It was the third day on the road. Despite the fact that they were headed to a destination Cullen did not want to arrive at - and he was forced to spend hours upon hours in the saddle to get there - it was a relief to be out of Skyhold. The days before their departure had been hectic, to say the least, even with the combined efforts of all the advisors to make the process as painless as possible. Men had been chosen to accompany them, spies had been given instructions on how to infiltrate the ranks of the palace servants, a chain of command had been established to take care of Skyhold in their absence… and a plan for what they would do if they discovered an assassin in Halamshiral should have been decided on.

With the exception of the final - and possibly most important - task, everything had been settled in as orderly a fashion as could have been hoped for. When it came to the decisions that would have to be made at Halamshiral, however, they had reached the reluctant conclusion that it was a matter they could not possibly settle beforehand. They did not have nearly enough information at hand to even know what was going on behind the scenes at the Winter Palace, let alone decide what direction they would push an entire nation in if called upon. They would have to act in the moment, and act fast. Cullen had seen the worry in Leliana and Josephine's eyes when they had finally said these words out loud in their last meeting before setting out for Orlais - but he wasn't worried. Amalia could be trusted to make the right choice, and they would all be there to support her in it.

If only he could have been as confident in his own capabilities as he was in Amalia's. Cullen sighed, wiping his brow and shifting in his saddle uncomfortably. He had been without the felandaris extract for four days now… and with each passing moment found himself wishing more and more fervently that he had never taken it in the first place. When he had never been without the withdrawal symptoms, it had been so easy to push them to the side and concentrate on other matters. He had gotten so used to them, suffering them in silence had become almost a second nature to him.

Now, however, after weeks of reprieve, Cullen was finding it much harder to accept the return of his fever and constant headache with any grace whatsoever. His temper was short and getting shorter; his ability to concentrate on anything for any length of time had fled; and, worst of all, he did not feel in control. He had gotten so used to feeling capable again. Losing that clarity of mind he had gained was worst of all.

Everyone had noticed, even those who did not know the reason for his sudden poor humor. Those that did watched him like hawks - Dorian and Amalia in particular. As was to be expected.

"You look terrible." Cullen looked up to see Dorian spurring his little black mare forward to catch up with Trumpeter. He was looking at him thoughtfully, the concern not evident in his words present in his eyes.

Cullen grunted and turned away from him, feigning great interest in the winding road ahead of them. "I can't say I feel very good, either."

"Fever? Pain?"

"Yes. And yes." Cullen didn't see any reason to try and hide his discomfort. Dorian, much like Amalia, would see through him in a heartbeat anyway.

"I could cast the fever spell on you. It helped before, did it not?"

Cullen bit back another groan. Even though he knew Dorian was only trying to help, his incessant questions were grating on Cullen's already shattered nerves. "I need to get used to it again." He shook his head, wincing at the lance of pain behind his eyes as he did so.

Dorian must have noticed his shortness, and yet seemed entirely undeterred by it. "And the rash?"

Cullen pulled down the collar of his cloak in silent illustration, revealing the almost entirely healed skin of his neck.

"So it was the felandaris. As much as I usually enjoy being right," Dorian said with a quiet chuckle, "in this one case only, I do wish I'd been mistaken. Believe what you will, but I don't relish the thought of you being in pain."

"Nor do I." Amalia's voice sounded behind them. Cullen and Dorian turned around to see Amalia spur Rabbit forward, then slow him down as he reached Trumpeter's other side. She reached out and placed her hand on Cullen's shoulder. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I'll survive," Cullen said, more gruffly than he meant to. In his discomfort, it was a struggle to keep in mind that his current situation was not Amalia's and Dorian's fault. They'd only tried to help him - and had even succeeded in doing so, for a time. The felandaris being a failure was not on them. They had done nothing but caution him of its dangers. Any high hopes he had had for the substance had been of his own doing.

Cullen sighed, meeting Amalia's gaze apologetically. She gave him a small, understanding smile, and he looked away again, a little chagrined by how well she knew him. He hadn't told her about it, but he could sense that she knew how hopeless he felt. How happy he'd been to be able to function normally again. How horrible it felt to have all that taken from him in the span of just a few days. And, more than anyone, he knew she understood how frustrating it was to feel incompetent.

And it was only going to get worse. With every beat of his heart, more and more of the effects of the felandaris were driven from his blood. Soon, there would be none left at all. He would be right back where he started.

As lost in thought as he was, he wasn't quite so out of it to miss Amalia giving Dorian a meaningful look. The Tevinter nodded in acknowledgement and reined in his mare, dropping back to strike up conversation with a less-than-thrilled Cassandra.

Cullen and Amalia continued forward side by side. They rode silently for a moment before Amalia spoke up.

"It's nice to be out of Skyhold, isn't it?"

Cullen nodded in agreement. They fell silent again, and he took a deep breath. It really was a beautiful day. The wintry sunlight was filtering through the thick evergreen canopy overhead. They would be out of the Frostbacks soon, and with each passing hour the snow around them was becoming more and more sparse. By the time they reached their intended campsite for the night, Cullen suspected the ground would be entirely bare. For now, however, the breeze blowing through the trees was crisp and cool, and refreshing against his fevered skin.

"Would you rather I leave you be?" Cullen turned to see Amalia looking at him, her eyes betraying what her voice did not. She was worried by his silence. A moment, two, passed as he tried to find the words to reply to her. He hadn't quite managed it before she nodded, sighed and began to urge Rabbit forward to leave him to his brooding.

"No, wait." Cullen spurred Trumpeter forward and reached out, catching her arm. Rabbit didn't like the sudden movement and shied away, flicking his ears back and glaring balefully at Trumpeter. The old war horse seemed entirely unconcerned with the younger stallion's bluster and continued to plod along, ears swiveling, listening happily to the peaceful sounds of the forest around them.

Amalia looked from her horse to Cullen's, clearly amused, and patted the stallion's golden neck affectionately. "My apologies. Rabbit's a bit spirited. You were saying?"

"So I see." Cullen managed a small grin before he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in consternation. "I just… I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Being… being in such a state. It's not your fault. It's unfair of me to hold… this… against you."

"Yes, it is." Amalia shrugged. "But understandable." Her expression sombered again, and she caught his gaze and held it. "Are you… are you in a lot of pain?"

"No. Not yet." But he would be, soon. The words hung in the air between them, unspoken.

This time, Amalia sighed and looked away. "I wish I could help."

"There's nothing to be done."

"Even so."

"Amalia," Cullen said gently, and she looked back at him. "I'll be alright. It's nothing I haven't been through before."

Amalia nodded, but her eyes remained troubled, and she said nothing more. Cullen could have slapped himself for ruining her good spirits. "Why in the name of the Maker did you name your horse Rabbit?" Cullen blurted out the first thing he could think of to distract her.

Amalia laughed, taken by surprise by his abrupt change of subject. "It's… for Aurelia, actually," she admitted. "My sister, you know?" Cullen nodded, and Amalia continued: "Aurelia loved rabbits. And horses, for that matter. We would spend so much time in the stables, grooming our ponies and pestering the horsemaster to take us out for a ride. It was… it was something we always did together."

Cullen chuckled. He could imagine them, two golden-haired, precocious little girls, running around the stables with their ponies, getting in the way of the stablehands who didn't dare say anything about it to their lord.

"Her first pony was named Bunny. I teased her for it mercilessly, actually. What a stupid name for a pony, I said." Amalia ran a hand through her hair with a sad smile. "I suppose Rabbit seemed somehow... appropriate." Amalia scratched the stallion's neck, and he shook his head and snorted appreciatively.

"It's a very fitting name."

"It really is."

The conversation continued between them, flowing naturally from one subject to another. Little by little, Cullen found his bad mood shifting, and by the time the sun began to set and they arrived at their intended campsite, he was in considerably better spirits. Amalia just had that effect on him.

It didn't take the party long to set up camp, prepare and eat their evening meal and settle in for the night. Guard shifts had been established and chores divided up, and everyone bustled about their set duties with quiet determination, hoping to catch as much sleep as they could before the party set out again on the morrow. Within the hour, they had all retreated to their tents, with the exception of Cullen, who had promised to take the first guard shift of the night. He sat alone, staring into the flames of the campfire and trying to ignore the pounding in his head.

"Care for some company?"

Amalia appeared from behind a tent. Cullen half-forced a smile onto his face and nodded, motioning her to sit beside him. She complied, and then immediately reached over to take his hand and twine her fingers through his.

"Do you feel any better than you did earlier today?"

Cullen grunted noncommittally and shrugged.

"I'll take that as a no." She squeezed his hand.

"I'm just not used to it yet. It's not nearly as bad as it was before the felandaris. I'll live."

"Dorian said you'd refused the fever spell."

"I'm starting to wish I hadn't," Cullen admitted with a sigh. "I might be able to sleep tonight if I'd taken him up on the offer."

"He's not the only one who can help you with that, you know."

"Do you know it?"

The corner of Amalia's mouth quirked up in a slight smile. "I was the one who taught it to Dorian, actually. I didn't think you'd accept it from me back when I found it. He's better at it than me, of course, but I know the theory."

Cullen looked at her, surprised. "Oh."

"Can I?" As she spoke, Amalia lifted her free hand, a familiar green mist already shimmering in her palm. Cullen nodded, and she placed her hand gently on the side of his neck. The relief was almost immediate. The cool mist washed through his body, easing the tremor in his muscles. Even the throbbing in his temples ebbed. He took a deep breath, grateful for the respite.

"Thank you."

"Anytime." Amalia lifted their linked hands to place a kiss on the back of his hand. "It's amazing to me how comfortable you are with magic, you know."

"Comfortable? With you, perhaps. And Dorian. With other mages..." His voice trailed off, and he shrugged again. "I've come to accept that magic is like a blade. It can be a force for good as well as evil - but I'm not entirely able to let go of my prejudices. I know it's unworthy of me."

"Even so."

"And what about you? You seem comfortable enough around a templar."

Amalia gave him a wry smile. "I thought you weren't a templar anymore."

Cullen chuckled. "A fair point."

"Besides, there's not much you can do to me without lyrium." She nudged his side playfully, but then her expression sobered. "I was lucky, I suppose. Ostwick was one of the good ones. And after Aurelia..." She sighed. "Well, I needed to be there. In my case, the templars served a purpose."

"Do they not normally serve a purpose?"

He could feel her tense beside him. "I seem to remember you telling me your former Knight-Commander tranquilized mages for even lesser offenses than what happened to poor Maddox."

"She was… misguided."

"And yet you followed her. You all did. She wouldn't have been able to do what she did if you hadn't."

"I did. I'm not proud of the man I was then."

"But you still believe in the order, after everything you've seen?"

"I'd like to believe that Knight-Commander Meredith was the exception, not the rule. I can't say I've been to enough circles to be able to speak from experience."

"You must have heard the stories. As secluded as Ostwick was, they reached even our ears."

"I have." Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "The order is… not what I once believed it to be. I don't know if the order I thought I was joining ever really existed. But once you're a part of it…"

"Once you're a part of it, you're trapped?"

"They hold your lyrium leash. It's difficult to leave. Impossible, even."

"And yet you managed. You could help others do the same."

"Could I?" The laugh that fell off Cullen's lips was without true mirth. "It doesn't look like I'm having much success."

"It does to me," she said gently. "You're alive, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am."

"It will get better. Until then…"

"Until then, I'll deal with it."

"We'll deal with it," Amalia corrected, leaning her head against his shoulder. He turned to press a kiss onto her forehead, touched by her support. A mere few years ago, he could never have imagined that his life would come to this. Here he was, being comforted by a mage, an apostate, whilst suffering from the effects of leaving the Templar Order behind.

He huffed in amusement, and Amalia turned her face upwards to look at him. "What?"

"Two years ago, could you have imagined that you'd ever find yourself where you are today?"

"With a magical green mark on my hand, being hailed as the savior of Thedas, out to destroy an evil darkspawn magister before he creates enough rifts into the Fade to swallow the world?" Amalia rolled her eyes. "Not at all. And you're a surprise, too," she appended.

Cullen chuckled.

"What about you? No longer a templar, in love with a mage, commander of an army…"

"It's a slight deviation from my plan, I'll admit."

"A welcome one, I should hope."

"What else?" He leaned down to press his lips to hers. She returned the kiss eagerly, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his neck and twine her fingers in his hair.

"I'm glad to see our guards so hard at work!" said a sudden voice from behind them, and they broke apart to turn around. Dorian sauntered into view, followed closely by the Iron Bull. "Really helps me feel safe here in the wilderness."

"Sorry, boss. Commander." The qunari nodded his head, first to Amalia and then to Cullen, the grin on his face at odds with his apology. The duo sat down on the ground next to them, forming a half-circle around the fire.

"How's the head, Cullen?" Dorian asked.

"Fine."

"Really? Because you look absolutely dreadful. It's like you haven't slept in a week."

"Thank you, Dorian. That's very kind."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Leave him alone, Dorian," Amalia chimed in. She squeezed Cullen's hand, then lowered her voice to continue. "You could go to sleep, you know. We can take over from here."

"It's my shift," Cullen protested half-heartedly, though he knew that the suggestion had been more of a command. And, truth be told, he also knew he should take every chance he could to sleep while he still could. It wouldn't be long until the nightmares made it nearly impossible. Perhaps, if he was wise enough to go into that stage of his withdrawal well-rested this time, he could stave off the hallucinations for longer.

Dorian arched his brow and made a shooing motion with his hand.

"Alright, I'll go," Cullen acquiesced with a sigh, extricated his hand from Amalia's and got up to leave. "Good night."

As he walked to his tent, he heard Dorian quietly ask Amalia, "how is he really doing?"

He didn't stop to hear her reply. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.