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

So Cold

8 Bloomingtide, 9:42

Cullen leaned his head on his hand, going over the same dispatch he had just read three times, trying to make sense of it. It was no use.

He sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. It was freezing in his office, or so it felt. He'd had a fever on and off for several days, and kept forgetting to make time to go to the surgeon for the fever powders she made up for him. He wasn't entirely certain he should keep taking them, anyway—what if they were just as habit-forming as the lyrium?

What he wouldn't give for the warmth of Antonia in his arms—

With a groan, he threw the dispatch across the room. He'd been doing well this time, nearly ten minutes without thinking of her. That might have been a record.

After their argument, he had locked the door behind her as much to keep himself from going after her as to keep other people out. He had been so angry at her cavalier dismissal of any consideration for her own safety, and even angrier that the thought of her people's safety hadn't made more of a dent in her considerable stubbornness.

That had been a sleepless night—his first in some time—and in the morning the whole thing had looked stupid and petty ... or at least deserving of further discussion. But by the time he found her at breakfast, talking and laughing with Josephine as though nothing had happened, he was somehow angrier than he had been the day before, and things had continued like that until she left for the Hinterlands, both of them coldly polite but nothing more.

It had surprised Cullen how little he actually felt. Had you asked him a week ago how he would have handled losing her, he would have thought of misery, of decidedly unmanly tears, of desperation. But he mostly just felt numb, and cold. And maybe a little relieved—he had dreaded this so much, the inevitable day when she came to her senses, that there was something almost comforting in no longer having to dread.

In more clear-headed moments, he had considered apologizing. But what he had said to her was perfectly accurate, if possibly stated in a harsher tone than necessary, and if they couldn't have a reasonable discussion then perhaps the relationship wasn't benefiting either of them at the moment. In the meantime, every part of the keep—including his own desk—held memories he could hardly bear to think of. He'd kept Lucky in the kennel ever since, the dog's very name mocking his foolishness at counting on anything good in his life continuing.

"Commander!" Eustace burst into the office, his blue eyes practically bugging out of his head. "Commander, you'll want to come now. It's the Inquisitor—"

Cullen was half out of his seat before he remembered that the Inquisitor being back in Skyhold was no longer the joyous moment it had been. "I am certain if she requires anything, she will let me know."

"No, you don't understand," Eustace said breathlessly. "They're bringing her in on a litter. There was a dragon, they're saying, and—"

Not waiting to hear the rest, Cullen pushed past Eustace, hurrying out onto the battlement. He could see the litter now, see the small figure—so much smaller than it ever seemed she should be—lying on it.

They were coming through the gates as he hurried down the stairs to the lower courtyard. Vivienne, who had gone along on this trip, was down from her horse almost before it stopped, bending over the litter.

"I'm fine, Vivienne," came the impatient, familiar, still-so-beloved voice.

"You are not fine, my dear. You have broken at least two ribs, and I am not at all certain of two others, and you took a nasty blow on the head. You will be carried upstairs, and you will not move from your bed for at least two days." The surgeon was at the mage's shoulder now, her face tight with concern, and the two of them went off with the litter-bearers, Phoenix at their heels.

At least it sounded as though Antonia was going to be all right. Cullen could feel the blood rush back through his body as his heart started beating again. It was one thing not to be with her, but if she died ...

Cullen saw the giant shadow of the Qunari behind him, and turned. The Iron Bull's one good eye was steely and cold, no trace of his usual humor to be seen. He said, "I should kick your ass from here to Par Vollen. And I would, if it wasn't clear you're both equally stupid."

"Did anyone ask you?" Cullen snapped.

"No. Which has never stopped me before." The Iron Bull sighed. "She told Uncle Bull all about it, and I told her she was a stubborn idiot and you're just as bad. For what it's worth, you're probably right, she's too reckless ... but we're the ones who take the brunt of that. You think we're going to let something happen to her?"

Cullen gestured in the direction of the main hall, where the litter-bearers had disappeared on their way up to Antonia's quarters. "Didn't you just?"

"Well ... yeah, okay. But if I hadn't stepped between the dragon's claws and her, we'd be having a whole different talk right now." He gestured to a fresh, healing red wound across his chest.

"In that case ... thank you. On behalf of the Inquisition."

"Yeah. I'm sure that's exactly how you meant it." The Iron Bull shook his head, muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and walked off, his sword over his shoulder.

Cole had been the fourth member of this trip, and he looked up at Cullen from under his giant floppy hat, looking puzzled. "Dark," he said.

The spirit definitely knew what he was talking about. Cullen could feel the shadows closing in around him, the ones he'd been trying to ignore for days. Without particularly thinking about it, he crossed the courtyard to the keep and eventually found himself at her door. Would it hurt just to go up and make sure she was well? Surely that was what the Commander would do.

He went up, taking the stairs slowly, one at a time, feeling almost dizzy between the fever and his concern for her. The surgeon was making up what he assumed to be a sleeping draught, and Vivienne was closing the balcony doors and the drapes to keep the light out.

"Commander." Antonia's brown eyes were fixed on him, and he couldn't help but think of all the other times he had stood in this room with her. All he wanted in the world was to go to her right now, hold her hands and rest his head on her shoulder. But he couldn't. He knew that, if he couldn't quite remember why at the moment. It was so cold in the room, even with the doors closed.

"Inquisitor." He pulled himself together enough to be polite. "Are your injuries serious?"

"She will be fine, Commander, if she can get some peace and quiet." Vivienne stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, her meaning clear. And if he hadn't gotten her message, Phoenix's faint growl next to her said the same thing.

"Of course. Inquisitor." He nodded toward Antonia as the surgeon was feeding her the sleeping draught.

"Commander, do you need some more of those fever powders?" the surgeon asked.

"No, I have sufficient." He went back down the stairs, feeling suddenly weary and so cold. He so rarely felt cold, it was a bit of a novelty. There were shadows around him,the whispers beginning. He was shivering too hard to block them out, but he couldn't understand them, either.

By the time he reached his office, he felt as though he were walking through a blizzard made of shadowy hands and faces and the voices of demons, and he didn't even notice when he lost consciousness.