne he took with him, and Amell he left behind.

The Amell who is half asleep near the children.

She too, looks like she has much too on her mind, rocking back and forth a little. She doesn't register the fact that he's watching her, and mutters something to herself, before groggily getting up, and tiptoeing carefully out of the room, eyes wandering restlessly on the sleeping people around her. Maybe she too thinks that the people lying there are too few in their numbers. Maybe she too thinks that it's unfair that only six templars lay there, resting, the rest either doing their duties or at the Maker's side.

When she's completely gone from his vision he has to stop himself from following her. She's been avoiding him, he knows it. And why wouldn't she? Not only did he confess to her on the same day, but said he wanted to destroy her, and every mage she knows.

He wants to apologize, for which, he doesn't know. Maybe for both. Or maybe he wants to stay bitter at her, even though he knows he can't.

When Amell doesn't return after a while, he begins to worry. What if there are more demons left? Even though there were templars on the upper floors sweeping the place, one can never be too sure.

All the bitterness in him dissolves, and he curses himself for once again being so weak in his resolve.

So, even though his body is already groaning from the strain of standing up, and he's sure Amell won't appreciate seeing him, Cullen too gets up, and silently walks over the sleeping apprentices, careful not to touch any of them.

Finding Amell is easy enough. She's in the library, sorting the books scattered all over the floor.

"Trash..." she says, and discards a burnt book, and moves to the next one. She examines it for while, before putting in on the ever increasing pile of books that can be saved, although the pile next to it is more than slightly larger. She continues for a while, and doesn't notice him spying at her from the doorway.

They continue like this, with her sorting and him watching, until finally exhaustion gets the better of him, and Amell's monotonous voice lulls him to sleep.

He wakes up after what seems to be an hour, sitting against the wall, and Amell crouching before him.

At first he's flinches against the fall, and feels his face go red, as he feels vulnerable under her lyrium eyes without his armor. Her eyes look bloodshot, but Cullen doesn't know if it's due to the lack of sleep the fact that she's been crying. He doesn't dare to ask.

Surprisingly, she doesn't say anything either, even though she looks like she wants to say a thousand things, just like him, but gets up instead, and goes back to her books. She continues her work, without even glancing at him.

"You know..."

Her voice cuts through him like a sword when she finally speaks, so bitter, so sad that he almost wishes he'd never have woken up. He wants to answer, with anything, but he can't find his voice.

"You spoke in your sleep."

She stops sorting the books.

"You said, 'How does it end? Does Ser Terrence slay the dragon?'"

She turns to face him, but stays put.

"I didn't know that you had heard that one. I mean, I knew you were there to hear the others, but not that one. I, uh..."

She pauses, and looks away from him.

"Never mind."

And with that she's back working furiously on the books.

"No, I want to know how it ends."

His words surprise her. It surprises him as well, that he even talked. It almost doesn't sound like him, it sounds more like a kicked puppy, or a young apprentice. She smiles, though briefly, and not in the way she usually does, and shakes her head.

"The endings a real bummer though. I... You wouldn't want to hear it." she says, and nervously tugs her dark hair behind her ear. It's a habit he's used to, and if his lips weren't permanently glued downwards, he'd smile at the familiarity of it all.

"I've always wondered." he presses on. She sighs, and her eyes flicker across his face. This time, he doesn't look away. She clears her throat, and starts the story once more.

"But the Dragon proved too much for only one man to handle. With one mighty swing of it's head, the Dragon shook Ser Terrence off, and that fall, he did not survive."

They sit there in silence for a while.

She suddenly shifts uncomfortably, and gets up, and quickly walks over to him. For a while she stares at him with an unreadable expression, before suddenly sinking to her knees, and hugging him tightly, fingers burrowing into his shirt and the flesh beneath it.

That's the moment he realizes he was actually crying.

It takes him a while to hug her back, as he'd never push her a way, not in a million years, and when his arms find their place around her smaller, fragile form, sobs truly rake his body, and if it's possible, Amell hugs him ever tighter. He buries his face into her neck, and it doesn't take him long to soil it with his tears.

"But..." Amell's voice quivers, and she swallows hard. She's trying her best not to cry as well. "As years pass and the bones of Ser Terrence lay forgotten even by the Dragon, the Maker does not forget him."

His sobs echo through the halls when she pauses, and strokes his back in encouragement.

"On the mountain top, amidst all the snow and cold, a single flower grew on Ser Terrence's final resting place. An Andraste's grace." now her voice breaks too, but if she cries, she cries silently.

They remain in each other's arms for hours, even after Cullen has calmed down, with no more tears to cry. She stokes his hair, and doesn't care that her neck is wet and sticky with him tears and sweat, and that the arms surrounding her have an iron grip on her.

Cullen can't help but think that this is yet another side he has seen of her.

The kind, sad, heartbreaking (or is it mending?) part.

Unspoken words drift to his mind, and he falls asleep, there in her arms, listening to the sound of her rhythmic breathing and her heartbeat, finally thankful that it is, in fact there.