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Word reaches Evelyn at dinner.
It’s a fancy affair tonight, uniforms for the soldiers, formal dress for the rest. She is deep in small talk with an enchanter from Nevarra, when Cassandra takes her by the elbow and whispers in her ear. An incident, she says, Cullen’s fault and she scarcely hears the rest. Lightheaded suddenly, she pulls back. The Seeker’s gaze is solemn, her jaw set. They have both dreaded something like this and now it has happened.
Evelyn nods, wraps her fingers more tightly around the delicate stem of her glass and returns her attention to the enchanter.
Diplomacy cannot wait. Cullen can.
***
As soon as the last course is cleared from the table, she slips quietly away. A glance at Cassandra and the Seeker follows.
“How did this happen?”
“I didn’t see it myself,” Cassandra says, more delicately than she is wont. “You will have to ask Cullen. The boy is with the surgeon now. She thinks he’s going to be fine.”
‘Thank the Maker for that, at least.”
Dismissing Cassandra, she hikes up her skirts and descends the stairs to the lower bailey. The sick knot of anxiety and guilt that has been bobbing in her stomach since before dinner has become so large she can scarcely breathe, and her insides tremble.
“Inquisitor.”
The surgeon sits between her patient and the fire wiping his blood from her hands with a rag.
“How is he?”
“Like I told the lady Seeker, he’ll pull through. It’s a nasty set of blows, though.”
The surgeon gestures at her patient and Evelyn walks closer, crouches next to the unconscious soldier. A large bruise is beginning to purple the man’s cheek, easily visible even in the grey twilight. Bandages circle his head, an arm, his chest.
She grits her teeth. He should have known better than to let this happen. Her own oversight infuriates her, but she suspects Cullen is even more upset than she.
Evelyn lingers, tries to glean what she can from the surgeon, but eventually the conversation lulls and she has no choice but to seek out Cullen. A quick glance upwards tells her that his quarters are empty, but there is a light in hers-their signal.
A good sign, then?
She hopes so. The longer he has been without lyrium, the more fragile Cullen seems to become. He has good days, of course, but the bad ones… She wonders which Cullen it is she will find waiting for her.
***
He stands silhouetted against the dying sunlight, eyes fixed on the horizon as he leans on the balcony railing. Evelyn approaches slowly, glad that the heels of her dress boots click sharply on the floor. The hunch of his shoulders does not speak well of his mood and the last thing she wants is to surprise him. Leaning next to him, she is silent.
Nerves prickling, she controls her breathing, in and out, to calm herself. One of them will have to be and Cullen’s shallow breath suggests it will not be him.
“You’ve heard, then?” He doesn’t look at her, his words soft, nearly lost in the gentle summer breeze.
She nods. “It’s alright, Cullen, he’s going to be fine.”
He smacks a fist onto the stone railing and Evelyn jumps. “That doesn’t make it alright!”
No, it doesn’t. She doesn’t say that, of course.
“Tell me what happened.”
Cullen shakes his head.
“The best part. I don’t even remember, really. I-he was patrolling outside my office. I stepped outside for some air-“he glances sidelong at her. She imagines there’s more to it than that, but she doesn’t pry. She’s seen him pace like a restless, trapped cat often enough to guess what state of mind he was in. “The next thing I remember, he was rolling down the stairs. I hit him. I know that much, I just don’t know why.”
“Did he say something to you? Do something?”
He looks up at her, helpless. Evelyn reaches a hand out to him, slowly, and covers his own with it. His hand trembles beneath hers and he clenches it tightly shut then flexes it again. Rough, broken skin on his knuckles scrapes against her palm.
“It isn’t your fault, Cullen. You didn’t choose-“
“Did you see him? What I did to him?”
The man’s face comes to the front of Evelyn’s mind, unbidden. “Yes.”
She can’t meet his eyes for fear that he will be able to read her uncertainty in them. Cassandra is the Seeker. She is the one responsible for deciding when-if, she corrects herself-Cullen is no longer capable of command, but Evelyn has begins to wonder of late whether Cassandra is holding her tongue when she should not be. She loves him, loves him so much that the weight of it makes it hard to breathe sometimes, but it does not keep her from doubting him when he is like this.
Cullen’s other hand catches her eye, closed tightly around something small. There is a glint of blue and she grabs his wrist. His fingers fall open exposing a small vial of lyrium.
Evelyn’s temper flares and she plucks the potion from him. “Is this what you want?”
They have not been through this much, suffered this much for him to throw it all away now.
He clenches his jaw and looks away. “Of course not.”
“Then why do you have it?”
“Because,” he sighs, “it wasn’t the lyrium that nearly killed one of my men, it was my weakness and the lack of lyrium. I’m tired of feeling like I’m going mad. I don’t sleep anymore, I can’t remember things. Sometimes I’m sitting in my office reading reports and all of a sudden my heart is beating so fast that I think I’m going to pass out. I don’t feel like myself anymore, Evelyn, and I hate it. Surely there’s a better way.”
A surge of guilt and sympathy and more rises in Evelyn’s chest and she closes her hands around Cullen’s and draws him close. The lyrium vial is cool between their palms. She can sense more than feel the vibrations, in sync with something in her and she wonders whether Cullen can feel them too. She hopes not. She cannot imagine having to deny that.
“It’s a hard decision, but it’s the right one. You know that or you wouldn’t have made it this far.”
Cullen sinks to his knees, buries his face in the full skirts of her gown, and she combs her fingers through his hair. Her eyes drift closed. She doesn’t want this to be so difficult. Why must it? Not until she met Cullen had she given a thought to the Chantry’s abuses of Templars, but she has come to think it is as cruel as their treatment of mages and she curses the whole mess.
“Is it worth it,” he murmurs into the heavy fabric.
“It has to be.”
Evelyn sits next to him, pulling him close.
“I hurt someone today,” he says, “someone who didn’t deserve it. I didn’t know what I was doing. What if-what if it’s you next time? I haven’t always been as comfortable around mages as I am now, you know. I don’t think I could forgive myself.”
“You have enough to worry about without feeling guilty for things you haven’t done yet.”
“I don’t want to do them at all.”
She wishes she could tell him that he won’t, that he needn’t worry, but she cannot bring herself to lie to him.
“Perhaps,” she begins delicately, “perhaps you should take some time off, to recover. You’ve been under so much stress lately. I can’t imagine that helps.”
He shakes his head. “What would my men think? What good is a commander who can’t command?”
“No one will think less of you.” These words come easily. His men look up to him. Those who have followed in his footsteps know the strength his choice has taken. It has earned him respect, above all. “Let Cassandra handle things until you feel up to it. She’s more than capable.”
“Is that an order, Lady Inquisitor?”
“I don’t want to make it one, Cullen.”
He smiles ruefully. “You drive a hard bargain, don’t you?”
“Not really,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder. “I just don’t want to be the reason you give up your resolve. If you decide you don’t want to walk this path anymore, it must be your decision, for your own sake, not for mine.”
Evelyn slips her fingers around his jaw and presses her lips to his forehead.
“Please, Cullen,” she whispers. “Please, just think about it. You must take care of yourself.”
He nods, kisses her quickly, and gets to his feet. Evelyn follows suit. Cullen rolls the little bottle of potion in his fingers, the light playing over the swirling liquid. She touches a hand to the small of his back. Even through the linen of his tunic, his skin is hot. The lyrium pulses and sings as it rolls.
Cullen tips his hand and the vial plummets off the side of the tower and shatters on the stones below.