#lyrium withdrawals

[pupkinpumpkin]

Anytime I replay DAI and I get to that first conversation with Vivienne back at Haven, I take a long inhale Everytime she asks what I think about doing with the mages.

Like I know my Inky has not thought about this too much. She just knows her clan, but I think about it constantly and no answer I am offered is good enough to assuage my long rant that I yell at the computer for like 8 straight minutes before I choose the Mages Should Be Free line and get the inevitable Vivienne Greatly Disapproves

I love Vivienne a lot, I do, even with the differing political views, but Jesus Christ girlie pop never ask me that question again because I will go off Every Single Time

[warpedlegacywrites]

Chapter 26: The Commander's Confession

Cullen has something important to tell Theresa.

He resumed his search, and in short order he held up a folded piece of vellum, handing it over to me. “Here you are. This was updated just last night.” But when I reached out to take it, he didn’t relinquish his grip. I frowned at him, questioning, noting the amber tones of his eyes were duller than usual. Not as warm. “I wish you weren’t going,” he confessed suddenly, the worry plain on his face. It was such an unexpectedly vulnerable admission that my breath caught in my throat. I swallowed, and made my expression harden. “You’re not going to dissuade me.” “Believe me, I’m well aware.” Worry melted into helpless exasperation. “But I had to try.” Maker, are we really doing this again? We’d had this argument already. Several times. He didn’t like that I was going to meet — or attempt to meet — an unknown number of refugee mages. He, of course, wanted me to take Templars, and I, of course, flatly refused. Diplomacy versus safety. Deescalation versus the likelihood of abomination. Back and forth, the same arguments, over and over. Always ending the same way. He hadn’t let go of the map. Neither had I. We were locked in a tug of war neither of us wanted to lose. Or win. Still the same stalemate. “This won’t be like the Fallow Mire,” I said, willing it to be true. It occurred to me I was staring, but I couldn’t look away. He had me caught, hanging on the hope of what he might say next. “I’ve learned from my mistakes.” “Have you?” His eyes searched mine, pleadingly, looking for reassurance. I lifted my chin and willed myself to be like stone. Cold and solid. Immovable. “I have.” The muscles in his jaw worked as he ground his teeth. But that seemed to be the reassurance he needed. He nodded and, to my dismay, let go of the map.

[tiisshu]

DA:I C/ullen/ Inquisitor (human, warrior) lyrium withdrawal fic.

This is just the setup chapter , so there is no real suffering yet. If you are sensitive to descriptions of d/rug cravings, maybe stop before chapter 3 and beyond as I don't want to upset/trigger.

I don't want C/ullen to suffer, I want him to be saved.

Also would like to add I don't know if the use of pulling rank is correct so just go with it lmao

1. Tastes like Boot

For a successful mission, this one had certainly gone bollocks up.

Things had been set with the missive for weeks on this one, with the determination that the best course of action was to split the forces sent with one detachment going to look for some of their troops that had been detained in the area..

That morning before the War party left however, The Commander delivered an alternative directive - essentially leaving the troops to fend for themselves in the meantime doubling the guard on The Inquisitor because of a rumor Red Templars had been seen in the area. A rumor their Spymaster couldn’t confirm.

The War party had set out, the directive secured, and what’s more a runner had arrived shortly after Noon with news the detained troops were spotted on the north road heading back to the keep.

The War council was fully aware of The Inquisitor’s - of Calliope’s ire that decision had invoked regardless.

When they’re in the field, in front of others, The Commander and the Inquisitor of the Inquisition maintain a very professional appearance - even if their inner circle knew what the two Warriors had going on behind closed doors.

Cullen decides this is the best decision they’ve made thus far in their relationship together because right now, across from him at the War Table, She looks ready to spit fire.

He closes the door to the War Room after everyone else enters and he leans back against it crossing his arms.His tone remains calm but has a stern undertone as his hazel eyes focus on Calliope.

“Inquisitor, I want to discuss what happened back there”.

She doesn’t immediately look up nor does she address him yet as She’s studying the Markers He had adjusted that morning.

He follows her gaze, noticing which ones have her attention. Taking a few steps towards the table, careful to maintain some distance. He speaks in an authoritative, clipped tone, when her silence spurns him.

“Look at me!”.

The air in the room suddenly feels like it’s charged with static, the rest of the council stunned into silence.

Cullen can see the way her jaw is working as she clenches and unclenches her jaw as she finally looks up into his face. Green eyes cold with fury look back at his own simple hazel with a look that can only be described as piercing.

He recrosses his arms and schools himself into his usual stoic expression trying to appear undeterred by the sharpness of her anger.

“You can be angry all you like, Inquisitor, you know I can’t standby and allow you to endanger yourself unnecessarily “. To his left, Cassandra winces slightly at his words.

Cullen notices the reaction, but he’s already got himself rolling with this and He’s just annoyed enough with this situation to lose his temper.

“You are The Inquisitor! You have a duty to fulfill and I won’t hear of you putting yourself in unnecessary, reckless danger!”.

He expects an instant rebuttal but The Inquisitor is not listening- Calliope is now looking at how stiffly Cassandra holds her posture.

Cullen glances at Cassandra, his eyes narrowing, knowing the secret they share. He understands the contradiction in his statement but continues, his voice firm.

“I understand that you want to get the job done, but you can’t compromise your safety in the process.

Calliope looks up then and speaks in a sharp tone she has never used before, it's tone even in this scarily measured way.

“ People’s lives are at stake. Time is not a luxury we have, and you reroute us so…what? You can spare me a hypothetical?”.

She begins to tap different markers with clipped angry movements.

“Tell me, Commander, How will you advise on the next mission - Western Approach? Can’t have the Inquisitor risking a sprained ankle running through sand dunes, better extend the mission by three days to walk the perimeter”.

She taps a marker in The Fallow Mire. “ Hmm, better hold off on this one too until the rainy season passes, better not risk “The Inquisitor” a head cold”.

Cullen takes in a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he struggles to keep his own frustration in check, “Yes, people’s lives are at stake, and that includes yours. I intervene to keep you safe”.

He gestures to the markers She tapped in her tirade.

“ I’m not asking you to just… sit around, I’m cautioning against needless danger and as The Commander, it is within my duty to adjust accordingly”, he explains as he shifts his posture to square his shoulders the way the title demands.

Belatedly, Cullen has a moment to realize he’s made some grave error before he notices a muscle jump in her cheek and he’s looking into startled, affronted green eyes.

“..are…are you pulling rank on me?”

The others in the room are staring at the edges of the War Table now as if idly wondering what kind of wood it's made from.

There is an imperceptible hint of regret that flickers across his face, realizing that perhaps pulling rank wasn’t the best choice, but she’s being flippant with his concerns and He was getting a headache for all his trouble.

“Yes. I.. am”.

He holds her gaze, unflinching, despite the tense atmosphere in the room.

“As Commander, it is my responsibility to ensure the safety of our forces and that includes you. It's done, I won’t speak on it any further ”.

Calliope stands there with her jaw clenched, looking like there is a wealth of things She wants to say to him, before she promptly slips on her more detached, impartial “Inquisitor” mask and gives him a curt, “Commander” and leaves the room.

Cullen watches her leave, with fresh frustration etched on his face. The others in the room exchange glances, the tension thick in the air.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Maker’s breath…

He shakes his head and turns to the rest of the council, his voice laced with resignation.

“Let’s…continue with the other matters at hand…”

...

No one moves to speak first.

Cullen notices the differing reactions from the others.

He can feel the disapproval from Cassandra, Josephine’s unease, and Leliana’s practiced neutrality.

He straightens his stance, trying to maintain his composure. He resists the urge to rub the back of his neck again and decides he better address this…

“I know you don’t approve of my decision, but I … -The Inquisition can't risk losing her”.

Cassandra turns to Lelianna and Josephine and in an even tone says, “Leave us”.

Once they’ve both made their retreats Cassandra crosses her arms across her chest and demands, “ What, in the Maker, was that, Commander?”.

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday! I'm here to help you fill up bad things bingo! For Cullen and Thalia-- black eye AND loss of eyesight. Maybe something in Nightmare AU?

All right, I can only pick one prompt per square, so I went with "loss of sight" for this one. I will circle back around to "black eye," don't worry 👀

I went with canonverse for this, because of course I need another one-shot that doesn't feel like a one-shot in my life. Enjoy the pain!

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Word Count: 2269

---

Cullen’s chair was empty. Thalia’s gaze continued to drift to it throughout the entire meeting, tuning out Leliana’s lilting tones and Josephine’s gentle remarks over the scribbling of her quill. The war room felt too big without his sturdy presence.

“Are you quite all right, Inquisitor?” Leliana finally asked, when Thalia made her repeat herself for the third time. 

“I’m fine.” Thalia worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Where’s Cullen?” 

Josephine frowned. “The Commander wasn’t feeling well this morning. He requested the day off.” 

Thalia bit back a barbed response, that Cullen would not request a day off if the world itself was ending. Apprehension crawled up her spine, little tendrils of doubt and worry. “He was fine when we spoke last night.” 

By “spoke” she meant they spent time on the battlements together, kissing softly and watching the golden hour melt away into an icy blue twilight. She felt her face warming and averted her gaze to her own clipboard, scribbled with notes she barely remembered taking. 

A silence followed, during which Thalia dared not speak. The secret she harbored for Cullen felt at times like a glowing orb she’d swallowed whole. Often it seemed precious, something sacred he’d entrusted her with, that she tended and kept safe. But right now she could feel it, burning in her chest. She pressed her palm there, over the rich blue samite and ornate eyelets of her collared tunic, as if that could calm it.

“The Commander has suffered from headaches from time to time,” Leliana offered, barely louder than a murmur. 

Thalia squinted at her. Does she know? She found Leliana’s face eminently unreadable, which she supposed was a good trait in a spymaster. Still, there were times when she found it unnerving, and aggravating besides. 

“Of course,” she said carefully, glancing from Leliana to Josephine. “I just worry about a sickness spreading through Skyhold, that’s all.” 

It was, of course, more than that. Cullen went through bouts of tumult without lyrium to steady him, and with every upswing Thalia worried about the oncoming down turn. She still remembered the strained look on his face when he’d explained it all to her: it was impossible to know if cutting lyrium from his system entirely would kill him. He’d wanted her guidance, perhaps as the leader of the Inquisition — but more so, she’d sensed, as a friend. 

Thalia had reeled from the stark nature of the confession. Through her mind ran every encounter she’d ever had with a Templar while at the Ostwick Circle. She’d known, vaguely, that they’d used lyrium, but it was to her just another alchemical substance. Mages often used it to aid spells. She’d never thought about what it might do to people without the gift for magic. She’d had no idea it chained them for life. 

She’d been able to see the benefits to suggesting — ordering? — Cullen continue to take the lyrium. A military leader should always be clear-headed and strong, at his best. And part of her was selfish: if he died, then what? He was her mentor and her friend. How could she go on knowing she’d sanctioned his self-destruction? 

But she’d seen the desperation in his eyes and been unable to say it. Despite his words, she’d known what he had wanted.

And she was a bit more than a friend to him now. 

“I’m sure Cullen will be fine, Lady Thalia,” Josephine said, touching Thalia’s hand soothingly.

The meeting adjourned shortly thereafter, as they’d covered all they could without Cullen’s input. Thalia left the war room as the first few snowflakes drifted by the window. By the time she’d made it through the Main Hall to the courtyard, the sky was a leaden grey and the snow fell in earnest. 

Thalia shivered. Skyhold often ran warmer than the surrounding mountains; surveyors speculated there might be hot springs running throughout the ground beneath the keep. Solas scoffed at the idea and suggested there was likely powerful warding magic at work. Whatever the reason, the grass grew and the trees kept their leaves even in winter, but today the forces that guarded the keep could not withstand the oncoming storm. 

She crunched her way across the courtyard. She really ought to return to her quarters for a cloak, but the thought of turning around dismayed her. If Cullen is unwell, he should not be in that tower by himself. Not in this weather. He hadn’t exactly invited her back to his room quite yet — not for that reason — but she’d been in it a few times. Once was to grab a report he’d left up there during their long nights in his office, spent tracking the movements of General Samson. Another was to find a poultice for the pain when he’d been too shaky to the take the ladder. Thalia had looked around the space in wonder each time. The glimpses one took into the life of someone cherished: it felt so overwhelmingly Cullen, down to the rickety roof he still hadn’t gotten around to repairing. She didn’t even think he had a brazier. He’d freeze to death up there. 

Thalia wasn’t sure where she could coax him — her own quarters came to mind, with its large hearth and fire that the servants kept crackling all day long. She smirked; wouldn’t everyone talk then? No, the infirmary was probably better. He’d hate that, because then he’d have to explain what was wrong to the healers, but at least she’d feel at ease. Fear crept into her often when the worst of the symptoms gripped him, making him delicate and volatile. But no one must know, he insisted again and again. No one must find out.

Thalia cracked the door to his office and peered inside. The candles were unlit, the space dim and quiet. Snow already piled against the panes of the narrow windows, casting a sickly, muted light into the room. Thalia slipped in and leaned against the shut door. She listened to the silence. Her shallow breathing puffed white clouds in the cold air. 

She kicked the snow from her boots against the doorframe and strode to the ladder that ran up to his room. It was dark up there too. Thalia swallowed. She didn’t just want to climb up unannounced.

She balled a fist and knocked against the side of the ladder. “Cullen?” she called, feeling slightly absurd. Why couldn’t he sleep in a room with a door? Why must he always be so close to his work? “Hello? Are you here?”

She heard movement above her. 

“Cullen?” 

“Thalia?” His voice sounded farther away than one floor. 

“It’s me,” Thalia called. “Are you all right? Josephine said you were unwell.” 

“Oh. I’m… fine.” He did not sound fine. He sounded the way soldiers sounded at times after battle, faint and surprised to be alive. 

“Can I come up?” Nerves gripped her — did that sound too forward? If he insisted he was all right, who was she to question him? 

She heard some shuffling, rummaging, and a sudden crash. Glass shattered. Thalia shot several rungs up the ladder. Cullen was cursing — “Dammit, dammit, I’m all right, you don’t have to—” but she kept climbing, her heart a bird fluttering against the confines of its cage. 

She poked her head over the top of the ladder, but it was too dark to see much. As expected, snow drifted in through the hole in the roof, falling unnoticed on the floorboards. Cullen’s bed was empty and unmade. A hulking shadow hunched in a chair. 

“I’m sorry if I woke you…” Thalia straightened, squinting through the gloom. He was the figure in the chair, hair unkempt. Despite the chill, he was in only a thin undertunic, none of his usual armor, hugging himself and shivering. 

“Maker, Cullen—” Thalia darted across the room and immediately tripped over something. Shards shattered under her boots. Her stomach lurched, her mind jumping to the worst possibility. Was that a lyrium philter? Has he drunk it? 

Bending over, however, revealed it to be the remnants of a water glass, its contents soaking the floorboards. The liquid seeped into the pages of a few toppled books, knocked from a nearby table, she estimated. Thalia snatched them up and ran them over her trouser leg to seep up the moisture. She replaced them hastily and crossed gingerly over to Cullen. He did not turn as she approached, staring instead at the unadorned stone wall. 

“Why are you sitting here all alone in the dark?” Thalia pressed a hand to his clammy forehead. 

He flinched away from her touch, sending a ripple of hurt through her. Does he not trust me, after all this time? Or does he just not want me to know he has a fever? The little she’d felt confirmed her suspicions. 

Cullen did not answer. Thalia pressed her lips together, debating her options. “Let me get you a blanket, at least.” She couldn’t just stand by while he was feverish and shaking. 

She moved to the desk, fumbling for the matchbox and tinder, and lit a tallow candle in its holder. Better. Despite being mid-afternoon, the storm had hastened the onset of darkness. No wonder he’d knocked things over. But his silence unnerved her. Usually he was quick with an explanation, or stubborn insistence. When the episode was very bad, he only asked for little things that might help. Saying nothing at all — what did that mean? Was it delirium? She didn’t think his fever was that high. 

She pulled the extra furs from his bed, considering her next move. She draped one across his lap and the other around his shoulders. He clutched them closer, and she was pleased to note his teeth stopped chattering. 

“I told you, you didn’t have to do all this.” Cullen’s voice sounded soft and far away, even though she was standing right beside him. He still hadn’t looked in her direction. 

“Cullen.” She tried to pick her words carefully. She didn’t want to spook him. “You’re unwell. You’re running a fever. You may have caught something completely unrelated to the — the effects of lyrium deprivation.” She took a breath. “I think it’s better that we take you to the infirmary, instead of—”

Cullen was shaking his head vehemently. “No. No. Please.” 

The despair in his voice scared her. She had kept this secret for him for months now, but she had never seen him in a position quite so dire. Maybe it had been the wrong one from the start — she was no healer, but she’d studied under enough at the Circle to know that hiding illness for the sake of pride was usually the worst thing one could do. Maybe she should have never indulged him in this particularly foolhardy endeavor. Or at the least, employed a well-paid and tightlipped healer to monitor his condition in secret. It was grossly irresponsible of her, she could see now, to have taken his word for it. 

But she had so desperately wanted to believe him. 

“Well, that do you want me to do?” Thalia replied, more archly than intended. “Leave you shivering up here in the middle of a snowstorm?” 

Cullen startled, blinking rapidly in her direction. “It’s snowing?”

“Yes, it’s snowing. How could you not notice? It’s coming through the hole in your roof.” 

Thalia gestured behind her, to the irregular-shaped ring of snow accumulating on the floorboards, but he didn’t follow her cue. He didn’t do much of anything, aside from sit there, mouth agape in surprise. His eyes were glittery and unfocused, standing out against the pale, waxen quality of his skin. He swallowed hard, and Thalia sensed, quite suddenly, that he was terrified.

“Cullen,” she said softly, “look at me.” 

He canted his head in her direction, eyes searching. She silently took a step adjacent to where she had spoken, but his gaze did not follow. A dreadful understanding crept over her. 

Thalia stepped closer, crouching down before him. “I’m right here,” she said, reaching for his hand. He reacted to her touch, squeezing her fingers tightly. “How long has it been like this?” 

“Since this morning. I woke up, and I couldn’t… couldn’t…” He let out a shaky breath. 

“It’s all right.” She tried to stay calm. Think. Think. “Have you heard of lyrium withdrawal causing this?”

“I can’t remember. There’s so few stories of anyone stopping at all, I…”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it. Have you had any other symptoms besides the fever?” Maybe it’s a separate infection? Maybe it’s treatable? Maybe—

“Just a headache, last night. I thought it was — fairly routine, for… what happens, at times.” Cullen shifted under the furs. His hand was icy cold. Another sign of the withdrawal, she knew. Was this simply the natural progression of something they never should have meddled with in the first place?

“Cullen. Please, listen to me.” Her voice sounded thick and quavering. “I know you don’t want to, but I have to ask: if you took lyrium right now, do you think that would help?” 

He stiffened. She watched his shoulders straighten, his whole body tensing against the suggestion. “I don’t know. I… please, Thalia, I’ve come so far. Please don’t make me—” 

“I’m not. I’m not. I’m just trying to rule out some things. I want you to be well, Cullen, that’s all.” She took his cold hand between both of hers, pressing her lips against one knuckle, then another. She blinked again and again, against the hot tears gathering behind her eyes. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? I promise you that.” 

[narrated]

lance is truly such an origins character (nightmare bisexual) that by the time you get to like inquisition and he’s processed everything he’s just chilling. straight up vibing during the apocalypse

[endawna]

thinking about hanric again — the templar npc hunting pax down. has a turbulent reputation and history of falsely accusing people of being abominations without cause or evidence and every time has only proven his lack of good judgment ( and, there is reason to believe extortion was involved for personal gain ). so of course the one time he’s RIGHT nobody fucking believes him.

[lavenderprose]

Why have I seen two people today refer to Cullen as being a 'princely' romance. My man has been a functional addict for fifteen years and he's in ACTIVE withdrawal when Inquisition begins. He is recovering from the in-universe equivalent of a Percocet addiction and he's not doing well with it. Just because he's sweet and he ducks his head and says I've never met anyone like you doesn't mean he's a flouncy Disney prince. He also THROWS things across the room because he's in pain and yells at his friends and goes quiet and distant in the War Room. He says things like, "I never considered a future before I met you," and he MEANS that shit. Cullen Stanton Rutherford was probably going to Lay Down And Die after the Breach was closed, IF it was ever closed, before he met the Inquisitor. It's strongly implied that that's what he DOES do if you tell him to continue taking Lyrium. You definitely do not have to like his romance and you're allowed to be critical of his character but saying that he's the Princely or Vanilla romance option is discrediting all of the character development he's gone through and is in my opinion just a bad faith interpretation overall.

[warpedlegacywrites]

Chapter 8: "A Thin Line"

Their first full day in Kirkwall is full of reminders, both pleasant and painful. And Cullen is brought face to face with a living piece of his past he'd rather have forgotten.

“So? What do you think?”  She smiles, wondering if he remembers she’s been here once before. It was a brief visit to close a rift, shortly after Varric had returned to his beloved home. Merely a short detour on the way to Wycome for an unrelated visit, only one rift out of dozens she’s closed. She doesn’t blame him if he’s forgotten.  “Well,” she says in answer, “I don’t think Varric is very good at descriptions.” Cullen laughs, his breath stirring her hair, warmer than the wind. “What?”  She nuzzles a little closer, feeling his stubble scratch pleasantly against her cheek. “His books. None of them quite do it justice. The sharp edges, the high walls, the people… It’s unique, even amongst Marcher cities.” “How does it compare with Ostwick?” There’s a slight hesitation in his tone – he rarely asks about her birthplace.  She gives a pensive hum, her fingers running up and down his forearm. “Ostwick is so austere. Aloof. And far too concerned with catering to Orlesian fashion trends. Kirkwall is rougher around the edges. More defensive. Scrappy. I prefer that.” “You can thank all the Fereldan immigrants for that, I think.” “Maybe. Or maybe that’s just why the populations have blended so seamlessly.” “I don’t remember it being seamless.” Something in his voice catches, and they fall into another prolonged silence.  “I was afraid it would remind me of Ostwick,” Theresa confesses, after a long internal debate. “The sea.”  Faxhold, her Circle, had been on the sea, jutting out on a narrow promontory like an angry fist clenching a raised dagger. An ancient Tevinter lighthouse, repurposed to imprison mages. Much of her early life was set to the relentless pulse of waves crashing onto the stony shores outside its walls.  She represses another shudder. “Now, it just reminds me of the waterfall below Skyhold.”  “Funny how fluid a thing memory can be.” 

DAFF Tag List: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb, @theluckywizard, @nirikeehan, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe, @agentkatie, @delicatefade

[tiisshu]

DA:I C/ullen/ Inquisitor (human, warrior) lyrium withdrawal fic - Part 2

Sorry it's taken a bit to get the second part out, we've suffered a tragic loss in our family and I haven't had as much time to edit as I need.

Here is the second part to my angsty C/ullen /Inquisitor sickfic... thing. Warning, there is the beginnings of descriptions of withdrawal symptoms. Please, if you are sensitive to such descriptions, unfortunately from here on out I would suggest skipping this.

Anyway, here you go...

2. Advice

Commander Cullen braces himself, knowing this conversation has the potential to be more heated than the last.

He takes a deep breath and looks at Cassandra firmly.

 “I did what I had to do to ensure her safety. As her Commander, it is my duty to protect her”.

“Just as her commander, huh?”. Cassandra’s face dares him to contradict her.

Cullen’s expression remains stoic but he recognizes the challenge in the Seeker’s tone. He straightens his stance and looks her straight in the eye.

“My personal feelings aside, my duty comes first, and I need not remind you of how stubborn She can be”.

Cassandra makes an emphatic noise of frustration. 

“Not the mission, Commander! It got done, and there were no losses- a clear victory”.

“But what I just heard…” .Cassandra gestures to where Cullen and the Inquisitor had been arguing.

“Such hypocrisy! I wouldn’t have expected that from you”.

Cullen’s jaw clenches, feeling the sting of Cassandra’s words. His voice remains stern but there is a hint of defensiveness to it now.

“You think I don’t know how it sounded? I know exactly how it looked”.

He takes a step forward to close the gap between them. 

“...when it comes to her… when it comes to her safety, I can't afford to stop and think clearly”.

“... Thinking clearly is the only thing you can afford right now, Commander. And soon, that too will waver- you still haven’t told her, have you?”.

He hesitates for a brief moment, his eyes darting away from Cassandra’s gaze. He takes a moment to choose his words carefully before speaking.

“... no, I.. I haven’t”.

He lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair once more, frustration etched on his face.

“..You know why I can’t”.

Cassandra heaves a heavy sigh and gives him a look that he can only describe as disappointment. She comes around the war table to stand beside him. 

“You can’t keep putting yourself in unnecessary, reckless danger”, She quotes him.

Cullen stands there processing Cassandra’s words. He knows She’s right, the hypocrisy in his own actions. He lets out a sigh, feeling the weight of the situation press down on him.

Maker’s breath…

Cassandra gives his shoulder a squeeze and then excuses herself from his presence.

As She leaves, He’s left alone in the war room with his thoughts, the sound of the door closing echoing in the room.

His mind is a whirlwind. The argument with Calliope, The conversation with Cassandra, his own conflicted feelings on the matter.

He rubs the back of his neck, frustrated and on edge. After a few moments, he lets out a sigh, still trying to corral his thoughts when his blood begins its insidious call for the Lyrium.

It’s a familiar sensation, the urge to give in to the craving.

Cullen closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. He grits his teeth, fighting against the pull of the withdrawal. It takes considerable effort, but he manages to push the craving to the back of his mind, burying it beneath his discipline and determination.

“I won’t”, he says aloud to himself. A reassurance.

The intensity of his raised emotions from the argument only seems to further intensify the symptoms of his withdrawal.

He can feel a headache starting to form, a sense of weakness creeping in. His muscles tense as he fights against the physical and mental fatigue.

All of a sudden he desires nothing more than to retreat to his office, to wait out the symptoms and try and think.

With a new sense of determination, Cullen pushes himself off the table, forcing his body to move despite its growing fatigue. He heads out the door and through the hall, a bit unsteady as he tries to maintain his composure.

He’s almost to the main hall when Josephine spots him. 

“Oh, Commander! Do you have a moment?”

Cullen stops, turning to face Josephine. His expression is stoic, masking the ongoing struggle within him. He draws in a measured breath, trying to maintain his usual professional demeanor.

 “Of course, Lady Ambassador. What do you need?”.

“We have some visiting Dignitaries next week, I’ve been informed they would like to tour the ramparts, talk to the soldiers and the like. Are you amenable to this request?”

Cullen takes a moment to consider. The influx of visitors during a time of turmoil is less than ideal, but he understands the importance of diplomacy even if he detests politics.

He nods, his voice firm and steady, “ Yes, I think that can be arranged. We’ll ensure the ramparts are secured and the soldiers briefed on proper protocol for receiving dignataries”.

“Excellent, Commander. And… if I may be so bold as to add..”, She says hesitantly.

Cullen raises an eyebrow, curious what else Josephine has to say. He nods, signaling for her to continue.

“Speak your mind, Lady Josephine”.

The ambassador's face softens, “ Give her time, commander. Give both of you some”, she advises.

Cullen stiffens slightly, caught off guard by Josephine’s unexpected words. He had been expecting a comment about the dignitaries, but this was different.

He nods slowly, understanding her implication.

“I...see. Thank you for your advice, Lady Josephine”.

His thoughts are in disarray, the withdrawal and the current emotional turmoil warring within him.

Josephine gives him a friendly nod and goes back to her work, leaving him to his thoughts.

Cullen stands in silence for a few moments, trying to process his thoughts and feelings. The conversation with Josephine has only added to the complexity of his situation.

He rubs the back of his neck, sighing in resignation. He needs to clear his head, to collect his thoughts into some semblance of order.

He turns and begins to head to his office, to find solitude.

[sisifroggy]

Love War Table quests because it's just

Josephine: I know the right people. We do a few favors, rub some egos, flash a little coin...

Leliana: Or my spies can just go in, plant some incriminating evidence, break a few necks, ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom, done

Cullen "Tired of This Shit and in the Throws of Lyrium Withdrawal" Rutherford: We're the fucking Inquisition. Just march our men down there and tell them to lick our balls wtf

[saltyowlets]

OKAYOKAYOKAY SO IM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAD THIS SAME EXACT THOUGHT!!!! I FEEL SO FUCKING VINDICATED!!!

I remember years ago someone told me my idea about Cullen's nightmares morphing from his memories of Kinloch into his memories of Kirkwall, mixing with his guilt and shame, thus making the demon that visited a version of his younger self who killed thousands of innocent mages while he could do nothing to stop it was "too harsh"

now I know that I was RIGHT and in actuality I CAN BE WORSE

I CAN MAKE THIS SO MUCH WORSE FOR HIM

[sha-brytols]

it is genuinely strange to me how little the lyrium enslavement aspect of templar training is Actually utilized to make the templars more sympathetic. like the withdrawal IS a huge part ot cullen's character arc, but not the chantry's part in it. i think samson is the only one where it's actually a defining character theme?

[animezinglife]

I feel like Cullen unintentionally set a bit of an unrealistic standard for other Templars eventually wanting to get off lyrium.

He overcomes addiction and proceeds to:

Lead an entire military force that rivals nations

Reconnect with his family

End up with an entire country's worth of noble marriage inquiries

Be adopted as a little brother by a stunning and brilliant Antivan ambassador and a hot assassin/and/or the Pope

Get laid often by the love of his life, the Herald of Andraste

Be chosen by a dog to be his new dad

Marry the love of his life (the aforementioned Herald of Andraste)

Start a clinic to help others overcome lyrium addiction and free their minds

Half of this occurred when he was still in the recovery process and actively going through withdrawals.

[cybershock24601]

I’ve been stewing on more alternate time travel au where the Veilguard sends themselves to the past trying to rip Rook out of the fade because there’s nothing like trying to save your bestie to make you turn to dangerous and unstable magic

Lucanis spends most of his time helping Harding out with her scout work yet refuses to wear the Inquisition uniform because he is still a Crow at heart which means he wouldn’t be caught dead in such an ugly uniform

Turns out the Orlaisean noble woman Emmrich had a thing with one summer was the wife of the Duke Vivienne’s with and the two of them get together to gossip. Vivienne wishes Emmrich wouldn’t drag along his skeleton every time but he is Nevarran so she will let it go. She also assists in giving Manfred etiquette lessons alongside Emmrich because it’s not like she can let the poor thing go around with such poor diction.

Mentioned this before but Dorian’s crush on Emmrich comes back full force and whoever is romancing him whether it be the Inquisitor or Iron Bull ends up wildly jealous of Emmrich

Hardings new connection with the Stone possibly helping soothe Cullen’s lyrium induced issues

Chess pieces from all over Skyhold start going missing because Cole keeps giving all the rooks to the Veilguard

Leliana offers Bellara a nug and she accepts and now walks around Skyhold with the most adorable nug the world has ever seen

If you thought Emmrich and Davrin were insufferable before, their dad off gets a thousand times worse when Davrin's new mabari starts stealing Manfred's bones and Davrin refuses to admit his good boy did anything wrong even if he is privately scolding the mabari.

Davrin and Cullen end up bonding over the mabari as Cullen ends up offering Davrin some advice on how to train the dog. Turns out mabari are not any easier to train then griffons as both are hyper intelligent animals and require different tactics though bribery seems to be working as well on the dog as it did Assan

Manfred starts copying Cole by giving people random objects but unlike Cole who has some weird esoteric logic behind it, Manfred is really just picking up a cool rock he found on the ground and handing it off to the first person he sees and crying out "HELPING" in his little skeleton voice

Harding is now the one in the awkward age gap relationship because what are you supposed to do when your significant other is now physically 13 years old but still mentally an adult but it’s not like anyone but your close friends know that because to everyone else they’re just 13? Hell if Harding knows

The Veilguard collectively gaslighting the Inquisition about Spite because people down south aren’t nearly going to be as cool about the whole possession situation and their assurances that Spite is chill so every time someone tries to bring up the glowing eyes or wings they come up with some bullshit excuse and stick to it no matter how ridiculous and some of them get real stupid

Neve sees Cullen practically falling asleep on his feet and offers him her cup of coffee. This is a mistake because now Cullen is using his new caffeine addiction to deal with his lyrium withdrawals and the man has never been so productive or strung out. Lucanis is suffering in the background because Cullen makes and drinks the same sort of sludge Neve survives off of.

Josephine and Lucanis end up bonding over their shared disgust over the sort of vile concoctions Neve and Cullen keep producing. Leliana also joins in because Josephine already introduced her to good coffee and she also has strong opinions on the culinary crimes they’re committing. She also has a whole lot to add when Lucanis brings up some of Harding’s more adventurous kitchen adventures because after a year of traveling around Ferelden during the Blight, Leliana has some stories of her own to share about Ferelden cuisine.

Solas who hates tea and wants an in to try to figure out what is going on and how much these people know approaches Lucanis about trying some coffee too only for Lucanis who can be one spiteful motherfucker even without accounting for Spite to essentially pull a “I suddenly don’t know how to read” and brew the most black, vile, and disgusting sludge like pot of coffee for Solas to drink. It would have been kinder for Lucanis to have just spiked his coffee with poison. Spite is in the background cackling at the barely concealed disgust on Solas’ face as Solas pretends he can’t hear Spite’s delighted laughter at Solas’ predicament

[endawna]

wonder if the addictiveness of lyrium would extend to pax in his undeath. it isn’t a normal substance, it has mystical properties. most things no longer a trigger a reaction in his body because it is dead. though, if given its properties, can circumvent his undeath or actually affect hunger itself, would be … interesting to consider. he has hunted templars. hunger does prefer them over elven mages. him unknowingly having gone through a sort of lyrium withdrawal multiple times. mistaking it for hunger being particularly restless and aching and voracious.

[felassan]

Harding narrative sketches and captions by Nick Thornborrow, under a cut due to spoilers and length:

Nick Thornborrow: "Let's do a thread of Harding sketches and talk about the crazy Twine file I made. There was a visual novel style version of Veilguard's earliest story outline that was written by Trick and the writers and assembled in Twine by me. These black and white sketches are what populated the Twine file."

[artist's caption] Portrait sketch of Harding.

Harding examining an artifact in the ruins of the disrupted ritual.

Harding being struck by arcane powers.

Harding exhibiting magical abilities dispatching a demonic monster.

Nick Thornborrow: "Let's just pause and enjoy these two drawings side by side."

1 of 2. Harding deep in concentration, hands flexed trying to levitate a pebble on the ground. Rook stands by patiently in the background, hands in pockets, eyes locked on the pebble.

2 of 2. The camera has pulled way back. Harding is small in the frame, and not merely moving a pebble, but causing the entire ground to convulse in a radial pattern around her. Rook is being tossed like a ragdoll into the air.

Nick Thornborrow: "Back to the Twine file. It was meant to emulate the flow of the narrative and broadcast that narrative out to the wider team. "Here's what we're trying to make." The challenge I put on myself was to reflect the narrative branching we intended to build."

Harding carrying a torch entering a dark dwarven threshold deep underground.

Harding meeting the Oracle. The Oracle is smaller in this rendering than how she appears in game.

Harding and the Oracle communing through the stone in a strange dark and infinite sublime psychological space.

Harding briefly being overcome with rage. Her eyes gleam red, and red glowing veins glow below her skin a la video game corruption.

Nick Thornborrow: "So I did what no one asked for. You couldn't simply plow through the story. Side missions would become available on a cadence and would be assigned to numbers on a dice roll (a certain amount of variability in side content was planned in the early days of Veilguard)."

Harding being blown back by angry earth based boss monster. This was the boss fight after meeting the Oracle in game.

Rook spends a quiet moment with Harding who is becoming accustomed to her powers, elegantly floating three stones in the air in front of her. A beautiful eroded gorge vista in the background with a narrow waterfall.

A down shot of Rook and Harding. Harding and Rook hold hands.

Rook withdrawing her hand from Harding in pain. Harding's hand glows with lyrium power.

Nick Thornborrow: "You would need to accumulate enough trust with a certain number of factions, and/or progress enough of a companion's story line in order to advance the twine version of the game simulating the rough gating envisioned by designers and writers at the time. (This was a hugely collaborative effort)."

Kal Sharok dwarf trapped in a stone column being rescued by Harding who is exploding the wall of the column with her powers.

Harding bow and arrow action pose surrounded by rocky golem monsters.

Harding confronting a red glowing mirror version of herself.

Harding grim faced, pressing her forehead to that of the red glowing version of herself who is screaming in rage. Symmetrical composition.

Nick Thornborrow: "Finally the twine file was sent out to the team. I was frustrated while working on DA2 and DA:I where team members had no idea what the narrative of the narrative-based game we were making was. It would lead to disjointed decisions being made completely divorced from the efforts of other teams."

Rook in the foreground fighting rock golems. Harding and mirror Harding in hte background floating ominously in a miasma of red lyrium energy.

Harding standing on a precipice overlooking a crowd of Kal Sharok dwarves. Harding is glowing and heroic.

Harding and the Oracle in a dark inifinite void pressing their palms together. They are surrounded by ghostly images of dwarven ancestors representing unbroken lineages.

Harding smiling among a crowd of Kal Sharok dwarves.

Nick Thornborrow: "Like bright and cheery level art being constructed where a world ending apocalyptic magical event was occurring. With Veilguard, it was the earliest into a project where the narrative team could be like "Hey team, it'll change along the way, but this is the story we're going to be iterating on." END"

Rook and Harding enjoying an intimate cozy domestic moment. Harding resting her head in her palm propped up on her elbow, Rook smiling hands behind head on pillow.

Environment shot of Harding's childhood home in a field in the background. In the foreground Rook and Harding are cresting a hill in their walk towards the home.

Rook and Harding sharing a kiss, both figures glowing subtly with lyrium energy.

Art by Nick Thornborrow. [source thread]