A Candle in the Darkness (A Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfiction)

If Anyone Could

28 Firstfall, 9:41

Despite her best intentions, Antonia went to Cullen's office the next day to apologize. She had meant what she'd said, but she'd said it harshly, and given him no opportunity to explain himself. He had obviously been agitated, and she should have given him a chance to calm down so they could discuss the situation like adults before she started shouting at him.

Besides which, being in an argument with Cullen tied her stomach in knots. He'd been her earliest and most constant support—not having that behind her felt cold and unsafe.

To her surprise, he wasn't in his office. Not that he never left, but he was usually there, and she had timed her visit for just before lunch—he often worked through, since it was one of the rare times when most people in Skyhold were too busy to come looking for him. Two soldiers were in there, with a stack of books they were hunting through. One of them she recognized as Eustace, who had interrupted the kiss on the battlements. From the look on his face, he remembered that, too.

"Your Worship!" he said, hastily scrambling to his feet, and smacking his fellow on the head to get him up, too. "Are you looking for the Commander?"

"I was."

"I'm afraid he isn't here."

Antonia raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the empty desk to indicate that she had noticed Cullen wasn't there.

"Right. He said he wasn't to be disturbed, but I suppose it's all right to tell you."

Whether she was singled out because she was the Inquisitor, or because the growing relationship between herself and Cullen was an open secret in Skyhold, or both, he didn't say.

"He's meeting with Seeker Pentaghast in the armory."

In the moment between hearing his words and gathering herself to thank him for the information, Antonia understood—Cullen's increasing agitation leading up to the assault on Adamant, his distance, his decision to break things off with her over a divinity he knew perfectly well she had no claim to. It was the damned lyrium.

She didn't know what she'd said to Eustace. Hurrying along the battlements and down the steps toward the armory, all she could think of was her fear that Cullen was losing the battle for his health and sanity.

In the Fade, she had been afraid that Cullen would be going out of his mind with worry—she hadn't understood how very real the possibility was. But they should have known: in combat for the first time since the catastrophic events at Haven, all the pressure he put himself under to make sure things went right, and all that on top of how hard he worked otherwise. It was no wonder if he was feeling the effects of the lyrium withdrawal more strongly than usual, and with less of his own strength in reserve to fight those effects. And she should have seen it, in the way he had distanced himself from her and from everyone and how quiet he had been in general all the way back from Adamant. Antonia could have kicked herself for not putting the pieces together, and for being so harsh to him last night. He had clearly been agitated—if she had stopped to think, she would have seen that he wasn't acting like himself.

At the door of the armory, now deserted while most people were at lunch, she could hear their voices, and she paused for a shameful moment to listen.

"You asked for my opinion, and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?" Cassandra was saying, in her straightforward way.

"I expect you to keep your word," Cullen snapped. "It's relentless. I can't—" The pain in his voice made Antonia wince. She hated to think of him suffering like that.

Cassandra didn't yield. "You give yourself too little credit."

Antonia felt badly listening at the door. She had a right, as the Inquisitor if not as ... more than that, to know what was happening to him. She opened it—albeit quietly—and stepped through.

Cullen was saying, "If I'm unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than—" He turned and saw Antonia standing there, and his face went white. Immediately, he pushed past her, leaving the building. She thought, but couldn't be sure, that he muttered "Forgive me" as he went by, but he didn't look at her.

Watching him go, Cassandra shook her head. "And people say I'm stubborn. This is ridiculous."

"I thought he was managing it."

"So did I. I think the battle at Adamant—he isn't used to fighting without the lyrium. And with the added strain of remembering what happened at Haven, and your little adventure in the Fade— I think he is feeling it more than usual."

"Of course. I should have realized." Antonia looked at the door where he had gone, wanting nothing more than to go to him and hold him until it passed. "Do you think he can't handle it?"

"He thinks so. Cullen has asked that I find a replacement for him. I refused. It's not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He's come so far." Cassandra's eyes were on the door he had gone through, her respect for his struggles evident.

Antonia nodded. Losing his position as Commander would kill him; he'd have nothing left to live for. "Why wouldn't he come to me?" she asked softly.

"As a Seeker, I can evaluate the dangers. You don't have that experience. And he wouldn't want to ... risk your disappointment," Cassandra said, her face unusually kind as she turned toward Antonia.

"Is there anything we can do to change his mind?"

"If anyone could, it's you." Cassandra looked Antonia in the eye. "Make no mistake, what he is trying to do is very difficult. Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has the chance to break that leash, to prove to himself—and anyone who would follow suit—that it's possible." She reached out and squeezed Antonia's shoulder. "He can do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time."

"And if it is?"

"Then we face it; we will have no other choice. But I do not think so."