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mneiai · 7 months

Text

Dragon Age Fic: As a wildfire consumes plains

Ships: Raleigh Samson/Cullen Rutherford, Dagna & Cullen Rutherford

Summary: Skyhold has many vulnerabilities, especially when the Inquisition is facing an enemy with such corrupting power. People have even more vulnerabilities, especially when Cullen is facing an enemy who knew even the parts of him he always hid away.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Dark, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Lyrium Withdrawal, Non-Canonical Red Lyrium Shenanigans, Canon-Typical Bigotry, Unreliable Narrator, Mind Manipulation/Implied Mind Control, Past Torture, Not Beta Read

AO3 Link

XxX

It started with a hum.

"Do you hear something?" he asked one morning at a meeting of the advisers, glancing around as he tried to decipher the sound that he had noticed during a lull in conversation.

The others glanced at each other before Leliana gently (only increasing Cullen's mortification with her tone, as though she were speaking to a child) told him there were no noises that weren't always there. He'd ducked his head, picking up the delicate cup of tea that Josephine had prepared for him, taking another sip in lieu of speaking.

That his withdrawal was at the point of audial hallucinations was not the worst it could be, certainly not compared to the massive headache he'd had that morning--in fact, that had started to diminish and he would gladly accept such a trade. As long as he could keep from drawing anymore attention to it, of course. He'd rather pain than anyone thinking he was of unsound mind.

Nothing else in particular stuck out at him in those first few days: his dreams remained the same horrible nightmares of Kinloch Hold that they often were, he still woke up sore and exhausted, they still received updates of the Inquisitor's various exploits while he was stomping around Fereldan (Cullen received separate updates from Varric, seemingly social letters except for the embedded code they had used during the treacherous time they were rebuilding Kirkwall, just in case).

The sound seemed to increase at a steady pace. Going from humming to susurrations mixed in to more, until he could just almost make out words and found himself humming along when alone and distracted. He started to worry when he realized that was the only symptom of withdrawal he still seemed to feel, then truly panicked as he saw a few others, mostly Templars, reacting as though to a noise that was not there.

He brought some of them into his office in the evening, doing his best to seem confident. "Have any of you heard any unusual sounds? The origin of which you cannot place?" All of them stiffened and it was the only answer he needed. "I fear there may be an unauthorized supply of red lyrium somewhere in Skyhold. I believe that Templars are best suited to track it."

They were all too well-trained to panic, even the ones who had only experienced the most lenient and safe of Circles or had been new to the Order altogether at the time of the Conclave had still been among the Inquisition long enough to have adapted to imminent danger. Together, they worked out teams to go through the already established search grid for Skyhold, and he thought all of them must feel better now that they had a plan.

Once they left, he locked his doors, climbed up his ladder, took off his armor, slid into bed, and proceeded to have a very small panic attack, just to get it out of the way.

When he was done, breath steadying and trembling of his limbs and digits slowing, he finally allowed himself to think of the personal ramifications. He had not mentioned to them, who were still on regular doses of blue lyrium, that he was certain he'd been unknowingly consuming the red, they did not need to know and it would be too suspicious to explain how he knew.

"Because my withdrawal symptoms disappeared, the ones I have as a result of not consuming lyrium in over a year," would only raise more questions than necessary.

Even small amounts consumed might cause a setback (and how much more powerful must the red be, to alleviate so much of his troubles from the blue with dosages too small to notice?), but that wasn't a guarantee he was suddenly going to turn into a monster or lose what was left of his mind.

He would just have to be more careful. And vigilant. And pray that the Templars found the source of the contamination soon.

That night, his dreams were different. The sky was vast and dark overhead, for one thing, the most immediate sign he was not in Kinloch, but beyond that was the sound of waves crashing against the docks almost (drowning out the music he always heard now), the remembered smell of sea air, and an arm wrapped casually around his shoulders.

Cullen blinked down at it, then turned his head to catch Raleigh Samson's profile. He looked as he had during those first few years in Kirkwall, when they were roommates, before Meredith began to clean house of any popular dissidents even among the Templars.

"Feeling better, now?" Raleigh asked, catching his glance.

Something was not quite right, Cullen thought, though he couldn't place the origin of that uneasiness. Perhaps it was just from the music of the red lyrium, which had no place in Kirkwall until much later.

There was no singular moment in his past this might have been, for Samson had dragged him up to the roof at least once a week at some points after his nightmares had grown too dire. Being reminded of where he was and then curling up on Samson's bunk to sleep afterward had often been enough to chase away the demons for a few nights.

"Yes," he replied, and it wasn't even wrong in the waking world, as horrible as that was.

Samson gave his typical lazy grin, leaning their heads together. "Good, you needed it, you were starting to look worse than me."

"That's a blatant exaggeration."

His laugh, too, was just as Cullen remembered it, before Samson's tone settled into something far more serious, "Wish I could have done something sooner, Cull. It's bad enough they stole you to begin with, but then they starved you, too."

Cullen was confused for a moment, repeating the words in his mind as he tried to work out what he was referencing, before a cold realization crept into his thoughts. "No one has stolen me, Leigh, not recently at least."

The hand on his shoulder reached up to play with his hair, loose curls weighed down by a day in the humidity of the Gallows. "Those Chantry cunts did, we both know that. You would have never left Kirkwall, quit being a Templar, without them manipulating you, somehow."

What an odd dream, odd enough he almost wondered if this was some demon's new tactic to make him vulnerable.

"They spoke of reforming the Chantry, the Circles, the Order. It was what I wanted by that point. The only thing that seemed reasonable. Kirkwall had recovered enough I could leave it and..." he stared out at the sea before them, "the Order had only brought me suffering."

The grip on him tightened. "You don't believe that, not really. We're your brothers and sisters, it was the Chantry that failed you. They've got you all messed up in the head, probably took you off lyrium just so you'd be vulnerable, suggestible." Cullen gave a long-suffering sigh as Samson's voice took on that tone he always had while ranting. "The red will free you."

Perhaps it was a fear demon, he reasoned. "It would make sense, that you were somehow behind my poisoning."

"How can you call it that, when you can hear its song? When you must feel healthy for the first time in months?" Samson manhandled him around so that they were facing each other, both of his hands on Cullen's shoulders.

It was odd that his dream didn't know the actual length of time he had been off lyrium. He almost wondered--but no, it was ridiculous to assume, he dismissed the thought again.

"I don't even know why I'm arguing. I would like to simply enjoy a relaxing dream for once."

Samson shook his head, but pulled him closer, into a hug that was somehow familiar and not. "If that's what you want. Just relax, listen to the song. We'll talk again soon."

When Cullen awoke, well-rested, bright-eyed, not a trace of pain within him, the dream was fuzzy around the edges. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the odd feeling it had left in him and the song of the red lyrium, loud enough now that he could make out its words even though he was doing his best to ignore them.

How could he be without pain, if there was red lyrium in his system?

It was a question he asked himself again when he reached the War Room, the Inquisitor having arrived late the night before, and saw both Josephine and Leliana looking worse for wear. A lack of pain seemed to go against everything they knew of it, as he hadn’t progressed enough yet to stop feeling pain in general.

"There is red lyrium in Skyhold," he stated once they were all settled, grimacing at the expected reactions. "I have people searching for it, but I know that...some of us have consumed small amounts."

The Inquisitor's gaze went from Cullen to Leliana to Josephine, surely cataloging any difference. Cullen, too, took the time to study his fellows: both looked paler, weary, and the whites of their eyes had a pinkish tinge that could be from any number of reasons but set him on edge to see.

"Once the location is found, we can investigate how it got in here...and who is using it on others." Leliana began to pace in the open space on one side of the table, her hands clenching and unclenching, her eyes narrowed. “My agents will look into the latter.”

Josephine's grip on her quill had tightened and she leaned heavily against the table, scratching some notes down as she spoke. "I will see about...delaying those visitors who are scheduled to arrive within the next few weeks. Is there a way to be sure if someone has not been exposed? If so, perhaps we could also find reasons to send some of our current visitors home early?"

Just like the night before, the concentration necessary for the planning session took Cullen's mind off of his personal fears. It lasted until midday, the four of them dipping out of the room on occassion to send runners with notes or receive new information. Eventually, they had to return to their regular duties.

Cullen took all of his meals in private so he could study the food without potentially setting off a panic among others, concentrating through the music in his head in an effort to sense any lyrium within it. Breakfast had been clean, but lunch, while inconclusive, had set him on edge, and instead he'd skipped the meal and for dinner eaten some of the hard tack he kept in his office for emergencies. He did not feel hungry, but had grown used to keeping himself on a schedule during his withdrawal, where he had little appetite but needed food to keep up his strength.

The teams of Templars had yet to find anything conclusive, but the Inquisitor had enlisted Dagna and Cullen hoped that perhaps the next day would bring greater peace of mind.

That night his dreams were not set in Kinloch or the Gallows, but instead in what seemed to be a well-appointed, Orlesian-style room. He was lying on a soft bed, Samson against his side, holding him as he used to when they were roommates. The song was louder, filling the empty spaces of the room.

He'd once joked he wasn't much of a cuddler, but just wanted a full night's sleep. Cullen had been too embarrassed by his nightmares to realize it was a joke until Samson had taken pity on him and explained.

"Where are we?"

Samson huffed. "Nowhere important, don't worry about it. Just thought I'd treat you, considering I've been upsetting you."

It had to be a demon. Samson was no somniari and Cullen, while willing to believe someone could be slipping him lyrium, thought he'd notice a spell intensive enough to connect two minds. His senses still worked where magic was involved and had been honed to perfection in Kirkwall.

"You could simply stop...drugging me." He chose the more diplomatic phrasing as he played along, knowing "Samson" might react poorly to red lyrium being referred to as poison again.

"I'm helping you, no matter what you think of it. You're cleared out of the blue, which means the red can slide into all those places it hollowed out. No need to reform anything in you. No need to do more harm."

On the off chance that the demon did know something of red lyrium, Cullen asked, "From what we know, it doesn't matter how it is introduced, eventually it will overwhelm whoever has consumed it, twist them and harm them, taking over more and more of their body."

"For some," "Samson" allowed. "I've been given control over my Red Templars, control over the red itself. Worked it out: how best to introduce it, how careful to be. We made mistakes at first, but we've been getting better and better at it."

Cullen mind reeled to think of how many victims of red lyrium there must have been, sure that many had not consented to it anymore than he had. He would need to confer with Dagna when he awoke, have her check what it was doing to him so far, perhaps compared to a Templar who was still on blue lyrium and someone who had never taken lyrium at all. They would have to start screening people for it, regardless, to see if some groups had been more exposed than others.

"Are you nearby, then? Since you are controlling it?"

"Samson" chuckled, his breath against the back of Cullen's neck making him shiver. "I don't need to be nearby, it's all connected. I can feel you, if I want, feel it in you. Still such a small amount, not nearly enough to fill you up good."

Pushing his fear down--he would not feed the demon, if Fear was its true form--Cullen studied the room. He supposed the demon could have seen Samson's own dreams and taken the room from them, researching how best to scare Cullen using Samson's knowledge. Fear was always more intense when there was truth in it, after all. So if he could find a hint of the location, at least he'd have an operable target.

"And you mean to continue slipping me the red until I am...full of it?"

"Don't need to go that far. You'll reach a point it will grow on its own. That's when you’ll need to be careful, keep control, use it instead of letting it use you, like the blue did, like the blighted Chantry did. And I'll need to watch it, make sure it doesn't try to eat you up."

Perhaps that meant he was safe, still, that it would be filtered out of his system as blue lyrium was, eventually, as long as he had no more. "And if you're not around for that? What safeguard is there for me?"

"I won't let that happen. I know how you value yourself, Cull. I know what those fucking blood mages did to you makes you hate any change. You'll be able to just use it, push out all its energy so it doesn't have any to spare on taking you over."

He thought of the reports on the Red Templars and some of the abilities they displayed and could not help the shudder that ran through him. It made Samson sigh and cuddle closer, his body too hot for a normal human.

“What if I don’t want it?”

“You don’t know what you want.”

There was no use arguing with anyone, let alone a demon pretending to be Samson, on that front.

In the morning, he took the long way to the Undercroft so he could observe the early training for the troops. If he had not suspected what was happening, it would seem as though they had just been having a very good day, but he knew from long study of most of them that they were moving quicker, hitting harder, reacting faster, and shaking off blows with too little recovery time. Already the red lyrium was changing them, too.

There was a good chance most, if not all, of the Inquisition forces were poisoned.

When he reached Dagna, who had various instruments and samples across her workspace he tried his best not to observe, he told her of his desire for tests. Her eyes lit up at the possibility, making him second guess the offer, but she'd already called on an assistant to find other possible subjects and it was too late to hold her back.

"This is fascinating!" she breathed after doing who knew what to all of them for a good few hours, Cullen having to perform half of his duties through runners who stood anxiously on the staircase when he was distracted.

"What is?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the headache that was forming almost certainly a natural one from the tension.

She didn't look at him as she spoke, the two of them alone again in her section of the Undercroft, the other subjects sent away for now. "You were right to suspect a difference--it seems like those with blue lyrium in their system are having an easier time than the people who never had lyrium: their bodies knows what to do with lyrium even if the blue is making it too much. Like it's...overflowing. Better than what the red lyrium is doing to the non-Templars, though, it's forcing space to exist where there isn't any. No wonder their symptoms are the worst...."

"And for myself?"

This time she did look at him, eyes narrowed as she sized him up like a choice piece of meat. "You are the most fascinating. Your body knows exactly what to do with lyrium, but there wasn't any in you, so the red lyrium just...eased on in. No forcing anything. Your long term withdrawal makes you a perfect vessel! I should have thought of it,” she continued, mostly to herself, “but who would have? Not many people are around who have been off it as long as you have."

He was unsure if he truly was hiding the sickened, strickened way he felt or if Dagna was oblivious to his distress.

He spent the rest of his day in his office, making anyone else who wanted to talk to him trek out to the battlements (few did who weren’t utterly professional). Every thought he had was analyzed for influence--he had a short temper and a tendency to hate that which he feared, there was no denying that, and he worried over what might happen if the red lyrium heightened his emotions when he was so frightened.

The only bright spot was the appearance of one of the groups searching for the lyrium.

"We found it, Commander,” Knight-Corporeal Lysette informed him, and while the group was under the command of Knight-Lieutenant Denis, he could understand making Lysette their spokesperson.

Cullen's shoulders slumped in relief as he looked over the team. "Thank the Maker, at least this is a start. Where?"

Lysette pursed her lips. "In the soil of the garden outside of the Chantry. Where Skyhold procures much of its herbs for potions and cooking. It entered into the plants that grew in it, which in turn were used for those such the things as we consume...."

Cullen bit back a curse, turning to look out one of the arrow slits behind his deck. "How many beds was it in?"

He could hear their armor moving as they shifted on their feet. "All of them, Commander."

"That is...unfortunate. Make sure to contain the area, speak to the teams in charge of red lyrium clean up in the field about what to do. Find out everyone that uses those plants and inform them of contamination."

"Should we say what with?" Denis asked, his hesitance showing he knew what Cullen did, that Skyhold's security would suffer greatly if anyone else knew.

"...No, be vague where you can. So far, we believe if we are to stop consuming it, the effects will disappear."

There was a beat of silence where he braced himself for questions, then, "...Yes, Commander," the team murmured in unison and filed out, as uneasy as he felt.

Skyhold switched to only imported (and tested) herbs, locked away or destroyed the contaminated supplies, and had to completely dig out the garden, taking a good amount of contaminated soil away and replacing it completely.

The amount of red lyium in Cullen and Dagna's other subjects continued to increase.

"It's in the feed for the livestock," Knight-Corporal Anika informed him three days later, after their team had reached that portion of the grid.

He gave a soft groan. "Let me guess: the livestock become contaminated by eating the feed and then we are contaminated by consuming the livestock?"

"Yes, Commander."

They had far more funding than they did in those early days after the disastrous Conclave, but Cullen's mind reeled at the idea of supporting the entire keep through imported foods. The cost, the travel times, the opportunities for attack (or further contamination)--supply lines were always a weak point of any army, after all.

“I will be informing the other teams, as well, but after you take care of this situation, your orders going forward are to focus on all consumables in Skyhold. I want every source of water tested, every container of tea, every barrel of apples. I want the drinks in the Herald’s Rest tested, the wine in the cellar. You don’t have to open every single one,” he hurried to say, at their uneasy looks, because he knew what sort of fits that would cause, “random samplings should be enough.”

He sent more of his forces out into the field, where they would be easier to supply, and knew that Leliana had done much the same. Skyhold had little better than a skeleton crew and Cullen felt as though he should be constantly looking over his shoulder for the threat that must surely be waiting for this opportunity.

The amount of red lyrium in his body slowed, but still was increasing.

There was red lyrium in the water, just as he feared. They began melting snow and ice for any consumable water, a few of the mages on friendlier terms with Cullen on a rotation to come by and fill a cistern for him every morning and evening, which he continued to check for poisoning.

One of deliveries of supplies was contaminated, setting Skyhold to tighter rationing. Unrest increased. The Inquisitor finally declared they would inform everyone of what was going on, convinced it would help them buy more time to deal with it if people realized just how serious the situation was.

People were already showing signs, after all, were quarantined from view as they became unmistakably victims of red lyrium. Those who had never taken it before (just as Dagna had said they’d be at highest risk), who had eaten more, or drank more, or consumed more potions. Even a few of the mages, who had higher lyrium resistance, had to be kept sedated as healers raced to find treatments for the way it frayed their minds.

Cullen’s last few dreams with the demon had been uneventful, the stress of each day and his predicament leading to him embracing the quiet peace of the dreams.

That had to change.

"No more games, demon, what do you know about what is going on at Skyhold?" Cullen demanded, tearing himself away from "Samson's" hold.

The creature stared at him, seeming shocked, then laughed. It was a whole body laugh, "Samson" bending over and clutching at himself until he seemed to finally be able to break through the fit of humor.

"Is that why you've been so weird? You think I'm a demon?" He stood up straight, shaking his head, eyes still sparkling with humor as he met Cullen's wary gaze. "Cull, the red is connected. And I hold the keys to that connection."

"You...no."

Samson--because it may very well be Samson, because demons weren't truly all that clever and rarely lasted so long at any game--approached as though Cullen was a frightened apprentice, slow and steady, no sudden movements. "It's me. It's been me this whole time, since you had enough red for me to find you in the network." He made a sympathetic noise. "I should have expected it, I know how your dreams are, but I thought the red would let you feel the truth."

Cullen did not acknowledge how often he'd wondered, how real it had felt from the very start. "Why are you doing this? What are you trying to do?"

"I already said: free you. I'm bringing you back where you belong, back to your brothers and sisters. Back to me." There was nowhere to go when Samson finally reached him, having backed him into the wall, but all Samson did was cup Cullen's face in his hands, stroking his cheeks with his rough thumbs.

"But I'm not the only one. And you didn't go through all of this trouble just for me." He received a nod in acknowledgement. "You're compromising our forces, those who don't get ill...they fall under the song's sway, don't they?"

Not yet, but he knew it wouldn't be much longer. Already some of them were acfting more violent, after all, and less trusting. He’d overheard Leliana disciplining a few of her agents and there had been a marked increase in the duties given out for punishment among his own.

Samson–actual Samson, he did believe it, it rang true through the song–smirked. “Come on, Cull, do you think we’ve left any of them be, just because they’re not hiding away in your fortress anymore?”

Cullen forced himself to wake up, the shock and horror enough to power the aattempt. He tried shaking off the memories of Samson’s touch, ignoring the song twisting through his thoughts. The song seemed even louder, now.

Down on his desk, a vial of red lyrium had been left for him and he fell the last few rungs of his ladder as he noticed it.

For long moments he stared at it, breathing heavily, licking his lips as he imagined what it must taste like when not hiding behind other flavors, wondering how different it would feel thrumming through his body compared to a dose of the blue.

It took him far too long to stride to his desk, throw a piece of scrap parchment over the vial, wrap it up, and stalk out his door. He delivered it to a concerned Dagna before heading to the War Room, keeping his hands tucked tightly against him to hide their shaking.

The Inquisitor was in the field, closing more rifts and trying to stifle Corytheus’ reach. Josephine and Leliana remained, of course, and Cullen was upset to see they both looked just as unwell as they had been before all the sources of red lyrium poisoning were found. A large portion of his day to day work was currently spent around Templars and he had hoped that those without experience with lyrium were recovering as the Templars seemed to be.

He would not allow himself to wonder if the recovery of his Templars was as false as his own.

“I worry for our forces in the field,” he said after they went through the planned portion of their agenda, “I do not think we should assume the attempts to poison us are limited to Skyhold.” He could not bring himself to speak of the dreams, knowing that anyone who could not feel them as he did would think he was the victim of an overactive imagination, but he could still bring up what he learned from them.

Leliana looked disconcerted. “I will have my people look into it.”

He knew she felt the same as he did–they had been too distracted, should have already considered that possibility even as they were sending people away. If not for Samson, Cullen would have continued blissfully unaware. The red wanted them to ignore it, so they had. For all they knew, they had even missed catching the culprits because the red was too ingrained in their thoughts.

Despite some trepidation, he decided to try to be calmer in the dream that night, to attempt to lure more information out of Samson.

“There is no possibility that our sleep schedules match up so well,” Cullen said first thing upon realizing he was back in a dream with Samson, deciding it was an innocuous question.

Arms wrapped around him, pulling him back tighter against a hard muscled body, and with a blush Cullen realized they were both naked in bed. Back in their small room in the Gallows, tucked onto Samson’s narrow bunk, their own forms looking as they had back then.

Samson ran his lips over Cullen’s ear, teeth pulling at the lobe, before murmuring his answer, “I don’t need much sleep. And I don’t need sleep to be here with you.”

“And how does that work?”

He kept himself pliant, but as unresponsive as possible, even as his dream form reacted automatically with flushed skin and a steady rise in noticeable interest as Samson’s hands roamed. He’d had plenty of experience doing the same with Desire demons over the years.

“I’m more, with the red. Normally everyone focuses on the physical stuff--can’t say I blame them--but that’s not all any lyrium, especially not the red, is. I’m here, and I’m out there, and I’m functional in both places, holding two different conversations.”

Cullen had a hard time imagining such a thing, but didn’t bother probing deeper. “I found a vial of red lyrium awaiting me in the morning.”

Teeth bit hard enough to mark on the side of his neck as Samson let out a muffled displeased noise. “For as much good as it did you. You can’t keep wavering in between, Cull.”

“We’re working on potential methods to cleanse bodies of small amounts of red lyrium,” he took a calculated risk as he spoke, already feeling Samson tensing, “I won’t be ‘in between’ for much longer.”

Nails dug into his skin, feeling more like talons, and Samson lurched over him, pushing him down into the thin mattress below. His eyes, his very skin, glowed with unnatural red light, the Fade seeming to warp around them in the presence of such active power.

“You belong with us,” Samson hissed and his words echoed in the song, it agreed, it wanted Cullen to give in, “you belong with me. There’s no one that needs to be between us anymore.”

“Except your master,” Cullen spat out the word, “who is trying to destroy the world. That is quite an important figure keeping us apart, Leigh.”

He hadn’t meant to use the diminutive name, hadn’t meant to diffuse some of his anger with that show of intimacy. It had Samson calming, not entirely, but too much for him to make mistakes with his words and give away more than he might mean to.

Cullen turned his head away from a kiss, but Samson just kissed across his cheek and back to his neck, sucking at the bruise on his pale flesh.

“Always know how to rile a guy up. I bet it’s still hilarious, when it’s not me.” He pulled back, sat up to straddle Cullen, keeping him under him in the dream and doing something unfathomable that felt like it would keep Cullen from waking himself up again despite Cullen having no reason to discern that. “You don’t know what’s really happening, you have bits and pieces, half truths and blatant lies. There’s more going on than you know. Fuck, I know way more about it than you do and still know I’m missing information.”

Taking a deep breath, Cullen shifted to meet Samson’s heavy gaze. “What does that have to do with my taking red lyrium?”

Samson sighed, his hands starting to roam again. “It’s protection. Right now, because the Red Templars are mine. Later, because the red will keep us safe. I’m not doing all this to be a monster, Cull, I’m doing everything I can to make sure we survive. If Corypheus triumphs or,” he made a face, as though the very thought hurt him, “if he doesn’t and whatever else is out there picks up where he left off.”

“...You believe there’s some other force at work?”

While it seemed unlikely, that too felt like a truth that Cullen was just discovering. There were some inconsistencies he and the others had picked up on, little pieces that had never gone anywhere. They’d dismissed them because Corypheus was their enemy, was the threat.

If he were but a stepping stone to something worse…that was a dire thought.

“There are things I could tell you if I could trust you not to blab about them to anyone. There’s too many spies around, the red helps with that, too. Like these dreams–it keeps out anyone else who might be lurking around, trying to mess with your lovely, fucked up little head.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes, considering. “Would you stop trying to drug the others if I took it?”

As much as it pained him to admit even to himself, the idea of restarting his withdrawal from lyrium left him feeling almost as unstable as his initial withdrawal had. Sacrificing his body, and possibly mind and life, for the Inquisition while also continuing on lyrium filled him with a guilty sort of certainty. He would do it, part of him wouldn’t even mind it, wouldn’t even find it a sacrifice.

Samson made a show of considering the offer. “I’ll stop at Skyhold. Even you aren’t enough to trade one person for an army.” He kissed Cullen, who was too distracted with his mess of emotions to avoid it, and it was better than he’d remembered, intimate and fierce, alighting even more conflicting feelings. “Drink the vial, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Despite checking again that his doors were locked and the patrols were trustworthy before going to sleep, the next morning there was once more a vial of red lyrium on his desk. Cullen sat heavily in his chair, fingers crawling over the wood until they rested on the glass. He rolled it back and forth, watching the waves of red as the thick liquid inside moved.

The song felt like a caress as he unstoppered the vial and brought it to his lips, waves of it running through him as soon as the first sip passed his lips.

At some point, he must have finished the whole thing, but he would not recall what he had done past that initial sip. All he’d felt was the red, filling up all the awful, hollow parts of him and then stretching outward from his body, his mind alight as he felt others on the edge of his perception. A few shone brightest and he knew one of those was Samson, who must have felt Cullen join them. He could almost feel his pleasure at being obeyed.

Cullen forced his mind away, as he would from his intrusive memories, and found himself hunched on the floor, half-under his desk, hands scraping at the wood as though he needed support to keep from falling upward into the ceiling.

Not the worst reaction he’d ever had to a vial of lyrium.

With deep, steady breaths, he calmed down, shifting into a more comfortable position as he studied his bare hands for visible signs of the red. Nothing, yet, but the worry had him standing and climbing back up the ladder with nary a thought, pulling out the mirror he used for shaving and styling his hair so he could meet his own eyes.

Were they pinker than before? Perhaps. It would be nothing suspicious, his withdrawal symptoms had caused that enough times that seeing him healthier-seeming the last few weeks had been the outlier for others.

His skin still looked the same, paler than it had been when he was on blue lyrium and spending time out in the Gallows courtyard, but also no different than recent shades.

As he was putting the mirror away, he noticed something else, and pulled down his collar to stare at the bruise on his neck—undeniably that which would be made by a human mouth. In the exact spot that Samson had been sucking on his neck in the dream.

If he’d had reason to doubt the legitimacy of the “meetings” they had or believe that the threads he felt in his mind were delusions, now he had physical proof.

It was low enough to be hidden under his daily attire and so he pushed it from his mind. Or, more precisely, tried to, as nearly every time he moved his head his collar rubbed at the tender spot and he thought his body would have noticeably reacted if he wasn’t generally sluggish to such things in the waking world.

Samson had promised that Skyhold would be safe now, but Cullen worried that their deal might have come too late. He could see the extra aggression in the training yard, still, had long reports of who had fallen ill and who had needed to be restrained after proving themselves a danger, and was not oblivious to the mood of the keep—it reminded him too much of Kirkwall, in those final months before Meredith’s fall: tinder waiting for a spark.

Reports came in from across Thedas, of varying degrees of seriousness and trustworthiness. The only ones he trusted were from Varric, Rylen, and a handful of others who communicated in extra layers. Leliana or Iron Bull might suspect, but Cullen didn’t think either knew, and if they didn’t it was even less likely the other spies (both for and against the Inquisition, and those playing both sides) had realized.

There were advantages to being seen as guileless, of being known for hating the Game and all renditions of it. Others forgot he had been Meredith’s second-in-command for years (something he was ashamed enough of to accept the blow to his reputation that being seen as a fool gave him).

Her paranoia had instilled practices within him that others rarely suspected. It was one reason, he acknowledged, that someone getting into his office as they have been should have been more worrying. Perhaps that he might have suspected from the beginning it was Samson behind everything had lessened his concern, because despite how much he despised the other for poisoning so many in the Order, leading to so many unnecessary deaths, Cullen knew if Samson killed him it wouldn’t be by an assassin in the night.

Yet, where he should have panicked at the sight of that first vial, called in soldiers and agents to investigate, perhaps change all of his locks and even add bars to the doors, he did not. And he hadn’t even noticed how compromised his mind was until he had compromised it completely, willingly.

Once more he acknowledged that it did not bode well for what the others might be experiencing. Leliana could be dismissing missing or doctored reports, her agents could be trusting unknown sources. In the field, their people might be welcoming their tainted food and drink without a thought.

How were they supposed to fight something so insidious?

He wished one of the inner circle mages were in Skyhold, that he could consult Solas, or Vivienne, or even Dorian. The mages left were mostly sedate scholars and agoraphobes, their experiences were being locked away in Circles and rarely leaving.

Cullen at eighteen had had more world experience than most of them and far more experience with internal threats than they could ever hope to have.

It was Dagna he found his way to, eventually, sinking down on a stool in her work area as she puttered about. There was red lyrium all around them--crystals, liquid, dust--and he could hear it singing to him in chorus.

Had the blue ever been so lovely?

“What did you do?” were the first words out of her mouth, when she finally noticed him, her eyes wide and searching.

He swallowed, mouth feeling too dry (was he already craving another dose?). “I made a deal with our poisoner,” he stated, keeping his voice as low as it could be for her to still hear.

“What sort of deal?” She did not ask how or why he’d contacted them, or even who they were, and he wished that practicality was more practiced even if it would lead to certain other problems.

“To give myself to the red in exchange for a cessation to the poisoning of Skyhold.”

Dagna set down her tools, picked up what he knew was equipment meant to measure corruption, and began the now-familiar task of studying him. “How much?”

“The same amount as was in the vial I brought you before; there was another awaiting me. I drank it approximately two hours ago.”

Silence fell between them, for a time, only the red and the sound of Harritt at work on the other side of the room to fill Cullen’s ears. He had seen enough of the study now to know what the results were from simply watching over Dagna’s shoulder and he shuddered to see them, a mix of horror and pleasure that had once been too familiar of a sensation.

“It’s still fixable,” she announced, “...as long as you aren’t exposed to much more. Another vial or two and...well.

Cullen grimaced. While he could technically play off his deal with Samson as complete, since he was told to take the vial today, that would be against the spirit of it and would no doubt lead to retaliation.

He also wasn’t entirely sure he could resist another vial, the red was far more powerful and compelling than the blue had been, its song now that he had consumed enough more a serenade than a warning.

If Dagna knew what he was thinking, she thankfully pretended otherwise, going through a few other tests before he left to speak with the other advisers. He told them of the deal, though not of the dreams, letting them believe he’d had some way to contact Samson and that he had only just reached him.

The lie felt heavy on his tongue and heavier on his soul, but any time he thought of mentioning the truth he was bombarded with imaginings of being locked away in the tower the mages had claimed, being a subject to experimentation at the whims of people who could rightfully despise him.

There was also some truth to the lie, as he did have a way to contact the Red Templars, if he were desperate enough. Not a spy in their ranks, the red lyrium had been too volatile a substance to risk even without knowing of the connection it would forge, but old Templar networks that Samson could have chosen to respond to or ignore, but would have at least seen.

"Your sacrifice shall not be in vain.” Josephine fretted around him, as though he was one of her delicate porcelain tea cups and not, in fact, healthier than he had been before the red lyrium had been in his system.

He managed a smile, rubbing at his neck and feeling the pull of his bruise. “I know. I have the utmost faith in all of you. Whatever the personal outcome is for me, the Inquisiton will persevere.”

Leliana watched him with an unreadable expression, perhaps she saw through his lie, though he doubted she would ever be able to piece together the truth. “Will you need closer monitoring of your condition?”

“No, I do not believe so. According to Dagna, I have yet to reach a point of no return. My withdrawal left me in,” he scowled, “a more or less perfect position for taking red lyrium. It may also explain why Samson seems less affected than the other Red Templars, as he may have been very low on lyrium in his own system when he started the red.”

“Not as helpful as we hoped, if that is the case and there is nothing else he has done.” Leliana sighed, playing with one of the markers on the map. “It does mean fewer Red Templars of his caliber, however, and for that I will be thankful.”

And like that, conversation turned once more to assigning tasks to their people, letters from the Inquisitor, and how to allocate their still-strained funds if they really could start providing their own food stuffs again. The monotony did nothing to lower the song in Cullen’s head, but he was growing used to it as background noise.

That night he “awoke” in the dream in bed with Samson once more and responded in kind when the first thing Samson did was kiss him. The song swelled around them, pleasant, pleased, and Cullen found himself ravenous for Samson’s touch, for his approval.

However long it took before he was able to regain control, Cullen didn’t want to know. He pulled back and Samson tried to follow, only stopping when Cullen put a firm hand against his chest.

“Why stop? I know you want it, I can feel it.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, shifting into a more comfortable position, or as much as he could since at some point he had spread his legs and allowed Samson to settle in between them. "And exactly what state will you leave me in? I had a bruise on my neck after last night.”

The surprised reaction to his words seemed real, but Samson had always been a better liar than Cullen. “The red must’ve done it.” He grinned and it was more savage and possessive than any expression Cullen had seen on his face back in Kirkwall. “Letting you know who you belong to, in case you got any bright ideas of letting someone else at you.”

“We were never exclusive,” he pointed out, wondering if it was time, trauma, or the red lyrium that made Samson like this.

“Not when the only other people you’d have touching you were our brothers and sisters. Now who knows what hands you let on you and they’d all be part of that damned Inquisition.”

That was a careful verbal play, to make it so even the Templars among the Inquisition would be “off limits” to Cullen. Not that he would do anything with a subordinate, not that this need inside him had even manifested in the waking world to want to do anything. He’d always needed to be close to someone to feel attracted to them and there were few enough within the Inquisition he let himself get so close to.

Samson was already moving on, having settled into a position hovering over Cullen as though he meant to spend the rest of the dream right there. “I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so well.” The praise sent a wave of pleasure through Cullen which Samson would suspect, given their history. “Bet they didn’t even protest, did they? Those other ‘advisers’ you work with—took you off lyrium, then don’t care what it will do to you to get on the red as long as the sacrifice is for them,” his voice grew softer, but also angrier, as he went on, until there was an undeniable rage on display.

“They didn’t--” Cullen caught himself, taking a deep breath, knowing no matter what he said Samson would make up some reason not to believe him.

If Samson thought he could turn Cullen against the Inquisition so easily, he clearly hadn’t paid attention to how long it had taken Cullen to turn against Meredith (who was actually in the wrong, he thought with no small amount of self-loathing). He had always had difficulty betraying loyalties once he had given them and it was not as though he had given the others any choice in this matter. He’d made the deal, he’d taken the lyrium, he’d told them after the fact.

“Leigh,” he sighed, trying to defuse the mood, “I’d rather talk about what to expect from the red.”

Red lyrium being one of Samson’s favorite topics, now, it was easy to get him focused on that and soon Cullen was learning far more than he wanted to about the side effects of it. Some of them they’d known about (it was fairly hard to miss crystals growing out of Red Templars and the Inquisitor’s report on that disasturous future had revealed an even fuller extent of its growth), some of them they had yet to learn.

He’d awoken and immediately rolled to the side of his bed, gagging into his chamber pot. He spent extra time getting ready to stare at the slight redness creeping into his iris, making them a little more orange than before, and looking over every inch of his skin for any marks the red might be causing.

Eventually, the siren call of the vial left on his desk (he wondered why he even bothered locking his doors, considering it was the locked drawers of his desk and the trapdoor up to his bedroom that actually mattered) dragged him to it. This time he was more aware as he drank, the thick syrup so like and unlike blue lyrium’s taste and texture. Sweet, warm where blue was cool, he could understand how someone like Samson could fall in love with it.

Cullen thought he preferred the blue, preferred the way it dulled his emotions and cooled his thoughts. The red was starting to put him on edge, making the world seem too sharp, somehow, his senses too heightened. Through the song he could make out the soft conversations of the guards and runners outside his doors, could feel every shift of the air currents in his room. He’d had something like this during the worst of his withdrawal, but it hadn’t been real, it had just felt like everything was more.

On some instinctive level, he knew the next vial would be it, that he’d be too far gone.

The fear of that had disappeared. He understand the Red Templars better, now, because he felt even more powerful than on blue lyrium, even more indestructible, and how could he then fear that the red might destroy him?

It wasn’t even as much of a lie as the blue gave, even the least changed of the Red Templars they’d encountered were a match for any fighter. As skilled as Cullen was, as he’d kept himself, he thought he’d be truly formidable now.

He would need to be so very careful not to let anyone see that. Perhaps, though, it could be a secret weapon, in the event of an attack by anyone other than Samson’s forces.

Cullen wondered if he should truly believe his thoughts or if the red lyrium was attempting to make him more accepting. Even Samson had admitted it had a way of twisting someone’s mind. It made him desire to spread it, he’d acknowledged, when without its influence he may have balked at exposing anyone else.

At least Cullen was still happy that Skyhold was free of its hold, except for himself (and whoever may voluntarily decide to continue on the red, he would not be surprised if some of their own Templars thought the benefits outweighed the costs, as inured as they were to being addicts).

He floated through the day, efficient in ways he hadn’t been in a very long time, perhaps not since he’d been under Meredith on a higher than average dosage of the blue just so he could be around mages without turning into a screaming mess.

When Josephine met his eyes, she looked like she wanted to cry. When Leliana did, she looked like she was preparing all the ways she’d have him killed once he proved a liability. His forces, though, were every bit as loyal to him as they’d been, excited to have him assisting in their training or overseeing their spars. He could feel the red in some of them and thought they could feel it in him, wondered if they knew what they were feeling.

One of them was probably Samson’s plant. Perhaps far more than one.

Poisoning so much of Skyhold would have taken multiple people, he thought, unless it was a mage. But a mage helping the Red Templars was hard to imagine, even the Venatori didn’t seem to actually get along with them, despite that many of them had been more favorable to mages than Cullen or, certainly, the rogue Templars.

He turned away from his thoughts again and went to see Dagna, confirming what he already knew.

The next day would be an ending and a beginning, of sorts.

“I told the Inquisitor,” Dagna admitted, watching him carefully. “I know you probably wanted to keep this confidential, but...someone higher up needs to know.” She didn’t suggest the other advisers, perhaps well aware of how easily Leliana could slit his throat even as a friend.

Cullen took a deep breath (a mistake, he could smell the red lyrium dust all over her workspace and it made his soul hum along with it), nodding. “I understand. I trust the Inquisitor.”

After all, Cullen hadn’t been forced back on the blue, no matter how his work may have suffered. The Inquisitor valued him, valued his mind, at least insomuch as he was Commander of the Inquisition Forces.

“I will visit tomorrow for...confirmation. If I do not, please send for me.” He was unsure what his mental state would be, but direct requests had gotten through to him even at his worst.

“Will do. You just...take care of yourself, too.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before he turned away, wondering when their arcanist of questionable morals had become his most valued acquaintance.

At least she would still work with him, no matter how infected he might become.

Samson awaited him that night somewhere new, a garden that had once been beautiful but now was overgrown. They were on a stone bench, the cool material a pleasant contrast to Samson’s high body temperature burning against even Cullen’s overheated flesh.

“Hello, beautiful.” He ignored the cringe Cullen gave and bent to remake the fading bruise on his neck.

Cullen took a deep breath (he knew, of course, that all such things were an illusion, but with such lucid dreaming he could still find comfort in the routine). “Will you continue with these dreams, once I’m...after tonight?”

Pulling back enough to look at him, Samson studied his expression. “Course I will, Cull. This is one of the best parts of my day. Maybe I’ll cut back sometimes—things are picking up out there and dividing my attention doesn’t always work out—but I’ll still be around. I’ll always be with you, somehow, as long as the red is." And from the feral grin that Samson gave at his own words, Cullen knew he meant “forever.”

“I had wondered, you never seem terribly busy,” he demurred, digging for more information.

Samson shrugged. “Corypheus’ plans have lots of moving parts. I’m his general, I’m involved with many of them.”

“Yes, I imagine destroying the world is not an easy task.” He received a flick on his nose for his sarcasm, as though he were a mabari pup. “I won’t stop, I hope you realize that. I’ll continue on with the Inquisition. I’ll fight you if I have to.”

He was gifted another shrug, Samson’s smirk not faltering. “You’ve always been a stubborn thing, I wasn’t expecting less. It will make it sweeter, when you come to me.”

“If you mean to dangle the red over--”

“Cullen,” Samson interrupted, all levity gone, “you know I would never do that. I figure they’ve collected enough for samples anyway, but I won’t starve you.”

That was, Cullen supposed, most likely the truth. That also didn’t mean he wouldn’t use it as some sort of temptation or bait.

He did not get anymore concrete information out of Samson that night, but he was distracted. The next morning, he did not hesitate to take his dose, barely glancing at himself after in the mirror he now kept in a desk drawer. Everything felt right, like this was how he was always meant to be.

As the weeks went on, the dreams continued, as did the deliveries of red lyium to his person. Dagna continued to monitor him, taking part in his attempts of burning away excess red through Templar-like abilities. He knew he was not the only one taking it in Skyhold, but when he tried to tell Leliana, often something entirely different left his mouth or found its way onto parchment.

Cullen did not go out with their forces, unsure of how compromised he might be. The security issues at Skyhold and within their ranks offered excuse enough for their allies: that while others went out, Cullen was chosen to stay behind, as the person who had first discovered the issue and as a former Knight-Commander who was well-trained for stationary assignments.

The inactivity ate away at him, every report that came back making him second-guess what they were doing. When he heard of decisions made in the field he would have never allowed, tactics used he would have immediately discounted, and the losses they suffered because of them, he almost left the walls of Skyhold, red lyium be damned.

Yet, the dreams continued, Samson never leaving him be for a single night, and Cullen had to relent each time.

Someday, one way or another, the fighting would come to an end. It was a cold comfort that no matter which side might win, he would be safe.

Notes: Title from the Canticle of Silence (that Dissonant Verse that describes the Magisters Sidereal entering the Fade and stuff and is theorized to prophecy the current world events) So, I was always kind of disappointed they didn’t lean more into the blight aspects of red lyium. They did some of the body horror, but at the end of the day it was mostly just physical changes and some violent episodes. This is sort of a mix of early thoughts I had when red lyrium was first revealed and thoughts I had while playing through DAI the first time before we ended up with the blah conclusion to the Red Templars.

Let me tell you how pissed off I am that this is the Dragon Age fic I finished. I've got like ten others half-started that I like way more lol I might post up the pieces of those, though, and see if anyone thinks I should continue any.

#dragon age fic #cullen x samson #cullen rutherford #hc from back when i was first playing DAI and the red templars seemed way cooler #raleigh samson #my stuff

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