More than Addiction

No one knows, 'tis but a secret. Only between a mage and her templar can there be peace, lyrium and magic their bond. Cullen x F!Hawke

This fan fiction might contain spoilers, canon and also non-canon endeavours and history. In response to a prompt, Knight Captain Cullen is no longer satisfied with just lyrium.

Author: Illusionary Ennui

Disclaimer: If it's not in the Dragon Age games, codex entries, or the wiki, it's mine. All else, hail to Bioware.

Chapter Word Count: 1,543 (so far)

Chapter Rating: M/E

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Drama, NSFW.

Beta: Lywinis

Edited: 08.22.2011 - Minor editing...

Part I: Unknown Knowns

For sanity's sake

We seek forbidden wiles

Cannot surrender

Glass shattered on the cold stone tile, the vial's contents emptied. Shaking on the edge of his simple bed, Knight-Captain Cullen clenched his fists in anger. Lyrium teased him with its power, a weakening poison most damning but necessary as it burned like icy fire in his veins. The need consumed him, craved it like starving man would a crumb of bread. Far too long under its influence, too deep in the addiction. It would never be enough, not now. As his world teamed with arduous conflict, Meredith's madness growing more evident with each passing day, Cullen knew he would need all the strength he could muster. 'Twas only a matter of time before Orsino broke under the pressure, he thought as he stood to pace, careful to step around the shattered pieces of glass. No, it could never be enough.

The dusty tome fell back onto his desk with a resounding thud. Cullen pursed his lips in concentration even as a vibrant blush crept up his neck to his cheeks. Possessed of such a secret, he risked much; however, such a secret could very well provide him with the edge he required in light of the building tension between the templars and the mages.

But this could not be right, could it?

His head throbbed with the prospects and the guilty fear. Of course it would be something that caused him trepidation and confusion. The Maker taunted him for his pride but Andraste help him, he begged for forgiveness. Wiping his palms on the elongated bases of his templar garb, slick with the sweat of his apprehension of the truth, he clawed at his mind to goad himself into action. In that moment, the Knight Captain decided to never again prove himself weak. That mistake nearly cost him his life and that of many innocents. But, thanks to the Warden Commander, Ferelden's Queen, he found hope and the chance for atonement.

Nevertheless, this solution reigned as something else, something alien and forbidden to him.

All of his life spent among the templar ranks, his superiors barred and shamed the mages before him and his fellows. Dangerous. Unworthy. The world's tainted stock despite their usefulness. Matched with a templar, their poison infected their righteousness. Yet, though many strayed onto to darker paths, many existed in timid kindness. Inside his mind, he questioned his purpose. He questioned the truths he held as constant alongside the isolation he felt in the wake of his obligations, to protect and serve without ceasing. From the book's time-worn pages, those truths changed and he developed, of his own accord, an unspoiled view of the relationship between templars and mages, seeing it in a new, captivating light. Unbidden, his thoughts then wound around her...

Cullen berated himself for the rampant lust that scorched him, that set his blood afire like the lyrium. He groaned when a wayward hand sought to allay his unrequited need. The apostate - the Champion, he corrected - entranced him, the gentle woman who denied the demons and the blood magic that seemed to plague many of the mages of Kirkwall. Intelligent and graceful despite her upbringing and form, he dared not deny the prospect, regardless of his duty. Even when she spoke against the tyranny of his Order, he listened. He gave her that liberty, wanting to believe her impassioned words for a better life for them, mages and templars alike. So naïve, yet so sure – and a mage no less.

Spent, he doubled over in deliberation, lacing his fingers as he endeavoured to calm his turmoil, heedless of his soiled state.

Perhaps she believed as he did in the looming threat posed by the dissention between the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter. Unattended, the rift may well tear Kirkwall, their newfound home, apart. However, would she even be willing to offer her aid to an enamoured stranger, let alone one so hesitant and ashamed, raw but eager? Sucking in a deep, barely comforting breath, Cullen channelled his anxiety and screwed his courage to the sticking place - his weak will served him no better in the past. Little time remained to dally over the particulars. He only prayed that his unsteady bravery lasted, the task before him daunting.

Steel bit into the warped planks of the ferry as the Knight-Captain wrestled with the waves of nausea roiling in his belly. In all his years as a templar, his trips beyond the Circle were few and far between. To this day, Cullen still lamented the only means of travel to and from the towers and his gauntleted fingers sank deeper into the wood. Curse the man who decided to build all Circles in such remoteness that separated them all by unpleasant waters.

Cullen tightened his cloak against the cool evening breeze that swept across the bow of the slow barge. Sunlight's last rays drew long shadows over the city's ramparts on their approach, the clouds of an oncoming storm raced towards Kirkwall overhead. Casting out the mooring lines to the waiting dock workers, he joined the controlled scramble of the sailors to earn his passage. Although they allowed him little, they stayed the tongues in fear as he took his leave in silence, not of mind to chance the templar's wrath.

Through the dockyard and into Lowtown, Cullen shuffled his way further into the city, the creak and scrape of his armour resonating in the night only to be drowned the pitter-patter rain. His eyes darted left and right in his progress, watchful for the gangs that often plagued the streets. To his fortune, he met with no highways in the poor quarter. Unhindered and unmolested, the Knight-Captain stole into Hightown while another tempest brewed within his mind. Although he had made it that far, it was not too late to turn back, he surmised. Never mind the notion that he had forgone his addiction to pursue this insane endeavour - he could feel his hands begin to shake.

Becoming distracted, he did not notice the first attacker's blade when it sliced towards him.

"Look out!"

The cry went unheard over the din, the ringing clash of steel on steel filling the templar's ears. Snarling, one of the Crimson Weaver Bloodrager's slid the dagger along Cullen's guarding arm and it bit into his mail on the underside of his vambrace. Cullen gritted his teeth as the blade broke the rings of metal and cut into his skin, the blood soaking his armour. Drawing back his fist, he threw a punch at his assailant but missed as the Bloodrager hopped away to seek a new point of attack. He heard the rogue laugh and then scream, a bitter cold sweeping across the templar's face amidst the sheeting rain. With a loud crunch, his assailant fell and Cullen studied the gang member, half-encased in shattered ice alongside his fellows who shared his fate. All around him, the puddles of rain were tinged pink with their blood and the ground glinted with shards of broken ice.

"Are you all right?" A woman's voice drifted over the blood and adrenaline that rushed in the Knight-Captain's ears as he looked up from the rogue's corpse. "I'm sorry; we haven't quite cleared Hightown of that blood mage's brood yet. How bad is that wound? May I take a look?"

Reluctant, Cullen kept her at a distance only to have the drenched hood of his cloak fall from his head.

"Knight-Captain Cullen?"

He did not miss the hint of panic in the Champion's voice as she too took a step backwards. Meeting Marie Hawke's gaze, the templar inclined his head in acknowledge. Opening and closing his fist, he kept the blood flowing in his wounded arm, wondering if he could make it back to the Circle and abandon this manic quest. As he stared at her, his head began to throb with withdrawal and he winced, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Aye, my lady. Forgive me, but I am at a loss for words at present," he answered as he tore at his wet cloak to staunch the scarlet flood, worsened by the rain. Panting, Cullen plotted his escape. Perchance he could return to his quarters before the Knight-Commander came to disapprove of his absence. After all, it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to his forced condition, the need too great to overcome.

"Come now," Marie assured him, gathering up his injured arm. His armour slipped along her leather mantle and she presented him with what little strength she had. "My home is just yonder, Knight-Captain. Let me take a look at the cut and then you can tell me what you're doing out here in the middle of the night with no shield or a weapon drawn."

Although Cullen knew she risked much by offering him help so openly, who was he to argue with such a strange twist of fate? He licked his lips in anticipation, praying that she could help him in more than just healing a simple injury. Besides, he was certain he would never find the old Amell estate with some guidance, a fact he refused to admit.

"As you wish."

To be continued...

Author's Note: At first, I thought I might do a one-shot... well, I've changed my mind. It'll be a series of short chapters, I think. Overall, it's just another distraction from my other overwhelming works.

Again, I'd like to that my darling Lywinis for being my beta and of course all my readers and the OP.

Any road, here was the prompt: "The Chantry uses lyrium to enhance Templar powers - and seems to require some kind of vow of chastity from most of the Templars as well - the unmarried ones at least. What if that's because they know that sexins with a mage would be like giving crack to a coke addict - the high is higher, the powers are stronger, and having had sweet mage love, lyrium just isn't that appealing anymore?

The Chantry keeps this a deep dark secret because their greatest strength is also their greatest weakness in a major way. From their point of view, creating Superman also creates kryptonite.

Does Cullen need to shag daily in order to keep himself in peak Templar condition? Yes. Yes he does.

Bonus points if Merrill knows about this and just never thought to mention it.